[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D. W. ]

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK I. 

CONTENTS: Introduction--S. W. Orson Book I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Among the notable books of later times-we may say, without exaggeration, of all time--must be reckoned The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau. It deals with leading personages and transactions of a momentous epoch, when absolutism and feudalism were rallying for their last struggleagainst the modern spirit, chiefly represented by Voltaire, theEncyclopedists, and Rousseau himself--a struggle to which, after manyfierce intestine quarrels and sanguinary wars throughout Europe andAmerica, has succeeded the prevalence of those more tolerant and rationalprinciples by which the statesmen of our own day are actuated. 

On these matters, however, it is not our province to enlarge; nor is itnecessary to furnish any detailed account of our author's political, religious, and philosophic axioms and systems, his paradoxes and hiserrors in logic: these have been so long and so exhaustively disputedover by contending factions that little is left for even the mostassiduous gleaner in the field. The inquirer will find, in Mr. JohnMoney's excellent work, the opinions of Rousseau reviewed succinctly andimpartially. The 'Contrat Social', the 'Lattres Ecrites de la Montagne', and other treatises that once aroused fierce controversy, may thereforebe left in the repose to which they have long been consigned, so far asthe mass of mankind is concerned, though they must always form part ofthe library of the politician and the historian. One prefers to turn tothe man Rousseau as he paints himself in the remarkable work before us. 

That the task which he undertook in offering to show himself--as Persiusputs it--'Intus et in cute', to posterity, exceeded his powers, is atrite criticism; like all human enterprises, his purpose was onlyimperfectly fulfilled; but this circumstance in no way lessens theattractive qualities of his book, not only for the student of history orpsychology, but for the intelligent man of the world. Its startlingfrankness gives it a peculiar interest wanting in most otherautobiographies. 

Many censors have elected to sit in judgment on the failings of thisstrangely constituted being, and some have pronounced upon him verysevere sentences. Let it be said once for all that his faults andmistakes were generally due to causes over which he had but littlecontrol, such as a defective education, a too acute sensitiveness, whichengendered suspicion of his fellows, irresolution, an overstrained senseof honour and independence, and an obstinate refusal to take advice fromthose who really wished to befriend him; nor should it be forgotten thathe was afflicted during the greater part of his life with an incurabledisease. 

Lord Byron had a soul near akin to Rousseau's, whose writings naturallymade a deep impression on the poet's mind, and probably had an influenceon his conduct and modes of thought: In some stanzas of 'Childe Harold'this sympathy is expressed with truth and power; especially is theweakness of the Swiss philosopher's character summed up in the followingadmirable lines:

 "Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, The apostle of affliction, he who threw Enchantment over passion, and from woe Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew How to make madness beautiful, and cast O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they passed The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 

 "His life was one long war with self-sought foes, Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose, For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. But he was frenzied, -wherefore, who may know? Since cause might be which skill could never find; But he was frenzied by disease or woe To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. "

One would rather, however, dwell on the brighter hues of the picture thanon its shadows and blemishes; let us not, then, seek to "draw hisfrailties from their dread abode. " His greatest fault was hisrenunciation of a father's duty to his offspring; but this crime heexpiated by a long and bitter repentance. We cannot, perhaps, veryreadily excuse the way in which he has occasionally treated the memory ofhis mistress and benefactress. That he loved Madame de Warens--his'Mamma'--deeply and sincerely is undeniable, notwithstanding which he nowand then dwells on her improvidence and her feminine indiscretions withan unnecessary and unbecoming lack of delicacy that has an unpleasanteffect on the reader, almost seeming to justify the remark of one of hismost lenient critics--that, after all, Rousseau had the soul of a lackey. He possessed, however, many amiable and charming qualities, both as a manand a writer, which were evident to those amidst whom he lived, and willbe equally so to the unprejudiced reader of the Confessions. He had aprofound sense of justice and a real desire for the improvement andadvancement of the race. Owing to these excellences he was beloved tothe last even by persons whom he tried to repel, looking upon them asmembers of a band of conspirators, bent upon destroying his domesticpeace and depriving him of the means of subsistence. 

Those of his writings that are most nearly allied in tone and spirit tothe 'Confessions' are the 'Reveries d'un Promeneur Solitaire' and'La Nouvelle Heloise'. His correspondence throws much light on his lifeand character, as do also parts of 'Emile'. It is not easy in our day torealize the effect wrought upon the public mind by the advent of'La Nouvelle Heloise'. Julie and Saint-Preux became names to conjurewith; their ill-starred amours were everywhere sighed and wept over bythe tender-hearted fair; indeed, in composing this work, Rousseau may besaid to have done for Switzerland what the author of the Waverly Novelsdid for Scotland, turning its mountains, lakes and islands, formerlyregarded with aversion, into a fairyland peopled with creatures whosejoys and sorrows appealed irresistibly to every breast. Shortly afterits publication began to flow that stream of tourists and travellerswhich tends to make Switzerland not only more celebrated but more opulentevery year. It, is one of the few romances written in the epistolaryform that do not oppress the reader with a sense of languor andunreality; for its creator poured into its pages a tide of passionunknown to his frigid and stilted predecessors, and dared to depictNature as she really is, not as she was misrepresented by the modishauthors and artists of the age. Some persons seem shy of owning anacquaintance with this work; indeed, it has been made the butt ofridicule by the disciples of a decadent school. Its faults and itsbeauties are on the surface; Rousseau's own estimate is freely expressedat the beginning of the eleventh book of the Confessions and elsewhere. It might be wished that the preface had been differently conceived andworded; for the assertion made therein that the book may prove dangeroushas caused it to be inscribed on a sort of Index, and good folk who neverread a line of it blush at its name. Its "sensibility, " too, is a littleoverdone, and has supplied the wits with opportunities for satire; forexample, Canning, in his 'New Morality':

 "Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined In the fine foldins of the feeling mind.... Sweet child of sickly Fancy!-her of yore From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore; And while 'midst lakes and mountains wild he ran, Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of man, Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine, steep To lisp the story of his wrongs and weep. "

As might be imagined, Voltaire had slight sympathy with our socialreformer's notions and ways of promulgating them, and accordingly tookup his wonted weapons--sarcasm and ridicule--against poor Jean-Jacques. The quarrels of these two great men cannot be described in this place;but they constitute an important chapter in the literary and socialhistory of the time. In the work with which we are immediatelyconcerned, the author seems to avoid frequent mention of Voltaire, evenwhere we should most expect it. However, the state of his mind when hepenned this record of his life should be always remembered in relation tothis as well as other occurrences. 

Rousseau had intended to bring his autobiography down to a later date, but obvious causes prevented this: hence it is believed that a summary ofthe chief events that marked his closing years will not be out of placehere. 

On quitting the Ile de Saint-Pierre he travelled to Strasbourg, where hewas warmly received, and thence to Paris, arriving in that city onDecember 16, 1765. The Prince de Conti provided him with a lodging inthe Hotel Saint-Simon, within the precincts of the Temple--a place ofsanctuary for those under the ban of authority. 'Every one was eager tosee the illustrious proscript, who complained of being made a daily show, "like Sancho Panza in his island of Barataria. " During his short stay inthe capital there was circulated an ironical letter purporting to comefrom the Great Frederick, but really written by Horace Walpole. Thiscruel, clumsy, and ill-timed joke angered Rousseau, who ascribed it to, Voltaire. A few sentences may be quoted:

 "My Dear Jean-Jacques, --You have renounced Geneva, your native place. You have caused your expulsion from Switzerland, a country so extolled in your writings; France has issued a warrant against you: so do you come to me. My states offer you a peaceful retreat. I wish you well, and will treat you well, if you will let me. But, if you persist in refusing my help, do not reckon upon my telling any one that you did so. If you are bent on tormenting your spirit to find new misfortunes, choose whatever you like best. I am a king, and can procure them for you at your pleasure; and, what will certainly never happen to you in respect of your enemies, I will cease to persecute you as soon as you cease to take a pride in being persecuted. Your good friend, "FREDERICK. "

Early in 1766 David Hume persuaded Rousseau to go with him to England, where the exile could find a secure shelter. In London his appearanceexcited general attention. Edmund Burke had an interview with him andheld that inordinate vanity was the leading trait in his character. Mr. Davenport, to whom he was introduced by Hume, generously offeredRousseau a home at Wootton, in Staffordshire, near the, Peak Country; thelatter, however, would only accept the offer on condition that he shouldpay a rent of L 30 a year. He was accorded a pension of L 100 by GeorgeIII. , but declined to draw after the first annual payment. The climateand scenery of Wootton being similar to those of his native country, hewas at first delighted with his new abode, where he lived with Therese, and devoted his time to herborising and inditing the first six books ofhis Confessions. Soon, however, his old hallucinations acquiredstrength, and Rousseau convinced himself that enemies were bent upon hiscapture, if not his death. In June, 1766, he wrote a violent letter toHume, calling him "one of the worst of men. " Literary Paris had combinedwith Hume and the English Government to surround him--as he supposed--with guards and spies; he revolved in his troubled mind all the reportsand rumours he had heard for months and years; Walpole's forged letterrankled in his bosom; and in the spring of 1767 he fled; first toSpalding, in Lincolnshire, and subsequently to Calais, where he landed inMay. 

On his arrival in France his restless and wandering disposition forcedhim continually to change his residence, and acquired for him the titleof "Voyageur Perpetuel. " While at Trye, in Gisors, in 1767--8, he wrotethe second part of the Confessions. He had assumed the surname of Renou, and about this time he declared before two witnesses that Therese was hiswife--a proceeding to which he attached the sanctity of marriage. In1770 he took up his abode in Paris, where he lived continuously for sevenyears, in a street which now bears his name, and gained a living bycopying music. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, the author of 'Paul andVirginia', who became acquainted with him in 1772, has left someinteresting particulars of Rousseau's daily mode of life at this period. Monsieur de Girardin having offered him an asylum at Ermemonville in thespring of 1778, he and Therese went thither to reside, but for no longtime. On the 3d of July, in the same year, this perturbed spirit at lastfound rest, stricken by apoplexy. A rumor that he had committed suicidewas circulated, but the evidence of trustworthy witnesses, including aphysician, effectually contradicts this accusation. His remains, firstinterred in the Ile des Peupliers, were, after the Revolution, removed tothe Pantheon. In later times the Government of Geneva made somereparation for their harsh treatment of a famous citizen, and erected hisstatue, modelled by his compatriot, Pradier, on an island in the Rhone. 

 "See nations, slowly wise and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust. "

November, 1896. S. W. ORSON. 

 THE CONFESSIONS

 OF

 J. J. ROUSSEAU

BOOK I. 

I have entered upon a performance which is without example, whoseaccomplishment will have no imitator. I mean to present myfellow-mortals with a man in all the integrity of nature; and this manshall be myself. 

I know my heart, and have studied mankind; I am not made like any one Ihave been acquainted with, perhaps like no one in existence; if notbetter, I at least claim originality, and whether Nature did wisely inbreaking the mould with which she formed me, can only be determined afterhaving read this work. 

Whenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before thesovereign judge with this book in my hand, and loudly proclaim, thus haveI acted; these were my thoughts; such was I. With equal freedom andveracity have I related what was laudable or wicked, I have concealed nocrimes, added no virtues; and if I have sometimes introduced superfluousornament, it was merely to occupy a void occasioned by defect of memory:I may have supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable, buthave never asserted as truth, a conscious falsehood. Such as I was, Ihave declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others, virtuous, generous and sublime; even as thou hast read my inmost soul: Powereternal! assemble round thy throne an innumerable throng of myfellow-mortals, let them listen to my confessions, let them blush at mydepravity, let them tremble at my sufferings; let each in his turn exposewith equal sincerity the failings, the wanderings of his heart, and, ifhe dare, aver, I was better than that man. 

I was born at Geneva, in 1712, son of Isaac Rousseau and SusannahBernard, citizens. My father's share of a moderate competency, which wasdivided among fifteen children, being very trivial, his business of awatchmaker (in which he had the reputation of great ingenuity) was hisonly dependence. My mother's circumstances were more affluent; she wasdaughter of a Mons. Bernard, minister, and possessed a considerable shareof modesty and beauty; indeed, my father found some difficulty inobtaining her hand. 

The affection they entertained for each other was almost as early astheir existence; at eight or nine years old they walked together everyevening on the banks of the Treille, and before they were ten, could notsupport the idea of separation. A natural sympathy of soul confinedthose sentiments of predilection which habit at first produced; born withminds susceptible of the most exquisite sensibility and tenderness, itwas only necessary to encounter similar dispositions; that momentfortunately presented itself, and each surrendered a willing heart. 

The obstacles that opposed served only to give a decree of vivacity totheir affection, and the young lover, not being able to obtain hismistress, was overwhelmed with sorrow and despair. She advised him totravel--to forget her. He consented--he travelled, but returned morepassionate than ever, and had the happiness to find her equally constant, equally tender. After this proof of mutual affection, what could theyresolve?--to dedicate their future lives to love! the resolution wasratified with a vow, on which Heaven shed its benediction. 

Fortunately, my mother's brother, Gabriel Bernard, fell in love with oneof my father's sisters; she had no objection to the match, but made themarriage of his sister with her brother an indispensable preliminary. Love soon removed every obstacle, and the two weddings were celebratedthe same day: thus my uncle became the husband of my aunt, and theirchildren were doubly cousins german. Before a year was expired, both hadthe happiness to become fathers, but were soon after obliged to submit toa separation. 

My uncle Bernard, who was an engineer, went to serve in the empire andHungary, under Prince Eugene, and distinguished himself both at the siegeand battle of Belgrade. My father, after the birth of my only brother, set off, on recommendation, for Constantinople, and was appointedwatchmaker to the Seraglio. During his absence, the beauty, wit, andaccomplishments of my mother attracted a number of admirers, among whomMons. De la Closure, Resident of France, was the most assiduous in hisattentions. 

 [They were too brilliant for her situation, the minister, her father, having bestowed great pains on her education. She was aught drawing, singing, and to play on the theorbo; had learning, and wrote very agreeable verses. The following is an extempore piece which she composed in the absence of her husband and brother, in a conversation with some person relative to them, while walking with her sister--in--law, and their two children:

 Ces deux messieurs, qui sont absens, Nous sont chers e bien des manieres; Ce sont nos amiss, nos amans, Ce sont nos maris et nos freres, Et les peres de ces enfans. 

 These absent ones, who just claim Our hearts, by every tender name, To whom each wish extends Our husbands and our brothers are, The fathers of this blooming pair, Our lovers and our friends. ]

His passion must have been extremely violent, since after a period ofthirty years I have seen him affected at the very mention of her name. My mother had a defence more powerful even than her virtue; she tenderlyloved my father, and conjured him to return; his inclination secondinghis request, he gave up every prospect of emolument, and hastened toGeneva. 

I was the unfortunate fruit of this return, being born ten months after, in a very weakly and infirm state; my birth cost my mother her life, andwas the first of my misfortunes. I am ignorant how my father supportedher loss at that time, but I know he was ever after inconsolable. In mehe still thought he saw her he so tenderly lamented, but could neverforget I had been the innocent cause of his misfortune, nor did he everembrace me, but his sighs, the convulsive pressure of his arms, witnessedthat a bitter regret mingled itself with his caresses, though, as may besupposed, they were not on this account less ardent. When he said to me, "Jean Jacques, let us talk of your mother, " my usual reply was, "Yes, father, but then, you know, we shall cry, " and immediately the tearsstarted from his eyes. "Ah!" exclaimed he, with agitation, "Give me backmy wife; at least console me for her loss; fill up, dear boy, the voidshe has left in my soul. Could I love thee thus wert thou only my son?"Forty years after this loss he expired in the arms of his second wife, but the name of the first still vibrated on his lips, still was her imageengraved on his heart. 

Such were the authors of my being: of all the gifts it had pleased Heavento bestow on them, a feeling heart was the only one that descended to me;this had been the source of their felicity, it was the foundation of allmy misfortunes. 

I came into the world with so few signs of life, that they entertainedbut little hope of preserving me, with the seeds of a disorder that hasgathered strength with years, and from which I am now relieved atintervals, only to suffer a different, though more intolerable evil. I owed my preservation to one of my father's sisters, an amiable andvirtuous girl, who took the most tender care of me; she is yet living, nursing, at the age of four--score, a husband younger than herself, butworn out with excessive drinking. Dear aunt! I freely forgive yourhaving preserved my life, and only lament that it is not in my power tobestow on the decline of your days the tender solicitude and care youlavished on the first dawn of mine. My nurse, Jaqueline, is likewiseliving: and in good health--the hands that opened my eyes to the light ofthis world may close them at my death. We suffer before we think; it isthe common lot of humanity. I experienced more than my proportion of it. I have no knowledge of what passed prior to my fifth or sixth year; Irecollect nothing of learning to read, I only remember what effect thefirst considerable exercise of it produced on my mind; and from thatmoment I date an uninterrupted knowledge of myself. 

Every night, after supper, we read some part of a small collection ofromances which had been my mother's. My father's design was only toimprove me in reading, and he thought these entertaining works werecalculated to give me a fondness for it; but we soon found ourselves sointerested in the adventures they contained, that we alternately readwhole nights together, and could not bear to give over until at theconclusion of a volume. Sometimes, in a morning, on hearing the swallowsat our window, my father, quite ashamed of this weakness, would cry, "Come, come, let us go to bed; I am more a child than thou art. "

I soon acquired, by this dangerous custom, not only an extreme facilityin reading and comprehending, but, for my age, a too intimateacquaintance with the passions. An infinity of sensations were familiarto me, without possessing any precise idea of the objects to which theyrelated--I had conceived nothing--I had felt the whole. This confusedsuccession of emotions did not retard the future efforts of my reason, though they added an extravagant, romantic notion of human life, whichexperience and reflection have never been able to eradicate. 

My romance reading concluded with the summer of 1719, the followingwinter was differently employed. My mother's library being quiteexhausted, we had recourse to that part of her father's which haddevolved to us; here we happily found some valuable books, which was byno means extraordinary, having been selected by a minister that trulydeserved that title, in whom learning (which was the rage of the times)was but a secondary commendation, his taste and good sense being mostconspicuous. The history of the Church and Empire by Le Sueur, Bossuett's Discourses on Universal History, Plutarch's Lives, the historyof Venice by Nani, Ovid's Metamorphoses, La Bruyere, Fontenelle's World, his Dialogues of the Dead, and a few volumes of Moliere, were soon rangedin my father's closet, where, during the hours he was employed in hisbusiness, I daily read them, with an avidity and taste uncommon, perhapsunprecedented at my age. 

Plutarch presently became my greatest favorite. The satisfaction Iderived from repeated readings I gave this author, extinguished mypassion for romances, and I shortly preferred Agesilaus, Brutus, andAristides, to Orondates, Artemenes, and Juba. These interestingstudies, seconded by the conversations they frequently occasioned with myfather, produced that republican spirit and love of liberty, that haughtyand invincible turn of mind, which rendered me impatient of restraint orservitude, and became the torment of my life, as I continually foundmyself in situations incompatible with these sentiments. Incessantlyoccupied with Rome and Athens, conversing, if I may so express myselfwith their illustrious heroes; born the citizen of a republic, of afather whose ruling passion was a love of his country, I was fired withthese examples; could fancy myself a Greek or Roman, and readily giveinto the character of the personage whose life I read; transported by therecital of any extraordinary instance of fortitude or intrepidity, animation flashed from my eyes, and gave my voice additional strength andenergy. One day, at table, while relating the fortitude of Scoevola, they were terrified at seeing me start from my seat and hold my hand overa hot chafing--dish, to represent more forcibly the action of thatdetermined Roman. 

My brother, who was seven years older than myself, was brought up to myfather's profession. The extraordinary affection they lavished on memight be the reason he was too much neglected: this certainly was a faultwhich cannot be justified. His education and morals suffered by thisneglect, and he acquired the habits of a libertine before he arrived atan age to be really one. My father tried what effect placing him with amaster would produce, but he still persisted in the same ill conduct. Though I saw him so seldom that it could hardly be said we wereacquainted. I loved him tenderly, and believe he had as strong anaffection for me as a youth of his dissipated turn of mind could besupposed capable of. One day, I remember, when my father was correctinghim severely, I threw myself between them, embracing my brother, whom Icovered with my body, receiving the strokes designed for him; I persistedso obstinately in my protection, that either softened by my cries andtears, or fearing to hurt me most, his anger subsided, and he pardonedhis fault. In the end, my brother's conduct became so bad that hesuddenly disappeared, and we learned some time after that he was inGermany, but he never wrote to us, and from that day we heard no news ofhim: thus I became an only son. 

If this poor lad was neglected, it was quite different with his brother, for the children of a king could not be treated with more attention andtenderness than were bestowed on my infancy, being the darling of thefamily; and what is rather uncommon, though treated as a beloved, nevera spoiled child; was never permitted, while under paternal inspection, to play in the street with other children; never had any occasion tocontradict or indulge those fantastical humors which are usuallyattributed to nature, but are in reality the effects of an injudiciouseducation. I had the faults common to my age, was talkative, a glutton, and sometimes a liar, made no scruple of stealing sweetmeats, fruits, or, indeed, any kind of eatables; but never took delight in mischievouswaste, in accusing others, or tormenting harmless animals. I recollect, indeed, that one day, while Madam Clot, a neighbor of ours, was gone tochurch, I made water in her kettle: the remembrance even now makes mesmile, for Madame Clot (though, if you please, a good sort of creature)was one of the most tedious grumbling old women I ever knew. Thus have Igiven a brief, but faithful, history of my childish transgressions. 

How could I become cruel or vicious, when I had before my eyes onlyexamples of mildness, and was surrounded by some of the best people inthe world? My father, my aunt, my nurse, my relations, our friends, ourneighbors, all I had any connection with, did not obey me, it is true, but loved me tenderly, and I returned their affection. I found so littleto excite my desires, and those I had were so seldom contradicted, that Iwas hardly sensible of possessing any, and can solemnly aver I was anabsolute stranger to caprice until after I had experienced the authorityof a master. 

Those hours that were not employed in reading or writing with my father, or walking with my governess, Jaqueline, I spent with my aunt; andwhether seeing her embroider, or hearing her sing, whether sitting orstanding by her side, I was ever happy. Her tenderness and unaffectedgayety, the charms of her figure and countenance have left such indelibleimpressions on my mind, that her manner, look, and attitude are stillbefore my eyes; I recollect a thousand little caressing questions; coulddescribe her clothes, her head-dress, nor have the two curls of fineblack hair which hung on her temples, according to the mode of that time, escaped my memory. 

Though my taste, or rather passion, for music, did not show itself untila considerable time after, I am fully persuaded it is to her I amindebted for it. She knew a great number of songs, which she sung withgreat sweetness and melody. The serenity and cheerfulness which wereconspicuous in this lovely girl, banished melancholy, and made all roundher happy. 

The charms of her voice had such an effect on me, that not only severalof her songs have ever since remained on my memory, but some I have notthought of from my infancy, as I grow old, return upon my mind with acharm altogether inexpressible. Would any one believe that an old dotardlike me, worn out with care and infirmity, should sometime surprisehimself weeping like a child, and in a voice querulous, and broken byage, muttering out one of those airs which were the favorites of myinfancy? There is one song in particular, whose tune I perfectlyrecollect, but the words that compose the latter half of it constantlyrefuse every effort to recall them, though I have a confused idea of therhymes. The beginning, with what I have been able to recollect of theremainder, is as follows:

 Tircis, je n'ose Ecouter ton Chalumeau Sous l'Ormeau; Car on en cause Deja dans notre hameau. ---- ---- ------- ------ --- un Berger s'engager sans danger, Et toujours l'epine est sons la rose. 

I have endeavored to account for the invincible charm my heart feels onthe recollection of this fragment, but it is altogether inexplicable. I only know, that before I get to the end of it, I always find my voiceinterrupted by tenderness, and my eyes suffused with tears. I have ahundred times formed the resolution of writing to Paris for the remainderof these words, if any one should chance to know them: but I am almostcertain the pleasure I take in the recollection would be greatlydiminished was I assured any one but my poor aunt Susan had sung them. 

Such were my affections on entering this life. Thus began to form anddemonstrate itself, a heart, at once haughty and tender, a charactereffeminate, yet invincible; which, fluctuating between weakness andcourage, luxury and virtue, has ever set me in contradiction to myself;causing abstinence and enjoyment, pleasure and prudence, equally to shunme. 

This course of education was interrupted by an accident, whoseconsequences influenced the rest of my life. My father had a quarrelwith M. G----, who had a captain's commission in France, and was relatedto several of the Council. This G----, who was an insolent, ungenerousman, happening to bleed at the nose, in order to be revenged, accused myfather of having drawn his sword on him in the city, and in consequenceof this charge they were about to conduct him to prison. He insisted(according to the law of this republic) that the accuser should beconfined at the same time; and not being able to obtain this, preferred avoluntary banishment for the remainder of his life, to giving up a pointby which he must sacrifice his honor and liberty. 

I remained under the tuition of my uncle Bernard, who was at that timeemployed in the fortifications of Geneva. He had lost his eldestdaughter, but had a son about my own age, and we were sent together toBossey, to board with the Minister Lambercier. Here we were to learnLatin, with all the insignificant trash that has obtained the name ofeducation. 

Two years spent in this village softened, in some degree, my Romanfierceness, and again reduced me to a state of childhood. At Geneva, where nothing was exacted, I loved reading, which was, indeed, myprincipal amusement; but, at Bossey, where application was expected, I was fond of play as a relaxation. The country was so new, so charmingin my idea, that it seemed impossible to find satiety in its enjoyments, and I conceived a passion for rural life, which time has not been able toextinguish; nor have I ever ceased to regret the pure and tranquilpleasures I enjoyed at this place in my childhood; the remembrance havingfollowed me through every age, even to that in which I am hastening againtowards it. 

M. Lambercier was a worthy, sensible man, who, without neglecting ourinstruction, never made our acquisitions burthensome, or tasks tedious. What convinces me of the rectitude of his method is, that notwithstandingmy extreme aversion to restraint, the recollection of my studies is neverattended with disgust; and, if my improvement was trivial, it wasobtained with ease, and has never escaped memory. 

The simplicity of this rural life was of infinite advantage in opening myheart to the reception of true friendship. The sentiments I had hithertoformed on this subject were extremely elevated, but altogether imaginary. The habit of living in this peaceful manner soon united me tenderly to mycousin Bernard; my affection was more ardent than that I had felt for mybrother, nor has time ever been able to efface it. He was a tall, lank, weakly boy, with a mind as mild as his body was feeble, and who did notwrong the good opinion they were disposed to entertain for the son of myguardian. Our studies, amusements, and tasks, were the same; we werealone; each wanted a playmate; to separate would in some measure, havebeen to annihilate us. Though we had not many opportunities ofdemonstrating our attachment to each other, it was certainly extreme; andso far from enduring the thought of separation, we could not even form anidea that we should ever be able to submit to it. Each of a dispositionto be won by kindness, and complaisant, when not soured by contradiction, we agreed in every particular. If, by the favor of those who governed ushe had the ascendant while in their presence, I was sure to acquire itwhen we were alone, and this preserved the equilibrium so necessary infriendship. If he hesitated in repeating his task, I prompted him; whenmy exercises were finished, I helped to write his; and, in ouramusements, my disposition being most active, ever had the lead. In aword, our characters accorded so well, and the friendship that subsistedbetween us was so cordial, that during the five years we were at Bosseyand Geneva we were inseparable: we often fought, it is true, but therenever was any occasion to separate us. No one of our quarrels lastedmore than a quarter of an hour, and never in our lives did we make anycomplaint of each other. It may be said, these remarks are frivolous;but, perhaps, a similiar example among children can hardly be produced. 

The manner in which I passed my time at Bossey was so agreeable to mydisposition, that it only required a longer duration absolutely to havefixed my character, which would have had only peaceable, affectionate, benevolent sentiments for its basis. I believe no individual of our kindever possessed less natural vanity than myself. At intervals, by anextraordinary effort, I arrived at sublime ideas, but presently sunkagain into my original languor. To be loved by every one who knew me wasmy most ardent wish. I was naturally mild, my cousin was equally so, andthose who had the care of us were of similiar dispositions. Everythingcontributed to strengthen those propensities which nature had implantedin my breast, and during the two years I was neither the victim norwitness of any violent emotions. 

I knew nothing so delightful as to see every one content, not only withme, but all that concerned them. When repeating our catechism at church, nothing could give me greater vexation, on being obliged to hesitate, than to see Miss Lambercier's countenance express disapprobation anduneasiness. This alone was more afflicting to me than the shame offaltering before so many witnesses, which, notwithstanding, wassufficiently painful; for though not oversolicitous of praise, I wasfeelingly alive to shame; yet I can truly affirm, the dread of beingreprimanded by Miss Lambercier alarmed me less than the thought of makingher uneasy. 

Neither she nor her brother were deficient in a reasonable severity, butas this was scarce ever exerted without just cause, I was more afflictedat their disapprobation than the punishment. Certainly the method oftreating youth would be altered if the distant effects, thisindiscriminate, and frequently indiscreet method produces, were moreconspicuous. I would willingly excuse myself from a further explanation, did not the lesson this example conveys (which points out an evil asfrequent as it is pernicious) forbid my silence. 

As Miss Lambercier felt a mother's affection, she sometimes exerted amother's authority, even to inflicting on us when we deserved it, thepunishment of infants. She had often threatened it, and this threat of atreatment entirely new, appeared to me extremely dreadful; but I foundthe reality much less terrible than the idea, and what is still moreunaccountable, this punishment increased my affection for the person whohad inflicted it. All this affection, aided by my natural mildness, wasscarcely sufficient to prevent my seeking, by fresh offences, a return ofthe same chastisement; for a degree of sensuality had mingled with thesmart and shame, which left more desire than fear of a repetition. I waswell convinced the same discipline from her brother would have produced aquite contrary effect; but from a man of his disposition this was notprobable, and if I abstained from meriting correction it was merely froma fear of offending Miss Lambercier, for benevolence, aided by thepassions, has ever maintained an empire over me which has given law to myheart. 

This event, which, though desirable, I had not endeavored to accelerate, arrived without my fault; I should say, without my seeking; and Iprofited by it with a safe conscience; but this second, was also the lasttime, for Miss Lambercier, who doubtless had some reason to imagine thischastisement did not produce the desired effect, declared it was toofatiguing, and that she renounced it for the future. Till now we hadslept in her chamber, and during the winter, even in her bed; but twodays after another room was prepared for us, and from that moment I hadthe honor (which I could very well have dispensed with) of being treatedby her as a great boy. 

Who would believe this childish discipline, received at eight years old, from the hands of a woman of thirty, should influence my propensities, my desires, my passions, for the rest of my life, and that in quite acontrary sense from what might naturally have been expected? The veryincident that inflamed my senses, gave my desires such an extraordinaryturn, that, confined to what I had already experienced, I sought nofurther, and, with blood boiling with sensuality, almost from my birth, preserved my purity beyond the age when the coldest constitutions losetheir insensibility; long tormented, without knowing by what, I gazed onevery handsome woman with delight; imagination incessantly brought theircharms to my remembrance, only to transform them into so many MissLamberciers. 

If ever education was perfectly chaste, it was certainly that I received;my three aunts were not only of exemplary prudence, but maintained adegree of modest reserve which women have long since thought unnecessary. My father, it is true, loved pleasure, but his gallantry was rather ofthe last than the present century, and he never expressed his affectionfor any woman he regarded in terms a virgin could have blushed at;indeed, it was impossible more attention should be paid to that regard weowe the morals of children than was uniformly observed by every one I hadany concern with. An equal degree of reserve in this particular wasobserved at M. Lambercier's, where a good maid-servant was discharged forhaving once made use of an expression before us which was thought tocontain some degree of indelicacy. I had no precise idea of the ultimateeffect of the passions, but the conception I had formed was extremelydisgusting; I entertained a particular aversion for courtesans, nor couldI look on a rake without a degree of disdain mingled with terror. 

These prejudices of education, proper in themselves to retard the firstexplosions of a combustible constitution, were strengthened, as I havealready hinted, by the effect the first moments of sensuality produced inme, for notwithstanding the troublesome ebullition of my blood, I wassatisfied with the species of voluptuousness I had already beenacquainted with, and sought no further. 

Thus I passed the age of puberty, with a constitution extremely ardent, without knowing or even wishing for any other gratification of thepassions than what Miss Lambercier had innocently given me an idea of;and when I became a man, that childish taste, instead of vanishing, onlyassociated with the other. This folly, joined to a natural timidity, hasalways prevented my being very enterprising with women, so that I havepassed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admired, without daring to disclose my wishes. 

To fall at the feet of an imperious mistress, obey her mandates, orimplore pardon, were for me the most exquisite enjoyments, and the moremy blood was inflamed by the efforts of a lively imagination the more Iacquired the appearance of a whining lover. 

It will be readily conceived that this mode of making love is notattended with a rapid progress or imminent danger to the virtue of itsobject; yet, though I have few favors to boast of, I have not beenexcluded from enjoyment, however imaginary. Thus the senses, inconcurrence with a mind equally timid and romantic, have preserved mymoral chaste, and feelings uncorrupted, with precisely the sameinclinations, which, seconded with a moderate portion of effrontery, might have plunged me into the most unwarrantable excesses. 

I have made the first, most difficult step, in the obscure and painfulmaze of my Confessions. We never feel so great a degree of repugnance indivulging what is really criminal, as what is merely ridiculous. I amnow assured of my resolution, for after what I have dared disclose, nothing can have power to deter me. The difficulty attending theseacknowledgments will be readily conceived, when I declare, that duringthe whole of my life, though frequently laboring under the most violentagitation, being hurried away with the impetuosity of a passion which(when in company with those I loved) deprived me of the faculty of sightand hearing, I could never, in the course of the most unboundedfamiliarity, acquire sufficient resolution to declare my folly, andimplore the only favor that remained to bestow. 

In thus investigating the first traces of my sensible existence, I findelements, which, though seemingly incompatible, have united to produce asimple and uniform effect; while others, apparently the same, have, bythe concurrence of certain circumstances, formed such differentcombinations, that it would never be imagined they had any affinity; whowould believe, for example, that one of the most vigorous springs of mysoul was tempered in the identical source from whence luxury and easemingled with my constitution and circulated in my veins? Before I quitthis subject, I will add a striking instance of the different effectsthey produced. 

One day, while I was studying in a chamber contiguous to the kitchen, themaid set some of Miss Lambercier's combs to dry by the fire, and oncoming to fetch them some time after, was surprised to find the teeth ofone of them broken off. Who could be suspected of this mischief? No onebut myself had entered the room: I was questioned, but denied having anyknowledge of it. Mr. And Miss Lambercier consult, exhort, threaten, butall to no purpose; I obstinately persist in the denial; and, though thiswas the first time I had been detected in a confirmed falsehood, appearances were so strong that they overthrew all my protestations. This affair was thought serious; the mischief, the lie, the obstinacy, were considered equally deserving of punishment, which was not now to beadministered by Miss Lambercier. My uncle Bernard was written to; hearrived; and my poor cousin being charged with a crime no less serious, we were conducted to the same execution, which was inflicted with greatseverity. If finding a remedy in the evil itself, they had sought everto allay my depraved desires, they could not have chosen a shorter methodto accomplish their designs, and, I can assure my readers, I was for along time freed from the dominion of them. 

As this severity could not draw from me the expected acknowledgment, which obstinacy brought on several repetitions, and reduced me to adeplorable situation, yet I was immovable, and resolutely determined tosuffer death rather than submit. Force, at length, was obliged to yieldto the diabolical infatuation of a child, for no better name was bestowedon my constancy, and I came out of this dreadful trial, torn, it is true, but triumphant. Fifty years have expired since this adventure--the fearof punishment is no more. Well, then, I aver, in the face of Heaven, Iwas absolutely innocent: and, so far from breaking, or even touching thecomb, never came near the fire. It will be asked, how did this mischiefhappen? I can form no conception of it, I only know my own innocence. 

Let any one figure to himself a character whose leading traits weredocility and timidity, but haughty, ardent, and invincible, in itspassions; a child, hitherto governed by the voice of reason, treated withmildness, equity, and complaisance, who could not even support the ideaof injustice, experiencing, for the first time, so violent an instance ofit, inflicted by those he most loved and respected. What perversion ofideas! What confusion in the heart, the brain, in all my little being, intelligent and moral!--let any one, I say, if possible, imagine allthis, for I am incapable of giving the least idea of what passed in mymind at that period. 

My reason was not sufficiently established to enable me to put myself inthe place of others, and judge how much appearances condemned me, I onlybeheld the rigor of a dreadful chastisement, inflicted for a crime I hadnot committed; yet I can truly affirm, the smart I suffered, thoughviolent, was inconsiderable compared to what I felt from indignation, rage, and despair. My cousin, who was almost in similar circumstances, having been punished for an involuntary fault as guilty of a premediatedcrime, became furious by my example. Both in the same bed, we embracedeach other with convulsive transport; we were almost suffocated; and whenour young hearts found sufficient relief to breathe out our indigination, we sat up in the bed, and with all our force, repeated a hundred times, Carnifex! Carnifex! Carnifex! executioner, tormentor. 

Even while I write this I feel my pulse quicken, and should I live ahundred thousand years, the agitation of that moment would still be freshin my memory. The first instance of violence and oppression is so deeplyengraved on my soul, that every relative idea renews my emotion: thesentiment of indignation, which in its origin had reference only tomyself, has acquired such strength, and is at present so completelydetached from personal motives, that my heart is as much inflamed at thesight or relation of any act of injustice (whatever may be the object, orwheresoever it may be perpetrated) as if I was the immediate sufferer. When I read the history of a merciless tyrant, or the dark and the subtlemachination of a knavish designing priest, I could on the instant set offto stab the miscreants, though I was certain to perish in the attempt. 

I have frequently fatigued myself by running after and stoning a cock, acow, a dog, or any animal I saw tormenting another, only because it wasconscious of possessing superior strength. This may be natural to me, and I am inclined to believe it is, though the lively impression of thefirst injustice I became the victim of was too long and too powerfullyremembered not to have added considerable force to it. 

This occurrence terminated my infantine serenity; from that moment Iceased to enjoy a pure unadulterated happiness, and on a retrospection ofthe pleasure of my childhood, I yet feel they ended here. We continue atBossey some months after this event, but were like our first parents inthe Garden of Eden after they had lost their innocence; in appearance oursituation was the same, in effect it was totally different. 

Affection, respect; intimacy, confidence, no longer attached the pupilsto their guides; we beheld them no longer as divinities, who could readthe secrets of our hearts; we were less ashamed of committing faults, more afraid of being accused of them: we learned to dissemble, to rebel, to lie: all the vices common to our years began to corrupt our happyinnocence, mingle with our sports, and embitter our amusements. Thecountry itself, losing those sweet and simple charms which captivate theheart, appeared a gloomy desert, or covered with a veil that concealedits beauties. We cultivated our little gardens no more: our flowers wereneglected. We no longer scratched away the mould, and broke out intoexclamations of delight, on discovering that the grain we had sown beganto shoot. We were disgusted with our situation; our preceptors wereweary of us. In a word, my uncle wrote for our return, and we left Mr. And Miss Lambercier without feeling any regret at the separation. 

Near thirty years passed away from my leaving Bossey, without oncerecalling the place to my mind with any degree of satisfaction; but afterhaving passed the prime of life, as I decline into old age (while morerecent occurrences are wearing out apace) I feel these remembrancesrevive and imprint themselves on my heart, with a force and charm thatevery day acquires fresh strength; as if, feeling life fleet from me, I endeavored to catch it again by its commencement. The most triflingincident of those happy days delight me, for no other reason than beingof those days. I recall every circumstance of time, place, and persons;I see the maid or footman busy in the chamber, a swallow entering thewindow, a fly settling on my hand while repeating my lessons. I see thewhole economy of the apartment; on the right hand Mr. Lambercier'scloset, with a print representing all the popes, a barometer, a largealmanac, the windows of the house (which stood in a hollow at the bottomof the garden) shaded by raspberry shrubs, whose shoots sometimes foundentrance; I am sensible the reader has no occasion to know all this, butI feel a kind of necessity for relating it. Why am I not permitted torecount all the little anecdotes of that thrice happy age, at therecollection of whose joys I ever tremble with delight? Five or sixparticularly--let us compromise the matter--I will give up five, butthen I must have one, and only one, provided I may draw it out to itsutmost length, in order to prolong my satisfaction. 

If I only sought yours, I should choose that of Miss Lambercier'sbackside, which by an unlucky fall at the bottom of the meadow, wasexposed to the view of the King of Sardinia, who happened to be passingby; but that of the walnut tree on the terrace is more amusing to me, since here I was an actor, whereas, in the abovementioned scene I wasonly a spectator; and I must confess I see nothing that should occasionrisibility in an accident, which, however laughable in itself, alarmed mefor a person I loved as a mother, or perhaps something more. 

Ye curious readers, whose expectations are already on the stretch for thenoble history of the terrace, listen to the tragedy, and abstain fromtrembling, if you can, at the horrible catastrophe!

At the outside of the courtyard door, on the left hand, was a terrace;here they often sat after dinner; but it was subject to oneinconvenience, being too much exposed to the rays of the sun; to obviatethis defect, Mr. Lambercier had a walnut tree set there, the planting ofwhich was attended with great solemnity. The two boarders weregodfathers, and while the earth was replacing round the root, each heldthe tree with one hand, singing songs of triumph. In order to water itwith more effect, they formed a kind of luson around its foot: myself andcousin, who were every day ardent spectators of this watering, confirmedeach other in the very natural idea that it was nobler to plant trees onthe terrace than colors on a breach, and this glory we were resolved toprocure without dividing it with any one. 

In pursuance of this resolution, we cut a slip off a willow, and plantedit on the terrace, at about eight or ten feet distance from the augustwalnut tree. We did not forget to make a hollow round it, but thedifficulty was how to procure a supply of water, which was brought from aconsiderable distance, and we not permitted to fetch it: but water wasabsolutely necessary for our willow, and we made use of every stratagemto obtain it. 

For a few days everything succeeded so well that it began to bud, andthrow out small leaves, which we hourly measured convinced (tho' nowscarce a foot from the ground) it would soon afford us a refreshingshade. This unfortunate willow, by engrossing our whole time, renderedus incapable of application to any other study, and the cause of ourinattention not being known, we were kept closer than before. The fatalmoment approached when water must fail, and we were already afflictedwith the idea that our tree must perish with drought. At lengthnecessity, the parent of industry, suggested an invention, by which wemight save our tree from death, and ourselves from despair; it was tomake a furrow underground, which would privately conduct a part of thewater from the walnut tree to our willow. This undertaking was executedwith ardor, but did not immediately succeed--our descent was notskilfully planned--the water did not run, the earth falling in andstopping up the furrow; yet, though all went contrary, nothingdiscouraged us, 'omnia vincit labor improbus'. We made the bason deeper, to give the water a more sensible descent; we cut the bottom of a boxinto narrow planks; increased the channel from the walnut tree to ourwillow and laying a row flat at the bottom, set two others incliningtowards each other, so as to form a triangular channel; we formed a kindof grating with small sticks at the end next the walnut tree, to preventthe earth and stones from stopping it up, and having carefully coveredour work with well--trodden earth, in a transport of hope and fearattended the hour of watering. After an interval, which seemed an age ofexpectation, this hour arrived. Mr. Lambercier, as usual, assisted atthe operation; we contrived to get between him and our tree, towardswhich he fortunately turned his back. They no sooner began to pour thefirst pail of water, than we perceived it running to the willow; thissight was too much for our prudence, and we involuntarily expressed ourtransport by a shout of joy. The sudden exclamation made Mr. Lambercierturn about, though at that instant he was delighted to observe howgreedily the earth, which surrounded the root of his walnut tree, imbibedthe water. Surprised at seeing two trenches partake of it, he shouted inhis turn, examines, perceives the roguery, and, sending instantly for apick axe, at one fatal blow makes two or three of our planks fly, cryingout meantime with all his strength, an aqueduct! an aqueduct! Hisstrokes redoubled, every one of which made an impression on our hearts;in a moment the planks, the channel, the bason, even our favorite willow, all were ploughed up, nor was one word pronounced during this terribletransaction, except the above mentioned exclamation. An aqueduct!repeated he, while destroying all our hopes, an aqueduct! an aqueduct!

It maybe supposed this adventure had a still more melancholy end for theyoung architects; this, however, was not the case; the affair ended here. Mr. Lambercier never reproached us on this account, nor was hiscountenance clouded with a frown; we even heard him mention thecircumstance to his sister with loud bursts of laughter. The laugh ofMr. Lambercier might be heard to a considerable distance. But what isstill more surprising after the first transport of sorrow had subsided, we did not find ourselves violently afflicted; we planted a tree inanother spot, and frequently recollected the catastrophe of the former, repeating with a significant emphasis, an aqueduct! an aqueduct!Till then, at intervals, I had fits of ambition, and could fancy myselfBrutus or Aristides, but this was the first visible effect of my vanity. To have constructed an aqueduct with our own hands, to have set a slip ofwillow in competition with a flourishing tree, appeared to me a supremedegree of glory! I had a juster conception of it at ten than Caesarentertained at thirty. 

The idea of this walnut tree, with the little anecdotes it gave rise to, have so well continued, or returned to my memory, that the design whichconveyed the most pleasing sensations, during my journey to Geneva, inthe year 1754, was visiting Bossey, and reviewing the monuments of myinfantine amusement, above all, the beloved walnut tree, whose age atthat time must have been verging on a third of a century, but I was sobeset with company that I could not find a moment to accomplish mydesign. There is little appearance now of the occasion being renewed;but should I ever return to that charming spot, and find my favoritewalnut tree still existing, I am convinced I should water it with mytears. 

On my return to Geneva, I passed two or three years at my uncle's, expecting the determination of my friends respecting my futureestablishment. His own son being devoted to genius, was taught drawing, and instructed by his father in the elements of Euclid; I partook ofthese instructions, but was principally fond of drawing. Meantime, theywere irresolute, whether to make me a watchmaker, a lawyer, or aminister. I should have preferred being a minister, as I thought it mustbe a charming thing to preach, but the trifling income which had been mymother's, and was to be divided between my brother and myself, was tooinconsiderable to defray the expense attending the prosecution of mystudies. As my age did not render the choice very pressing, I remainedwith my uncle, passing my time with very little improvement, and payingpretty dear, though not unreasonably, for my board. 

My uncle, like my father, was a man of pleasure, but had not learned, like him, to abridge his amusements for the sake of instructing hisfamily, consequently our education was neglected. My aunt was a devotee, who loved singing psalms better than thinking of our improvement, so thatwe were left entirely to ourselves, which liberty we never abused. 

Ever inseparable, we were all the world to each other; and, feeling noinclination to frequent the company of a number of disorderly lads of ourown age, we learned none of those habits of libertinism to which our idlelife exposed us. Perhaps I am wrong in charging myself and cousin withidleness at this time, for, in our lives, we were never less so; and whatwas extremely fortunate, so incessantly occupied with our amusements, that we found no temptation to spend any part of our time in the streets. We made cages, pipes, kites, drums, houses, ships, and bows; spoiled thetools of my good old grandfather by endeavoring to make watches inimitation of him; but our favorite amusement was wasting paper, indrawing, washing, coloring, etc. There came an Italian mountebank toGeneva, called Gamber-Corta, who had an exhibition of puppets, that hemade play a kind of comedy. We went once to see them, but could notspare time to go again, being busily employed in making puppets of ourown and inventing comedies, which we immediately set about making themperform, mimicking to the best of our abilities the uncouth voice ofPunch; and, to complete the business, my good aunt and uncle Bernard hadthe patience to see and listen to our imitations; but my uncle, havingone day read an elaborate discourse to his family, we instantly gave upour comedies, and began composing sermons. 

These details, I confess, are not very amusing, but they serve todemonstrate that the former part of our education was well directed, since being, at such an early age, the absolute masters of our time, we found no inclination to abuse it; and so little in want of othercompanions, that we constantly neglected every occasion of seeking them. When taking our walks together, we observed their diversions withoutfeeling any inclination to partake of them. Friendship so entirelyoccupied our hearts, that, pleased with each other's company the simplestpastimes were sufficient to delight us. 

We were soon remarked for being thus inseparable: and what rendered usmore conspicuous, my cousin was very tall, myself extremely short, sothat we exhibited a very whimsical contrast. This meagre figure, small, sallow countenance, heavy air, and supine gait, excited the ridicule ofthe children, who, in the gibberish of the country, nicknamed him 'BarnaBredanna'; and we no sooner got out of doors than our ears were assailedwith a repetition of "Barna Bredanna. " He bore this indignity withtolerable patience, but I was instantly for fighting. This was what theyoung rogues aimed at. I engaged accordingly, and was beat. My poorcousin did all in his power to assist me, but he was weak, and a singlestroke brought him to the ground. I then became furious, and receivedseveral smart blows, some of which were aimed at 'Barna Bredanna'. Thisquarrel so far increased the evil, that, to avoid their insults, we couldonly show ourselves in the streets while they were employed at school. 

I had already become a redresser of grievances; there only wanted a ladyin the way to be a knight-errant in form. This defect was soon supplied;I presently had two. I frequently went to see my father at Nion, a smallcity in the Vaudois country, where he was now settled. Being universallyrespected, the affection entertained for him extended to me: and, duringmy visits, the question seemed to be, who should show me most kindness. A Madame de Vulson, in particular, loaded me with caresses; and, tocomplete all, her daughter made me her gallant. I need not explain whatkind of gallant a boy of eleven must be to a girl of two and twenty; theartful hussies know how to set these puppets up in front, to conceal moreserious engagements. On my part I saw no inequality between myself andMiss Vulson, was flattered by the circumstance, and went into it with mywhole heart, or rather my whole head, for this passion certainly reachedno further, though it transported me almost to madness, and frequentlyproduced scenes sufficient to make even a cynic expire with laughter. 

I have experienced two kinds of love, equally real, which have scarce anyaffinity, yet each differing materially from tender friendship. My wholelife has been divided between these affections, and I have frequentlyfelt the power of both at the same instant. For example, at the verytime I so publically and tyrannically claimed Miss Vulson, that I couldnot suffer any other of my sex to approach her, I had short, butpassionate, assignations with a Miss Goton, who thought proper to act theschoolmistress with me. Our meetings, though absolutely childish, afforded me the height of happiness. I felt the whole charm of mystery, and repaid Miss Vulson in kind, when she least expected it, the use shemade of me in concealing her amours. To my great mortification, thissecret was soon discovered, and I presently lost my young schoolmistress. 

Miss Goton was, in fact, a singular personage. She was not handsome, yet there was a certain something in her figure which could not easilybe forgotten, and this for an old fool, I am too often convinced of. Her eyes, in particular, neither corresponded with her age, her height, nor her manner; she had a lofty imposing air, which agreed extremely wellwith the character she assumed, but the most extraordinary part of hercomposition was a mixture of forwardness and reserve difficult to beconceived; and while she took the greatest liberties with me, would neverpermit any to be taken with her in return, treating me precisely like achild. This makes me suppose she had either ceased herself to be one, or was yet sufficiently so to behold us play the danger to which thisfolly exposed her. 

I was so absolutely in the power of both these mistresses, that when inthe presence of either, I never thought of her who was absent; in otherrespects, the effects they produced on me bore no affinity. I could havepassed my whole life with Miss Vulson, without forming a wish to quither; but then, my satisfaction was attended with a pleasing serenity;and, in numerous companies, I was particularly charmed with her. Thesprightly sallies of her wit, the arch glance of her eye, even jealousyitself, strengthened my attachment, and I triumphed in the preference sheseemed to bestow on me, while addressed by more powerful rivals;applause, encouragement, and smiles, gave animation to my happiness. Surrounded by a throng of observers, I felt the whole force of love--Iwas passionate, transported; in a tete-a-tete, I should have beenconstrained, thoughtful, perhaps unhappy. If Miss Vulson was ill, Isuffered with her; would willingly have given up my own health toestablish hers (and, observe I knew the want of it from experience); ifabsent, she employed my thoughts, I felt the want of her; when present, her caresses came with warmth and rapture to my heart, though my senseswere unaffected. The familiarities she bestowed on me I could not havesupported the idea of her granting to another; I loved her with abrother's affection only, but experienced all the jealousy of a lover. 

With Miss Goton this passion might have acquired a degree of fury; Ishould have been a Turk, a tiger, had I once imagined she bestowed herfavors on any but myself. The pleasure I felt on approaching Miss Vulsonwas sufficiently ardent, though unattended with uneasy sensations; but atsight of Miss Goton, I felt myself bewildered--every sense was absorbedin ecstasy. I believe it would have been impossible to have remainedlong with her; I must have been suffocated with the violence of mypalpitations. I equally dreaded giving either of them displeasure; withone I was more complaisant; with the other, more submissive. I would nothave offended Miss Vulson for the world; but if Miss Goton had commandedme to throw myself into the flames, I think I should have instantlyobeyed her. Happily, both for her and myself, our amours; or ratherrendezvous, were not of long duration: and though my connection with MissVulson was less dangerous, after a continuance of some greater length, that likewise had its catastrophe; indeed the termination of a loveaffair is good for nothing, unless it partakes of the romantic, and canfurnish out at least an exclamation. 

Though my correspondence with Miss Vulson was less animated, it wasperhaps more endearing; we never separated without tears, and it canhardly be conceived what a void I felt in my heart. I could neitherthink nor speak of anything but her. These romantic sorrows were notaffected, though I am inclined to believe they did not absolutely centrein her, for I am persuaded (though I did not perceive it at that time)being deprived of amusement bore a considerable share in them. 

To soften the rigor of absence, we agreed to correspond with each other, and the pathetic expressions these letters contained were sufficient tohave split a rock. In a word, I had the honor of her not being able toendure the pain of separation. She came to see me at Geneva. 

My head was now completely turned; and during the two days she remainedhere, I was intoxicated with delight. At her departure, I would havethrown myself into the water after her, and absolutely rent the air withmy cries. The week following she sent me sweetmeats, gloves, etc. Thiscertainly would have appeared extremely gallant, had I not been informedof her marriage at the same instant, and that the journey I had thoughtproper to give myself the honor of, was only to buy her wedding suit. 

My indignation may easily be conceived; I shall not attempt to describeit. In this heroic fury, I swore never more to see the perfidious girl, supposing it the greatest punishment that could be inflicted on her. This, however, did not occasion her death, for twenty years after, whileon a visit to my father, being on the lake, I asked who those ladies werein a boat not far from ours. "What!" said my father smiling, "does notyour heart inform you? It is your former flame, it is Madame Christin, or, if you please, Miss Vulson. " I started at the almost forgotten name, and instantly ordered the waterman to turn off, not judging it worthwhile to be perjured, however favorable the opportunity for revenge, inrenewing a dispute of twenty years past, with a woman of forty. 

Thus, before my future destination was determined, did I fool away themost precious moments of my youth. After deliberating a long time on thebent of my natural inclination, they resolved to dispose of me in amanner the most repugnant to them. I was sent to Mr. Masseron, the CityRegister, to learn (according to the expression of my uncle Bernard) thethriving occupation of a scraper. This nickname was inconceivablydispleasing to me, and I promised myself but little satisfaction in theprospect of heaping up money by a mean employment. The assiduity andsubjection required, completed my disgust, and I never set foot in theoffice without feeling a kind of horror, which every day gained freshstrength. 

Mr. Masseron, who was not better pleased with my abilities than I waswith the employment, treated me with disdain, incessantly upbraiding mewith being a fool and blockhead, not forgetting to repeat, that my unclehad assured him I was a knowing one, though he could not find that I knewanything. That he had promised to furnish him with a sprightly boy, buthad, in truth, sent him an ass. To conclude, I was turned out of theregistry, with the additional ignominy of being pronounced a fool by allMr. Masseron's clerks, and fit only to handle a file. 

My vocation thus determined, I was bound apprentice; not, however, to awatchmaker, but to an engraver, and I had been so completely humiliatedby the contempt of the register, that I submitted without a murmur. Mymaster, whose name was M. Ducommon, was a young man of a very violent andboorish character, who contrived in a short time to tarnish all theamiable qualities of my childhood, to stupefy a disposition naturallysprightly, and reduce my feelings, as well as my condition, to anabsolute state of servitude. I forgot my Latin, history, andantiquities; I could hardly recollect whether such people as Romans everexisted. When I visited my father, he no longer beheld his idol, norcould the ladies recognize the gallant Jean Jacques; nay, I was so wellconvinced that Mr. And Miss Lambercier would scarce receive me as theirpupil, that I endeavored to avoid their company, and from that time havenever seen them. The vilest inclinations, the basest actions, succeededmy amiable amusements and even obliterated the very remembrance of them. I must have had, in spite of my good education, a great propensity todegenerate, else the declension could not have followed with such easeand rapidity, for never did so promising a Caesar so quickly become aLaradon. 

The art itself did not displease me. I had a lively taste for drawing. There was nothing displeasing in the exercise of the graver; and as itrequired no very extraordinary abilities to attain perfection as awatchcase engraver, I hoped to arrive at it. Perhaps I should haveaccomplished my design, if unreasonable restraint, added to the brutalityof my master, had not rendered my business disgusting. I wasted histime, and employed myself in engraving medals, which served me and mycompanions as a kind of insignia for a new invented order of chivalry, and though this differed very little from my usual employ, I consideredit as a relaxation. Unfortunately, my master caught me at thiscontraband labor, and a severe beating was the consequence. Hereproached me at the same time with attempting to make counterfeit moneybecause our medals bore the arms of the Republic, though, I can trulyaver, I had no conception of false money, and very little of the true, knowing better how to make a Roman As than one of our threepenny pieces. 

My master's tyranny rendered insupportable that labor I should otherwisehave loved, and drove me to vices I naturally despised, such asfalsehood, idleness, and theft. Nothing ever gave me a clearerdemonstration of the difference between filial dependence and abjectslavery, than the remembrance of the change produced in me at thatperiod. Hitherto I had enjoyed a reasonable liberty; this I had suddenlylost. I was enterprising at my father's, free at Mr. Lambercier's, discreet at my uncle's; but, with my master, I became fearful, and fromthat moment my mind was vitiated. Accustomed to live on terms of perfectequality, to be witness of no pleasures I could not command, to see nodish I was not to partake of, or be sensible of a desire I might notexpress; to be able to bring every wish of my heart to my lips--what atransition!--at my master's I was scarce allowed to speak, was forced toquit the table without tasting what I most longed for, and the room whenI had nothing particular to do there; was incessantly confined to mywork, while the liberty my master and his journeymen enjoyed, served onlyto increase the weight of my subjection. When disputes happened toarise, though conscious that I understood the subject better than any ofthem, I dared not offer my opinion; in a word, everything I saw became anobject of desire, for no other reason than because I was not permitted toenjoy anything. Farewell gayety, ease, those happy turns of expressions, which formerly even made my faults escape correction. I recollect, withpleasure, a circumstance that happened at my father's, which even nowmakes me smile. Being for some fault ordered to bed without my supper, as I was passing through the kitchen, with my poor morsel of bread in myhand, I saw the meat turning on the spit; my father and the rest wereround the fire; I must bow to every one as I passed. When I had gonethrough this ceremony, leering with a wistful eye at the roast meat, which looked so inviting, and smelt so savory, I could not abstain frommaking that a bow likewise, adding in a pitiful tone, good bye, roastmeal! This unpremeditated pleasantry put them in such good humor, that Iwas permitted to stay, and partake of it. Perhaps the same thing mighthave produced a similar effect at my master's, but such a thought couldnever have occurred to me, or, if it had, I should not have had courageto express it. 

Thus I learned to covet, dissemble, lie, and, at length, to steal, apropensity I never felt the least idea of before, though since that timeI have never been able entirely to divest myself of it. Desire andinability united naturally led to this vice, which is the reasonpilfering is so common among footmen and apprentices, though the latter, as they grow up, and find themselves in a situation where everything isat their command, lose this shameful propensity. As I never experiencedthe advantage, I never enjoyed the benefit. 

Good sentiments, ill-directed, frequently lead children into vice. Notwithstanding my continual wants and temptations, it was more than ayear before I could resolve to take even eatables. My first theft wasoccasioned by complaisance, but it was productive of others which had notso plausible an excuse. 

My master had a journeyman named Verrat, whose mother lived in theneighborhood, and had a garden at a considerable distance from the house, which produced excellent asparagus. This Verrat, who had no great plentyof money, took it in his head to rob her of the most early production ofher garden, and by the sale of it procure those indulgences he could nototherwise afford himself; but not being very nimble, he did not care torun the hazard of a surprise. After some preliminary flattery, which Idid not comprehend the meaning of, he proposed this expedition to me, asan idea which had that moment struck him. At first I would not listen tothe proposal; but he persisted in his solicitation, and as I could neverresist the attacks of flattery, at length prevailed. In pursuance ofthis virtuous resolution, I every morning repaired to the garden, gathered the best of the asparagus, and took it to the Holard where somegood old women, who guessed how I came by it, wishing to diminish theprice, made no secret of their suspicions; this produced the desiredeffect, for, being alarmed, I took whatever they offered, which beingtaken to Mr. Verrat, was presently metamorphosed into a breakfast, anddivided with a companion of his; for, though I procured it, I neverpartook of their good cheer, being fully satisfied with an inconsiderablebribe. 

I executed my roguery with the greatest fidelity, seeking only to pleasemy employer; and several days passed before it came into my head, to robthe robber, and tithe Mr. Verrat's harvest. I never considered thehazard I run in these expeditions, not only of a torrent of abuse, butwhat I should have been still more sensible of, a hearty beating; for themiscreant, who received the whole benefit, would certainly have deniedall knowledge of the fact, and I should only have received a doubleportion of punishment for daring to accuse him, since being only anapprentice, I stood no chance of being believed in opposition to ajourneyman. Thus, in every situation, powerful rogues know how to savethemselves at the expense of the feeble. 

This practice taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I hadimagined: I took care to make this discovery turn to some account, helping myself to everything within my reach, that I conceived aninclination for. I was not absolutely ill-fed at my master's, andtemperance was only painful to me by comparing it with the luxury heenjoyed. The custom of sending young people from table precisely whenthose things are served up which seem most tempting, is calculated toincrease their longing, and induces them to steal what they conceive tobe so delicious. It may be supposed I was not backward in thisparticular: in general my knavery succeeded pretty well, though quite thereverse when I happened to be detected. 

I recollect an attempt to procure some apples, which was attended withcircumstances that make me smile and shudder even at this instant. Thefruit was standing in the pantry, which by a lattice at a considerableheight received light from the kitchen. One day, being alone in thehouse, I climbed up to see these precious apples, which being out of myreach, made this pantry appear the garden of Hesperides. I fetched thespit--tried if it would reach them--it was too short--I lengthened itwith a small one which was used for game, --my master being very fond ofhunting, darted at them several times without success; at length was morefortunate; being transported to find I was bringing up an apple, I drewit gently to the lattice--was going to seize it when (who can express mygrief and astonishment!) I found it would not pass through--it was toolarge. I tried every expedient to accomplish my design, soughtsupporters to keep the spits in the same position, a knife to divide theapple, and a lath to hold it with; at length, I so far succeeded as toeffect the division, and made no doubt of drawing the pieces through; butit was scarcely separated, (compassionate reader, sympathize with myaffliction) when both pieces fell into the pantry. 

Though I lost time by this experiment, I did not lose courage, but, dreading a surprise, I put off the attempt till next day, when I hoped tobe more successful, and returned to my work as if nothing had happened, without once thinking of what the two obvious witnesses I had left in thepantry deposed against me. 

The next day (a fine opportunity offering) I renew the trial. I fastenthe spits together; get on the stool; take aim; am just going to dart atmy prey--unfortunately the dragon did not sleep; the pantry door opens, my master makes his appearance, and, looking up, exclaims, "Bravo!"--The horror of that moment returns--the pen drops from my hand. 

A continual repetition of ill treatment rendered me callous; it seemed akind of composition for my crimes, which authorized me to continue them, and, instead of looking back at the punishment, I looked forward torevenge. Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all thevices of one. I was convinced that to rob and be punished wereinseparable, and constituted, if I may so express myself, a kind oftraffic, in which, if I perform my part of the bargain, my master wouldtake care not to be deficient in his; that preliminary settled, I appliedmyself to thieving with great tranquility, and whenever thisinterrogatory occurred to my mind, "What will be the consequence?" thereply was ready, "I know the worst, I shall be beat; no matter, I wasmade for it. "

I love good eating; am sensual, but not greedy; I have such a variety ofinclinations to gratify, that this can never predominate; and unless myheart is unoccupied, which very rarely happens, I pay but littleattention to my appetite; to purloining eatables, but extended thispropensity to everything I wished to possess, and if I did not become arobber in form, it was only because money never tempted me. 

My master had a closet in the workshop, which he kept locked; this Icontrived to open and shut as often as I pleased, and laid his besttools, fine drawings, impressions, in a word, everything he wished tokeep from me, under contribution. 

These thefts were so far innocent, that they were always employed in hisservice, but I was transported at having the trifles in my possession, and imagined I stole the art with its productions. Besides what I havementioned, his boxes contained threads of gold and silver, a number ofsmall jewels, valuable medals, and money; yet, though I seldom had fivesous in my pocket, I do not recollect ever having cast a wishful look atthem; on the contrary, I beheld these valuables rather with terror thanwith delight. 

I am convinced the dread of taking money was, in a great measure, theeffect of education. There was mingled with the idea of it the fear ofinfamy, a prison, punishment, and death: had I even felt the temptation, these objects would have made me tremble; whereas my failings appeared aspecies of waggery, and, in truth, they were little else; they could butoccasion a good trimming, and this I was already prepared for. A sheetof fine drawing paper was a greater temptation than money sufficient tohave purchased a ream. This unreasonable caprice is connected with oneof the most striking singularities of my character, and has so farinfluenced my conduct, that it requires a particular explanation. 

My passions are extremely violent; while under their influence, nothingcan equal my impetuosity; I am an absolute stranger to discretion, respect, fear, or decorum; rude, saucy, violent, and intrepid: no shamecan stop, no danger intimidate me. My mind is frequently so engrossed bya single object, that beyond it the whole world is not worth a thought;this is the enthusiasm of a moment, the next, perhaps, I am plunged in astate of annihilation. Take me in my moments of tranquility, I amindolence and timidity itself; a word to speak, the least trifle toperform, appear an intolerable labor; everything alarms and terrifies me;the very buzzing of a fly will make me shudder; I am so subdued by fearand shame, that I would gladly shield myself from mortal view. 

When obliged to exert myself, I am ignorant what to do! when forced tospeak, I am at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me, I aminstantly out of countenance. If animated with my subject, I express mythoughts with ease, but, in ordinary conversations, I can say nothing--absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders theminsupportable. 

I may add, that none of my predominant inclinations centre in thosepleasures which are to be purchased: money empoisons my delight; I musthave them unadulterated; I love those of the table, for instance, butcannot endure the restraints of good company, or the intemperance oftaverns; I can enjoy them only with a friend, for alone it is equallyimpossible; my imagination is then so occupied with other things, that Ifind no pleasure in eating. Women who are to be purchased have no charmsfor me; my beating heart cannot be satisfied without affection; it is thesame with every other enjoyment, if not truly disinterested, they areabsolutely insipid; in a word, I am fond of those things which are onlyestimable to minds formed for the peculiar enjoyment of them. 

I never thought money so desirable as it is usually imagined; if youwould enjoy you must transform it; and this transformation is frequentlyattended with inconvenience; you must bargain, purchase, pay dear, bebadly served, and often duped. I buy an egg, am assured it is new-laid--I find it stale; fruit in its utmost perfection--'tis absolutely green. I love good wine, but where shall I get it? Not at my wine merchant's--he will poison me to a certainty. I wish to be universally respected;how shall I compass my design? I must make friends, send messages, writeletters, come, go, wait, and be frequently deceived. Money is theperpetual source of uneasiness; I fear it more than I love good wine. 

A thousand times, both during and since my apprenticeship, have I goneout to purchase some nicety, I approach the pastry-cook's, perceive somewomen at the counter, and imagine they are laughing at me. I pass afruit shop, see some fine pears, their appearance tempts me; but then twoor three young people are near, or a man I am acquainted with is standingat the door; I take all that pass for persons I have some knowledge of, and my near sight contributes to deceive me. I am everywhereintimidated, restrained by some obstacle, and with money in my pocketreturn as I went, for want of resolution to purchase what I long for. 

I should enter into the most insipid details was I to relate the trouble, shame, repugnance, and inconvenience of all kinds which I haveexperienced in parting with my money, whether in my own person, or by theagency of others; as I proceed, the reader will get acquainted with mydisposition, and perceive all this without my troubling him with therecital. 

This once comprehended, one of my apparent contradictions will be easilyaccounted for, and the most sordid avarice reconciled with the greatestcontempt of money. It is a movable which I consider of so little value, that, when destitute of it, I never wish to acquire any; and when I havea sum I keep it by me, for want of knowing how to dispose of it to mysatisfaction; but let an agreeable and convenient opportunity presentitself, and I empty my purse with the utmost freedom; not that I wouldhave the reader imagine I am extravagant from a motive of ostentation, quite the reverse; it was ever in subservience to my pleasures, and, instead of glorying in expense, I endeavor to conceal it. I so wellperceive that money is not made to answer my purposes, that I am almostashamed to have any, and, still more, to make use of it. 

Had I ever possessed a moderate independence, I am convinced I shouldhave had no propensity to become avaricious. I should have required nomore, and cheerfully lived up to my income; but my precarious situationhas constantly and necessarily kept me in fear. I love liberty, and Iloathe constraint, dependence, and all their kindred annoyances. As longas my purse contains money it secures my independence, and exempts mefrom the trouble of seeking other money, a trouble of which I have alwayshad a perfect horror; and the dread of seeing the end of my independence, makes me proportionately unwilling to part with my money. The money thatwe possess is the instrument of liberty, that which we lack and strive toobtain is the instrument of slavery. Thence it is that I hold fast toaught that I have, and yet covet nothing more. 

My disinterestedness, then, is in reality only idleness, the pleasure ofpossessing is not in my estimation worth the trouble of acquiring: and mydissipation is only another form of idleness; when we have an opportunityof disbursing pleasantly we should make the best possible use of it. 

I am less tempted by money than by other objects, because between themoment of possessing the money and that of using it to obtain the desiredobject there is always an interval, however short; whereas to possess thething is to enjoy it. I see a thing and it tempts me; but if I see notthe thing itself but only the means of acquiring it, I am not tempted. Therefore it is that I have been a pilferer, and am so even now, in theway of mere trifles to which I take a fancy, and which I find it easierto take than to ask for; but I never in my life recollect having taken afarthing from any one, except about fifteen years ago, when I stole sevenfrancs and ten sous. The story is worth recounting, as it exhibits aconcurrence of ignorance and stupidity I should scarcely credit, did itrelate to any but myself. 

It was in Paris: I was walking with M. De Franceul at the Palais Royal;he pulled out his watch, he looked at it, and said to me, "Suppose we goto the opera?"--"With all my heart. " We go: he takes two box tickets, gives me one, and enters himself with the other; I follow, find the doorcrowded; and, looking in, see every one standing; judging, therefore, that M. De Franceul might suppose me concealed by the company, I go out, ask for my ticket, and, getting the money returned, leave the house, without considering, that by then I had reached the door every one wouldbe seated, and M. De Franceul might readily perceive I was not there. 

As nothing could be more opposite to my natural inclination than thisabominable meanness, I note it, to show there are moments of deliriumwhen men ought not to be judged by their actions: this was not stealingthe money, it was only stealing the use of it, and was the more infamousfor wanting the excuse of a temptation. 

I should never end these accounts, was I to describe all the gradationsthrough which I passed, during my apprenticeship, from the sublimity of ahero to the baseness of a villain. Though I entered into most of thevices of my situation, I had no relish for its pleasures; the amusementsof my companions were displeasing, and when too much restraint had mademy business wearisome, I had nothing to amuse me. This renewed my tastefor reading which had long been neglected. I thus committed a freshoffence, books made me neglect my work, and brought on additionalpunishment, while inclination, strengthened by constraint, became anunconquerable passion. La Tribu, a well-known librarian, furnished mewith all kinds; good or bad, I perused them with avidity, and withoutdiscrimination. 

It will be said; "at length, then, money became necessary"--true; butthis happened at a time when a taste for study had deprived me both ofresolution and activity; totally occupied by this new inclination, I onlywished to read, I robbed no longer. This is another of my peculiarities;a mere nothing frequently calls me off from what I appear the mostattached to; I give in to the new idea; it becomes a passion, andimmediately every former desire is forgotten. 

Reading was my new hobby; my heart beat with impatience to run over thenew book I carried in my pocket; the first moment I was alone, I seizedthe opportunity to draw it out, and thought no longer of rummaging mymaster's closet. I was even ashamed to think that I had been guilty ofsuch meanness; and had my amusements been more expensive, I no longerfelt an inclination to continue it. La Tribu gave me credit, and whenonce I had the book in my possession, I thought no more of the trifle Iwas to pay for it; as money came it naturally passed to this woman; andwhen she chanced to be pressing, nothing was so conveniently at hand asmy own effects; to steal in advance required foresight, and robbing topay was no temptation. 

The frequent blows I received from my master, with my private andill-chosen studies, rendered me reserved, unsociable, and almostderanged my reason. Though my taste had not preserved me from sillyunmeaning books, by good fortune I was a stranger to licentious orobscene ones; not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating) had anyscruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth shespoke of them with an air of mystery; this produced an effect she hadnot foreseen, for both shame and disgust made me constantly refuse them. Chance so well seconded my bashful disposition, that I was past the ageof thirty before I saw any of those dangerous compositions. 

In less than a year I had exhausted La Tribu's scanty library, and wasunhappy for want of further amusement. My reading, though frequentlybad, had worn off my childish follies, and brought back my heart tonobler sentiments than my condition had inspired; meantime disgusted withall within my reach, and thinking everything charming that was out of it, my present situation appeared extremely miserable. My passions began toacquire strength, I felt their influence, without knowing whither theywould conduct me. I sometimes, indeed, thought of my former follies, butsought no further. 

At this time my imagination took a turn which helped to calm myincreasing emotions; it was, to contemplate those situations in the booksI had read, which produced the most striking effect on my mind; torecall, combine, and apply them to myself in such a manner, as to becomeone of the personages my recollection presented, and be continually inthose fancied circumstances which were most agreeable to my inclinations;in a word, by contriving to place myself in these fictitious situations, the idea of my real one was in a great measure obliterated. 

This fondness for imaginary objects, and the facility with which I couldgain possession of them, completed my disgust for everything around me, and fixed that inclination for solitude which has ever since beenpredominant. We shall have more than once occasion to remark the effectsof a disposition, misanthropic and melancholy in appearance, but whichproceed, in fact, from a heart too affectionate, too ardent, which, forwant of similar dispositions, is constrained to content itself withnonentities, and be satisfied with fiction. It is sufficient, atpresent, to have traced the origin of a propensity which has modified mypassions, set bounds to each, and by giving too much ardor to my wishes, has ever rendered me too indolent to obtain them. 

Thus I attained my sixteenth year, uneasy, discontented with myself andeverything that surrounded me; displeased with my occupation; withoutenjoying the pleasures common to my age, weeping without a cause, sighingI knew not why, and fond of my chimerical ideas for want of more valuablerealities. 

Every Sunday, after sermon-time, my companions came to fetch me out, wishing me to partake of their diversions. I would willingly have beenexcused, but when once engaged in amusement, I was more animated andenterprising than any of them; it was equally difficult to engage orrestrain me; indeed, this was ever a leading trait in my character. In our country walks I was ever foremost, and never thought of returningtill reminded by some of my companions. I was twice obliged to be frommy master's the whole night, the city gates having been shut before Icould reach them. The reader may imagine what treatment this procured methe following mornings; but I was promised such a reception for thethird, that I made a firm resolution never to expose myself to the dangerof it. Notwithstanding my determination, I repeated this dreadedtransgression, my vigilance having been rendered useless by a cursedcaptain, named M. Minutoli, who, when on guard, always shut the gate hehad charge of an hour before the usual time. I was returning home withmy two companions, and had got within half a league of the city, when Iheard them beat the tattoo; I redouble my pace, I run with my utmostspeed, I approach the bridge, see the soldiers already at their posts, Icall out to them in a suffocated voice--it is too late; I am twenty pacesfrom the guard, the first bridge is already drawn up, and I tremble tosee those terrible horns advanced in the air which announce the fatal andinevitable destiny, which from this moment began to pursue me. 

I threw myself on the glacis in a transport of despair, while mycompanions, who only laughed at the accident, immediately determined whatto do. My resolution, though different from theirs, was equally sudden;on the spot, I swore never to return to my master's, and the nextmorning, when my companions entered the city, I bade them an eternaladieu, conjuring them at the same time to inform my cousin Bernard of myresolution, and the place where he might see me for the last time. 

From the commencement of my apprenticeship I had seldom seen him; atfirst, indeed, we saw each other on Sundays, but each acquiring differenthabits, our meetings were less frequent. I am persuaded his mothercontributed greatly towards this change; he was to consider himself as aperson of consequence, I was a pitiful apprentice; notwithstanding ourrelationship, equality no longer subsisted between us, and it wasdegrading himself to frequent my company. As he had a natural good hearthis mother's lessons did not take an immediate effect, and for some timehe continued to visit me. 

Having learned my resolution, he hastened to the spot I had appointed, not, however, to dissuade me from it, but to render my flight agreeable, by some trifling presents, as my own resources would not have carried mefar. He gave me among other things, a small sword, which I was veryproud of, and took with me as far as Turin, where absolute wantconstrained me to dispose of it. The more I reflect on his behavior atthis critical moment, the more I am persuaded he followed theinstructions of his mother, and perhaps his father likewise: for, had hebeen left to his own feelings, he would have endeavored to retain, orhave been tempted to accompany me; on the contrary, he encouraged thedesign, and when he saw me resolutely determined to pursue it, withoutseeming much affected, left me to my fate. We never saw or wrote to eachother from that time; I cannot but regret this loss, for his heart wasessentially good, and we seemed formed for a more lasting friendship. 

Before I abandon myself to the fatality of my destiny, let me contemplatefor a moment the prospect that awaited me had I fallen into the hands ofa better master. Nothing could have been more agreeable to mydisposition, or more likely to confer happiness, than the peacefulcondition of a good artificer, in so respectable a line as engravers areconsidered at Geneva. I could have obtained an easy subsistence, if nota fortune; this would have bounded my ambition; I should have had meansto indulge in moderate pleasures, and should have continued in my naturalsphere, without meeting with any temptation to go beyond it. Having animagination sufficiently fertile to embellish with its chimeras everysituation, and powerful enough to transport me from one to another, itwas immaterial in which I was fixed: that was best adapted to me, which, requiring the least care or exertion, left the mind most at liberty; andthis happiness I should have enjoyed. In my native country, in the bosomof my religion, family and friends, I should have passed a calm andpeaceful life, in the uniformity of a pleasing occupation, and amongconnections dear to my heart. I should have been a good Christian, agood citizen, a good friend, a good man. I should have relished mycondition, perhaps have been an honor to it, and after having passed alife of happy obscurity, surrounded by my family, I should have died atpeace. Soon it may be forgotten, but while remembered it would have beenwith tenderness and regret. 

Instead of this--what a picture am I about to draw!--Alas! why should Ianticipate the miseries I have endured? The reader will have but toomuch of the melancholy subject. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK II. 

The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem moreterrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeareddelightful. To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child, in the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of mybusiness to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger:to expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all thetemptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors, misfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evilsthan those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn, thenatural consequence of my hazardous enterprise. How different was theidea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess was thesole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty, I thoughteverything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast theatre ofthe world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I expected tofind amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to serve, andmistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and the wholeuniverse would be interested in my concerns; not but I could have beencontent with something less; a charming society, with sufficient means, might have satisfied me. My moderation was such, that the sphere inwhich I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but then it was topossess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself the principalobject. A single castle, for instance, might have bounded my ambition;could I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the daughter'slover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I might havebeen tolerably content, and sought no further. 

In expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in theenvirons of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, whoreceived me with more kindness than I should have met with in town; theywelcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live oncharity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance ofsuperiority to furnish out the idea. 

I rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, atabout two leagues distance from Geneva. The vicar was called M. DePontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught myattention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of thegentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this M. DePontverre, and was received with great civility. 

He spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holymother church, and then invited me to dinner. I had little to object toarguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined tobelieve that priests, who gave such excellent dinners, might be as goodas our ministers. Notwithstanding M. De Pontverre's pedigree, Icertainly possessed most learning; but I rather sought to be a goodcompanion than an expert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which I thoughtdelicious, argued so powerfully on his side, that I should have blushedat silencing so kind a host; I, therefore, yielded him the victory, orrather declined the contest. Any one who had observed my precaution, would certainly have pronounced me a dissembler, though, in fact, I wasonly courteous. 

Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice in young people;'tis oftener a virtue. When treated with kindness, it is natural to feelan attachment for the person who confers the obligation; we do notacquiesce because we wish to deceive, but from dread of givinguneasiness, or because we wish to avoid the ingratitude of rendering evilfor good. What interest had M. De Pontverre in entertaining, treatingwith respect, and endeavoring to convince me? None but mine; my youngheart told me this, and I was penetrated with gratitude and respect forthe generous priest; I was sensible of my superiority, but scorned torepay his hospitality by taking advantage of it. I had no conception ofhypocrisy in this forbearance, or thought of changing my religion, nay, so far was the idea from being familiar to me, that I looked on it with adegree of horror which seemed to exclude the possibility of such anevent; I only wished to avoid giving offence to those I was sensiblecaressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivate their good opinion, and meantime leave them the hope of success by seeming less on my guardthan I really was. My conduct in this particular resembled the coquetryof some very honest women, who, to obtain their wishes, withoutpermitting or promising anything, sometimes encourage hopes they nevermean to realize. 

Reason, piety, and love of order, certainly demanded that instead ofbeing encouraged in my folly, I should have been dissuaded from the ruinI was courting, and sent back to my family; and this conduct any one thatwas actuated by genuine virtue would have pursued; but it should beobserved that though M. De Pontverre was a religious man, he was not avirtuous one, but a bigot, who knew no virtue except worshipping imagesand telling his beads, in a word, a kind of missionary, who thought theheight of merit consisted in writing libels against the ministers ofGeneva. Far from wishing to send me back, he endeavored to favor myescape, and put it out of my power to return even had I been so disposed. It was a thousand to one but he was sending me to perish with hunger, orbecome a villain; but all this was foreign to his purpose; he saw a soulsnatched from heresy, and restored to the bosom of the church: whether Iwas an honest man or a knave was very immaterial, provided I went tomass. 

This ridiculous mode of thinking is not peculiar to Catholics; it is thevoice of every dogmatical persuasion where merit consists in belief, andnot in virtue. 

"You are called by the Almighty, " said M. De Pontverre; "go to Annecy, where you will find a good and charitable lady, whom the bounty of theking enables to turn souls from those errors she has happily renounced. "He spoke of a Madam de Warrens, a new convert, to whom the priestscontrived to send those wretches who were disposed to sell their faith, and with these she was in a manner constrained to share a pension of twothousand francs bestowed on her by the King of Sardinia. I felt myselfextremely humiliated at being supposed to want the assistance of a goodand charitable lady. I had no objection to be accommodated witheverything I stood in need of, but did not wish to receive it on thefooting of charity and to owe this obligation to a devotee was stillworse; notwithstanding my scruples the persuasions of M. De Pontverre, the dread of perishing with hunger, the pleasures I promised myself fromthe journey, and hope of obtaining some desirable situation, determinedme; and I set out though reluctantly, for Annecy. I could easily havereached it in a day, but being in no great haste to arrive there, it tookme three. My head was filled with the ideas of adventures, and Iapproached every country-seat I saw in my way, in expectation of havingthem realized. I had too much timidity to knock at the doors, or evenenter if I saw them open, but I did what I dared--which was to sing underthose windows that I thought had the most favorable appearance; and wasvery much disconcerted to find I wasted my breath to no purpose, and thatneither old nor young ladies were attracted by the melody of my voice, orthe wit of my poetry, though some songs my companions had taught me Ithought excellent and that I sung them incomparably. At length I arrivedat Annecy, and saw Madam de Warrens. 

As this period of my life, in a great measure, determined my character, I could not resolve to pass it lightly over. I was in the middle of mysixteenth year, and though I could not be called handsome, was well madefor my height; I had a good foot, a well turned leg, and animatedcountenance; a well proportioned mouth, black hair and eyebrows, and myeyes, though small and rather too far in my head, sparkling withvivacity, darted that innate fire which inflamed my blood; unfortunatelyfor me, I knew nothing of all this, never having bestowed a singlethought on my person till it was too late to be of any service to me. The timidity common to my age was heightened by a natural benevolence, which made me dread the idea of giving pain. Though my mind had receivedsome cultivation, having seen nothing of the world, I was an absolutestranger to polite address, and my mental acquisitions, so far fromsupplying this defect, only served to increase my embarrassment, bymaking me sensible of every deficiency. 

Depending little, therefore, on external appearances, I had recourse toother expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling allthe flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books with the phrasesof an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the attention, and insure thegood will of Madam de Warrens. I enclosed M. De Pontverre's letter in myown and waited on the lady with a heart palpitating with fear andexpectation. It was Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I was informed shewas that moment gone to church; I hasten after her, overtake, and speakto her. --The place is yet fresh in my memory--how can it be otherwise?often have I moistened it with my tears and covered it with kisses. --Whycannot I enclose with gold the happy spot, and render it the object ofuniversal veneration? Whoever wishes to honor monuments of humansalvation would only approach it on their knees. 

It was a passage at the back of the house, bordered on the left hand by alittle rivulet, which separated it from the garden, and, on the right, bythe court yard wall; at the end was a private door which opened into thechurch of the Cordeliers. Madam de Warrens was just passing this door;but on hearing my voice, instantly turned about. What an effect did thesight of her produce! I expected to see a devout, forbidding old woman;M. De Pontverre's pious and worthy lady could be no other in myconception; instead of which, I see a face beaming with charms, fine blueeyes full of sweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzled the sight, the form of an enchanting neck, nothing escaped the eager eye of theyoung proselyte; for that instant I was hers!--a religion preached bysuch missionaries must lead to paradise!

My letter was presented with a trembling hand; she took it with a smile--opened it, glanced an eye over M. De Pontverre's and again returned tomine, which she read through and would have read again, had not thefootman that instant informed her that service was beginning--"Child, "said she, in a tone of voice which made every nerve vibrate, "you arewandering about at an early age--it is really a pity!"--and withoutwaiting for an answer, added--"Go to my house, bid them give yousomething for breakfast, after mass, I will speak to you. "

Louisa--Eleanora de Warrens was of the noble and ancient family of LaTour de Pit, of Vevay, a city in the country of the Vaudois. She wasmarried very young to a M. De Warrens, of the house of Loys, eldest sonof M. De Villardin, of Lausanne; there were no children by this marriage, which was far from being a happy one. Some domestic uneasiness madeMadam de Warrens take the resolution of crossing the Lake, and throwingherself at the feet of Victor Amadeus, who was then at Evian; thusabandoning her husband, family, and country by a giddiness similar tomine, which precipitation she, too, has found sufficient time and reasonto lament. 

The king, who was fond of appearing a zealous promoter of the Catholicfaith, took her under his protection, and complimented her with a pensionof fifteen hundred livres of Piedmont, which was a considerableappointment for a prince who never had the character of being generous;but finding his liberality made some conjecture he had an affection forthe lady, he sent her to Annecy escorted by a detachment of his guards, where, under the direction of Michael Gabriel de Bernex, titular bishopof Geneva, she abjured her former religion at the Convent of theVisitation. 

I came to Annecy just six years after this event; Madam de Warrens wasthen eight--and--twenty, being born with the century. Her beauty, consisting more in the expressive animation of the countenance, than aset of features, was in its meridian; her manner soothing and tender; anangelic smile played about her mouth, which was small and delicate; shewore her hair (which was of an ash color, and uncommonly beautiful) withan air of negligence that made her appear still more interesting; she wasshort, and rather thick for her height, though by no means disagreeablyso; but there could not be a more lovely face, a finer neck, or hands andarms more exquisitely formed. 

Her education had been derived from such a variety of sources, that itformed an extraordinary assemblage. Like me, she had lost her mother ather birth, and had received instruction as it chanced to present itself;she had learned something of her governess, something of her father, alittle of her masters, but copiously from her lovers; particularly a M. De Tavel, who, possessing both taste and information, endeavored to adornwith them the mind of her he loved. These various instructions, notbeing properly arranged, tended to impede each other, and she did notacquire that degree of improvement her natural good sense was capable ofreceiving; she knew something of philosophy and physic, but not enough toeradicate the fondness she had imbibed from her father for empiricism andalchemy; she made elixirs, tinctures, balsams, pretended to secrets, andprepared magestry; while quacks and pretenders, profiting by herweakness, destroyed her property among furnaces, drugs and minerals, diminishing those charms and accomplishments which might have been thedelight of the most elegant circles. But though these interestedwretches took advantage of her ill-applied education to obscure hernatural good sense, her excellent heart retained its purity; her amiablemildness, sensibility for the unfortunate, inexhaustible bounty, andopen, cheerful frankness, knew no variation; even at the approach of oldage, when attacked by various calamities, rendered more cutting byindigence, the serenity of her disposition preserved to the end of herlife the pleasing gayety of her happiest days. 

Her errors proceeded from an inexhaustible fund of activity, whichdemanded perpetual employment. She found no satisfaction in thecustomary intrigues of her sex, but, being formed for vast designs, sought the direction of important enterprises and discoveries. In herplace Madam de Longueville would have been a mere trifler, in Madam deLongueville's situation she would have governed the state. Her talentsdid not accord with her fortune; what would have gained her distinctionin a more elevated sphere, became her ruin. In enterprises which suitedher disposition, she arranged the plan in her imagination, which was evercarried of its utmost extent, and the means she employed beingproportioned rather to her ideas than abilities, she failed by themismanagement of those upon whom she depended, and was ruined whereanother would scarce have been a loser. This active disposition, whichinvolved her in so many difficulties, was at least productive of onebenefit as it prevented her from passing the remainder of her life in themonastic asylum she had chosen, which she had some thought of. Thesimple and uniform life of a nun, and the little cabals and gossipings oftheir parlor, were not adapted to a mind vigorous and active, which, every day forming new systems, had occasions for liberty to attempt theircompletion. 

The good bishop of Bernex, with less wit than Francis of Sales, resembledhim in many particulars, and Madam de Warrens, whom he loved to call hisdaughter, and who was like Madam de Chantel in several respects, mighthave increased the resemblance by retiring like her from the world, hadshe not been disgusted with the idle trifling of a convent. It was notwant of zeal prevented this amiable woman from giving those proofs ofdevotion which might have been expected from a new convert, under theimmediate direction of a prelate. Whatever might have influenced her tochange her religion, she was certainly sincere in that she had embraced;she might find sufficient occasion to repent having abjured her formerfaith, but no inclination to return to it. She not only died a goodCatholic, but truly lived one; nay, I dare affirm (and I think I have hadthe opportunity to read the secrets of her heart) that it was only heraversion to singularity that prevented her acting the devotee in public;in a word, her piety was too sincere to give way to any affectation ofit. But this is not the place to enlarge on her principles: I shall findother occasions to speak of them. 

Let those who deny the existence of a sympathy of souls, explain, if theyknow how, why the first glance, the first word of Madam de Warrensinspired me, not only with a lively attachment, but with the mostunbounded confidence, which has since known no abatement. Say this waslove (which will at least appear doubtful to those who read the sequel ofour attachment) how could this passion be attended with sentiments whichscarce ever accompany its commencement, such as peace, serenity, security, and confidence. How, when making application to an amiable andpolished woman, whose situation in life was so superior to mine, so farabove any I had yet approached, on whom, in a great measure, depended myfuture fortune by the degree of interest she might take in it; how, I saywith so many reasons to depress me, did I feel myself as free, as much atmy ease, as if I had been perfectly secure of pleasing her! Why did Inot experience a moment of embarrassment, timidity or restraint?Naturally bashful, easily confused, having seen nothing of the world, could I, the first time, the first moment I beheld her, adopt caressinglanguage, and a familiar tone, as readily as after ten years' intimacyhad rendered these freedoms natural? Is it possible to possess love, Iwill not say without desires, for I certainly had them, but withoutinquietude, without jealousy? Can we avoid feeling an anxious wish atleast to know whether our affection is returned? Yet such a questionnever entered my imagination; I should as soon have inquired, do I lovemyself; nor did she ever express a greater degree of curiosity; therewas, certainly, something extraordinary in my attachment to this charmingwoman and it will be found in the sequel, that some extravagances, whichcannot be foreseen, attended it. 

What could be done for me, was the present question, and in order todiscuss the point with greater freedom, she made me dine with her. Thiswas the first meal in my life where I had experienced a want of appetite, and her woman, who waited, observed it was the first time she had seen atraveller of my age and appearance deficient in that particular: thisremark, which did me no injury in the opinion of her mistress, fell hardon an overgrown clown, who was my fellow guest, and devoured sufficientto have served at least six moderate feeders. For me, I was too muchcharmed to think of eating; my heart began to imbibe a delicioussensation, which engrossed my whole being, and left no room for otherobjects. 

Madam de Warrens wished to hear the particulars of my little history--allthe vivacity I had lost during my servitude returned and assisted therecital. In proportion to the interest this excellent woman took in mystory, did she lament the fate to which I had exposed myself; compassionwas painted on her features, and expressed by every action. She couldnot exhort me to return to Geneva, being too well aware that her wordsand actions were strictly scrutinized, and that such advice would bethought high treason against Catholicism, but she spoke so feelingly ofthe affliction I must give her(my) father, that it was easy to perceiveshe would have approved my returning to console him. Alas! she littlethought how powerfully this pleaded against herself; the more eloquentlypersuasive she appeared, the less could I resolve to tear myself fromher. I knew that returning to Geneva would be putting an insuperablebarrier between us, unless I repeated the expedient which had brought mehere, and it was certainly better to preserve than expose myself to thedanger of a relapse; besides all this, my conduct was predetermined, Iwas resolved not to return. Madam de Warrens, seeing her endeavors wouldbe fruitless, became less explicit, and only added, with an air ofcommiseration, "Poor child! thou must go where Providence directs thee, but one day thou wilt think of me. "--I believe she had no conception atthat time how fatally her prediction would be verified. 

The difficulty still remained how I was to gain a subsistence? I havealready observed that I knew too little of engraving for that to furnishmy resource, and had I been more expert, Savoy was too poor a country togive much encouragement to the arts. The above-mentioned glutton, whoeat for us as well as himself, being obliged to pause in order to gainsome relaxation from the fatigue of it, imparted a piece of advice, which, according to him, came express from Heaven; though to judge by itseffects it appeared to have been dictated from a direct contrary quarter:this was that I should go to Turin, where, in a hospital instituted forthe instruction of catechumens, I should find food, both spiritual andtemporal, be reconciled to the bosom of the church, and meet with somecharitable Christians, who would make it a point to procure me asituation that would turn to my advantage. "In regard to the expenses ofthe journey, " continued our advisor, "his grace, my lord bishop, will notbe backward, when once madam has proposed this holy work, to offer hischaritable donation, and madam, the baroness, whose charity is so wellknown, " once more addressing himself to the continuation of his meal, "will certainly contribute. "

I was by no means pleased with all these charities; I said nothing, butmy heart was ready to burst with vexation. Madam de Warrens, who did notseem to think so highly of this expedient as the projector pretended todo, contented herself by saying, everyone should endeavor to promote goodactions, and that she would mention it to his lordship; but the meddlingdevil, who had some private interest in this affair, and questionedwhether she would urge it to his satisfaction, took care to acquaint thealmoners with my story, and so far influenced those good priests, thatwhen Madam de Warrens, who disliked the journey on my account, mentionedit to the bishop, she found it so far concluded on, that he immediatelyput into her hands the money designed for my little viaticum. She darednot advance anything against it; I was approaching an age when a womanlike her could not, with any propriety, appear anxious to retain me. 

My departure being thus determined by those who undertook the managementof my concerns, I had only to submit; and I did it without muchrepugnance. Though Turin was at a greater distance from Madam de Warrensthan Geneva, yet being the capital of the country I was now in, it seemedto have more connection with Annecy than a city under a differentgovernment and of a contrary religion; besides, as I undertook thisjourney in obedience to her, I considered myself as living under herdirection, which was more flattering than barely to continue in theneighborhood; to sum up all, the idea of a long journey coincided with myinsurmountable passion for rambling, which already began to demonstrateitself. To pass the mountains, to my eye appeared delightful; howcharming the reflection of elevating myself above my companions by thewhole height of the Alps! To see the world is an almost irresistibletemptation to a Genevan, accordingly I gave my consent. 

He who suggested the journey was to set off in two days with his wife. I was recommended to their care; they were likewise made my purse--bearers, which had been augmented by Madam de Warrens, who, not contentedwith these kindnesses, added secretly a pecuniary reinforcement, attendedwith the most ample instructions, and we departed on the Wednesday beforeEaster. 

The day following, my father arrived at Annecy, accompanied by hisfriend, a Mr. Rival, who was likewise a watchmaker; he was a man of senseand letters, who wrote better verses than La Motte, and spoke almost aswell; what is still more to his praise, he was a man of the strictestintegrity, but whose taste for literature only served to make one of hissons a comedian. Having traced me to the house of Madam de Warrens, theycontented themselves with lamenting, like her, my fate, instead ofovertaking me, which, (as they were on horseback and I on foot) theymight have accomplished with the greatest ease. 

My uncle Bernard did the same thing, he arrived at Consignon, receivedinformation that I was gone to Annecy, and immediately returned back toGeneva; thus my nearest relations seemed to have conspired with myadverse stars to consign me to misery and ruin. By a similar negligence, my brother was so entirely lost, that it was never known what was becomeof him. 

My father was not only a man of honor but of the strictest probity, andendured with that magnanimity which frequently produces the most shiningvirtues: I may add, he was a good father, particularly to me whom hetenderly loved; but he likewise loved his pleasures, and since we hadbeen separated other connections had weakened his paternal affections. He had married again at Nion, and though his second wife was too old toexpect children, she had relations; my father was united to anotherfamily, surrounded by other objects, and a variety of cares prevented myreturning to his remembrance. He was in the decline of life and hadnothing to support the inconveniences of old age; my mother's propertydevolved to me and my brother, but, during our absence, the interest ofit was enjoyed by my father: I do not mean to infer that thisconsideration had an immediate effect on his conduct, but it had animperceptible one, and prevented him making use of that exertion toregain me which he would otherwise have employed; and this, I think, wasthe reason that having traced me as far as Annecy, he stopped short, without proceeding to Chambery, where he was almost certain I should befound; and likewise accounts why, on visiting him several times since myflight, he always received me with great kindness, but never made anyefforts to retain me. 

This conduct in a father, whose affection and virtue I was so wellconvinced of, has given birth to reflections on the regulation of my ownconduct which have greatly contributed to preserve the integrity of myheart. It has taught me this great lesson of morality, perhaps the onlyone that can have any conspicuous influence on our actions, that weshould ever carefully avoid putting our interests in competition with ourduty, or promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others;certain that in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtuemay be, sooner or later it will give way and we shall imperceptiblybecome unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions. 

This maxim, strongly imprinted on my mind, and reduced, though rather toolate, to practice, has given my conduct an appearance of folly andwhimsicality, not only in public, but still more among my acquaintances:it has been said, I affected originality, and sought to act differentfrom other people; the truth is, I neither endeavor to conform or besingular, I desire only to act virtuously and avoid situations, which, by setting my interest in opposition to that of another person's, mightinspire me with a secret, though involuntary wish to his disadvantage. 

Two years ago, My Lord Marshal would have put my name in his will, whichI took every method to prevent, assuring him I would not for the worldknow myself in the will of any one, much less in his; he gave up theidea; but insisted in return, that I should accept an annuity on hislife; this I consented to. It will be said, I find my account in thealteration; perhaps I may; but oh, my benefactor! my father, I am nowsensible that, should I have the misfortune to survive thee, I shouldhave everything to lose, nothing to gain. 

This, in my idea, in true philosophy, the surest bulwark of humanrectitude; every day do I receive fresh conviction of its profoundsolidity. I have endeavored to recommend it in all my latter writings, but the multitude read too superficially to have made the remark. If Isurvive my present undertaking, and am able to begin another, I mean, ina continuation of Emilius, to give such a lively and marking example ofthis maxim as cannot fail to strike attention. But I have madereflections enough for a traveller, it is time to continue my journey. 

It turned out more agreeable than I expected: my clownish conductor wasnot so morose as he appeared to be. He was a middle-aged man, wore hisblack, grizzly hair, in a queue, had a martial air, a strong voice, wastolerably cheerful, and to make up for not having been taught any trade, could turn his hand to every one. Having proposed to establish some kindof manufactory at Annecy, he had consulted Madam de Warrens, whoimmediately gave into the project, and he was now going to Turin to laythe plan before the minister and get his approbation, for which journeyhe took care to be well rewarded. 

This drole had the art of ingratiating himself with the priests, whom heever appeared eager to serve; he adopted a certain jargon which he hadlearned by frequenting their company, and thought himself a notablepreacher; he could even repeat one passage from the Bible in Latin, andit answered his purpose as well as if he had known a thousand, for herepeated it a thousand times a day. He was seldom at a loss for moneywhen he knew what purse contained it; yet, was rather artful thanknavish, and when dealing out in an affected tone his unmeaningdiscourses, resembled Peter the Hermit, preaching up the crusade with asabre at his side. 

Madam Sabran, his wife, was a tolerable, good sort of woman; morepeaceable by day than by night; as I slept in the same chamber I wasfrequently disturbed by her wakefulness, and should have been more so hadI comprehended the cause of it; but I was in the chapter of dullness, which left to nature the whole care of my own instruction. 

I went on gayly with my pious guide and his hopeful companion, nosinister accident impeding our journey. I was in the happiestcircumstances both of mind and body that I ever recollect havingexperienced; young, full of health and security, placing unboundedconfidence in myself and others; in that short but charming moment ofhuman life, whose expansive energy carries, if I may so express myself, our being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all naturewith an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and risingenjoyment of our existence. 

My pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object onwhich imagination could fix. I looked on myself as the work, the pupil, the friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warrens; the obliging things shehad said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest sheseemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks, which seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired it, every consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and furnishedthe most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my futurecondition arose to embitter. In sending me to Turin, I thought theyengaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of everycare I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes, andbrilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented itselfseemed to insure my approaching felicity. I imagined that every housewas filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with sports andrevelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish wantoned inthese streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along the flowerybanks! The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while their shadeafforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy lovers; themountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure, simplicity andjoy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither, and everything Isaw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture. The grandeur, variety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure rendered the charmreasonable, in which vanity came in for its share; to go so young toItaly, view such an extent of country, and pursue the route of Hannibalover the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add to all this ourfrequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and plenty to satisfyit; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing; at Mr. Sabran'stable what I eat could scarce be missed. In the whole course of my lifeI cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt from care, than theseven or eight days I was passing from Annecy to Turin. As we wereobliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather appeared an agreeablejaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still remains the most pleasingimpressions of it on my mind, and the idea of a pedestrian excursion, particularly among the mountains, has from this time seemed delightful. 

It was only in my happiest days that I travelled on foot, and ever withthe most unbounded satisfaction; afterwards, occupied with business andencumbered with baggage, I was forced to act the gentleman and employ acarriage, where care, embarrassment, and restraint, were sure to be mycompanions, and instead of being delighted with the journey, I onlywished to arrive at the place of destination. 

I was a long time at Paris, wishing to meet with two companions ofsimilar dispositions, who would each agree to appropriate fifty guineasof his property and a year of his time to making the tour of Italy onfoot, with no other attendance than a young fellow to carry ournecessaries; I have met with many who seemed enchanted with the project, but considered it only as a visionary scheme, which served well enough totalk of, without any design of putting it in execution. One day, speaking with enthusiasm of this project to Diderot and Grimm, they gaveinto the proposal with such warmth that I thought the matter concludedon; but it only turned out a journey on paper, in which Grimm thoughtnothing so pleasing as making Diderot commit a number of impieties, andshutting me up in the Inquisition for them, instead of him. 

My regret at arriving so soon at Turin was compensated by the pleasure ofviewing a large city, and the hope of figuring there in a conspicuouscharacter, for my brain already began to be intoxicated with the fumes ofambition; my present situation appeared infinitely above that of anapprentice, and I was far from foreseeing how soon I should be much belowit. 

Before I proceed, I ought to offer an excuse, or justification to thereader for the great number of unentertaining particulars I amnecessitated to repeat. In pursuance of the resolution I have formed toenter on this public exhibition of myself, it is necessary that nothingshould bear the appearance of obscurity or concealment. I should becontinually under the eye of the reader, he should be enabled to followme In all the wanderings of my heart, through every intricacy of myadventures; he must find no void or chasm in my relation, nor lose sightof me an instant, lest he should find occasion to say, what was he doingat this time; and suspect me of not having dared to reveal the whole. Igive sufficient scope to malignity in what I say; it is unnecessary Ishould furnish still more by my science. 

My money was all gone, even that I had secretly received from Madam deWarrens: I had been so indiscreet as to divulge this secret, and myconductors had taken care to profit by it. Madam Sabran found means todeprive me of everything I had, even to a ribbon embroidered with silver, with which Madam de Warrens had adorned the hilt of my sword; this Iregretted more than all the rest; indeed the sword itself would have gonethe same way, had I been less obstinately bent on retaining it. Theyhad, it is true, supported me during the journey, but left me nothing atthe end of it, and I arrived at Turin, without money, clothes, or linen, being precisely in the situation to owe to my merit alone the whole honorof that fortune I was about to acquire. 

I took care in the first place to deliver the letters I was charged with, and was presently conducted to the hospital of the catechumens, to beinstructed in that religion, for which, in return, I was to receivesubsistence. On entering, I passed an iron-barred gate, which wasimmediately double-locked on me; this beginning was by no meanscalculated to give me a favorable opinion of my situation. I was thenconducted to a large apartment, whose furniture consisted of a woodenaltar at the farther end, on which was a large crucifix, and round itseveral indifferent chairs, of the same materials. In this hall ofaudience were assembled four or five ill-looking banditti, my comrades ininstruction, who would rather have been taken for trusty servants of thedevil than candidates for the kingdom of heaven. Two of these fellowswere Sclavonians, but gave out they were African Jews, and (as theyassured me) had run through Spain and Italy, embracing the Christianfaith, and being baptised wherever they thought it worth their labor. 

Soon after they opened another iron gate, which divided a large balconythat overlooked a court yard, and by this avenue entered our sistercatechumens, who, like me, were going to be regenerated, not by baptismbut a solemn abjuration. A viler set of idle, dirty, abandoned harlots, never disgraced any persuasion; one among them, however, appeared prettyand interesting; she might be about my own age, perhaps a year or twoolder, and had a pair of roguish eyes, which frequently encountered mine;this was enough to inspire me with the desire of becoming acquainted withher, but she had been so strongly recommended to the care of the oldgoverness of this respectable sisterhood, and was so narrowly watched bythe pious missionary, who labored for her conversion with more zeal thandiligence, that during the two months we remained together in this house(where she had already been three) I found it absolutely impossible toexchange a word with her. She must have been extremely stupid, thoughshe had not the appearance of it, for never was a longer course ofinstruction; the holy man could never bring her to a state of mind fitfor abjuration; meantime she became weary of her cloister, declaringthat, Christian or not, she would stay there no longer; and they wereobliged to take her at her word, lest she should grow refractory, andinsist on departing as great a sinner as she came. 

This hopeful community were assembled in honor of the new-comer; when ourguides made us a short exhortation: I was conjured to be obedient to thegrace that Heaven had bestowed on me; the rest were admonished to assistme with their prayers, and give me edification by their good example. Our virgins then retired to another apartment, and I was left tocontemplate, at leisure, that wherein I found myself. 

The next morning we were again assembled for instruction: I now began toreflect, for the first time, on the step I was about to take, and thecircumstances which had led me to it. 

I repeat, and shall perhaps repeat again, an assertion I have alreadyadvanced, and of whose truth I every day receive fresh conviction, whichis, that if ever child received a reasonable and virtuous education, itwas myself. Born in a family of unexceptionable morals, every lesson Ireceived was replete with maxims of prudence and virtue. My father(though fond of gallantry) not only possessed distinguished probity, butmuch religion; in the world he appeared a man of pleasure, in his familyhe was a Christian, and implanted early in my mind those sentiments hefelt the force of. My three aunts were women of virtue and piety; thetwo eldest were professed devotees, and the third, who united all thegraces of wit and good sense, was, perhaps, more truly religious thaneither, though with less ostentation. From the bosom of this amiablefamily I was transplanted to M. Lambercier's, a man dedicated to theministry, who believed the doctrine he taught, and acted up to itsprecepts. He and his sister matured by their instructions thoseprinciples of judicious piety I had already imbibed, and the meansemployed by these worthy people were so well adapted to the effect theymeant to produce, that so far from being fatigued, I scarce ever listenedto their admonitions without finding myself sensibly affected, andforming resolutions to live virtuously, from which, except in moments offorgetfulness, I seldom swerved. At my uncle's, religion was far moretiresome, because they made it an employment; with my master I thought nomore of it, though my sentiments continued the same: I had no companionsto vitiate my morals: I became idle, careless, and obstinate, but myprinciples were not impaired. 

I possessed as much religion, therefore, as a child could be supposedcapable of acquiring. Why should I now disguise my thoughts? I ampersuaded I had more. In my childhood, I was not a child; I felt, Ithought as a man: as I advanced in years, I mingled with the ordinaryclass; in my infancy I was distinguished from it. I shall doubtlessincur ridicule by thus modestly holding myself up for a prodigy--I amcontent. Let those who find themselves disposed to it, laugh their fill;afterward, let them find a child that at six years old is delighted, interested, affected with romances, even to the shedding floods of tears;I shall then feel my ridiculous vanity, and acknowledge myself in anerror. 

Thus when I said we should not converse with children on religion, if wewished them ever to possess any; when I asserted they were incapable ofcommunion with the Supreme Being, even in our confined degree, I drew myconclusions from general observation; I knew they were not applicable toparticular instances: find J. J. Rousseau of six years old, converse withthem on religious subjects at seven, and I will be answerable that theexperiment will be attended with no danger. 

It is understood, I believe, that a child, or even a man, is likely to bemost sincere while persevering in that religion in whose belief he wasborn and educated; we frequently detract from, seldom make any additionsto it: dogmatical faith is the effect of education. In addition to thisgeneral principle which attached me to the religion of my forefathers, Ihad that particular aversion our city entertains for Catholicism, whichis represented there as the most monstrous idolatry, and whose clergy arepainted in the blackest colors. This sentiment was so firmly imprintedon my mind, that I never dared to look into their churches--I could notbear to meet a priest in his surplice, and never did I hear the bells ofa procession sound without shuddering with horror; these sensations soonwore off in great cities, but frequently returned in country parishes, which bore more similarity to the spot where I first experienced them;meantime this dislike was singularly contrasted by the remembrance ofthose caresses which priests in the neighborhood of Geneva are fond ofbestowing on the children of that city. If the bells of the viaticumalarmed me, the chiming for mass or vespers called me to a breakfast, acollation, to the pleasure of regaling on fresh butter, fruits, or milk;the good cheer of M. De Pontverre had produced a considerable effect onme; my former abhorrence began to diminish, and looking on popery throughthe medium of amusement and good living, I easily reconciled myself tothe idea of enduring, though I never entertained but a very transient anddistant idea of making a solemn profession of it. 

At this moment such a transaction appeared in all its horrors; Ishuddered at the engagement I had entered into, and its inevitableconsequences. The future neophytes with which I was surrounded were notcalculated to sustain my courage by their example, and I could not helpconsidering the holy work I was about to perform as the action of avillain. Though young, I was sufficiently convinced, that whateverreligion might be the true one, I was about to sell mine; and even shouldI chance to chose the best, I lied to the Holy Ghost, and merited thedisdain of every good man. The more I considered, the more I despisedmyself, and trembled at the fate which had led me into such apredicament, as if my present situation had not been of my own seeking. There were moments when these compunctions were so strong that had Ifound the door open but for an instant, I should certainly have made myescape; but this was impossible, nor was the resolution of any longduration, being combated by too many secret motives to stand any chanceof gaining the victory. 

My fixed determination not to return to Geneva, the shame that wouldattend it, the difficulty of repassing the mountains, at a distance frommy country, without friends, and without resources, everything concurredto make me consider my remorse of conscience, as a too late repentance. I affected to reproach myself for what I had done, to seek excuses forthat I intended to do, and by aggravating the errors of the past, lookedon the future as an inevitable consequence. I did not say, nothing isyet done, and you may be innocent if you please; but I said, tremble atthe crime thou hast committed, which hath reduced thee to the necessityof filling up the measure of thine iniquities. 

It required more resolution than was natural to my age to revoke thoseexpectations which I had given them reason to entertain, break thosechains with which I was enthralled, and resolutely declare I wouldcontinue in the religion of my forefathers, whatever might be theconsequence. The affair was already too far advanced, and spite of allmy efforts they would have made a point of bringing it to a conclusion. 

The sophism which ruined me has had a similar affect on the greater partof mankind, who lament the want of resolution when the opportunity forexercising it is over. The practice of virtue is only difficult from ourown negligence; were, we always discreet, we should seldom have occasionfor any painful exertion of it; we are captivated by desires we mightreadily surmount, give into temptations that might easily be resisted, and insensibly get into embarrassing, perilous situations, from which wecannot extricate ourselves but with the utmost difficulty; intimidated bythe effort, we fall into the abyss, saying to the Almighty, why hast thoumade us such weak creatures? But, notwithstanding our vain pretexts, Hereplies, by our consciences, I formed ye too weak to get out of the gulf, because I gave ye sufficient strength not to have fallen into it. 

I was not absolutely resolved to become a Catholic, but, as it was notnecessary to declare my intentions immediately, I gradually accustomedmyself to the idea; hoping, meantime, that some unforeseen event wouldextricate me from my embarrassment. In order to gain time, I resolved tomake the best defence I possibly could in favor of my own opinion; but myvanity soon rendered this resolution unnecessary, for on finding Ifrequently embarrassed those who had the care of my instruction, I wishedto heighten my triumph by giving them a complete overthrow. I zealouslypursued my plan, not without the ridiculous hope of being able to convertmy convertors; for I was simple enough to believe, that could I convincethem of their errors, they would become Protestants; they did not find, therefore, that facility in the work which they had expected, as Idiffered both in regard to will and knowledge from the opinion they hadentertained of me. 

Protestants, in general, are better instructed in the principles of theirreligion than Catholics; the reason is obvious; the doctrine of theformer requires discussion, of the latter a blind submission; theCatholic must content himself with the decisions of others, theProtestant must learn to decide for himself; they were not ignorant ofthis, but neither my age nor appearance promised much difficulty to menso accustomed to disputation. They knew, likewise, that I had notreceived my first communion, nor the instructions which accompany it;but, on the other hand, they had no idea of the information I received atM. Lambercier's, or that I had learned the history of the church andempire almost by heart at my father's; and though (since that time, nearly forgot, when warmed by the dispute, very unfortunately for thesegentlemen), it again returned to my memory. 

A little old priest, but tolerably venerable, held the first conference;at which we were all convened. On the part of my comrades, it was rathera catechism than a controversy, and he found more pains in giving theminstruction than answering their objections; but when it came to my turn, it was a different matter; I stopped him at every article, and did notspare a single remark that I thought would create a difficulty: thisrendered the conference long and extremely tiresome to the assistants. My old priest talked a great deal, was very warm, frequently rambled fromthe subject, and extricated himself from difficulties by saying he wasnot sufficiently versed in the French language. 

The next day, lest my indiscreet objections should injure the minds ofthose who were better disposed, I was led into a separate chamber and putunder the care of a younger priest, a fine speaker; that is, one who wasfond of long perplexed sentences, and proud of his own abilities, if everdoctor was. I did not, however, suffer myself to be intimidated by hisoverbearing looks: and being sensible that I could maintain my ground, Icombated his assertions, exposed his mistakes, and laid about me in thebest manner I was able. He thought to silence me at once with St. Augustine, St. Gregory, and the rest of the fathers, but found, to hisineffable surprise, that I could handle these almost as dexterously ashimself; not that I had ever read them, or he either, perhaps, but Iretained a number of passages taken from my Le Sueur, and when he borehard on me with one citation, without standing to dispute, I parried itwith another, which method embarrassed him extremely. At length, however, he got the better of me for two very potent reasons; in thefirst place, he was of the strongest side; young as I was, I thought itmight be dangerous to drive him to extremities, for I plainly saw the oldpriest was neither satisfied with me nor my erudition. In the nextplace, he had studied, I had not; this gave a degree of method to hisarguments which I could not follow; and whenever he found himself pressedby an unforeseen objection he put it off to the next conference, pretending I rambled from the question in dispute. Sometimes he evenrejected all my quotations, maintaining they were false, and, offering tofetch the book, defied me to find them. He knew he ran very little risk, and that, with all my borrowed learning, I was not sufficientlyaccustomed to books, and too poor a Latinist to find a passage in a largevolume, had I been ever so well assured it was there. I even suspectedhim of having been guilty of a perfidy with which he accused ourministers, and that he fabricated passages sometimes in order to evade anobjection that incommoded him. 

Meanwhile the hospital became every day more disagreeable to me, andseeing but one way to get out of it, I endeavored to hasten my abjurationwith as much eagerness as I had hitherto sought to retard it. 

The two Africans had been baptised with great ceremony, they were habitedin white from head to foot to signify the purity of their regeneratedsouls. My turn came a month after; for all this time was thoughtnecessary by my directors, that they might have the honor of a difficultconversion, and every dogma of their faith was recapitulated, in order totriumph the more completely over my new docility. 

At length, sufficiently instructed and disposed to the will of mymasters, I was led in procession to the metropolitan church of St. John, to make a solemn abjuration, and undergo a ceremony made use of on theseoccasions, which, though not baptism, is very similar, and serves topersuade the people that Protestants are not Christians. I was clothedin a kind of gray robe, decorated with white Brandenburgs. Two men, onebehind, the other before me, carried copper basins which they keptstriking with a key, and in which those who were charitably disposed puttheir alms, according as they found themselves influenced by religion orgood will for the new convert; in a word, nothing of Catholic pageantrywas omitted that could render the solemnity edifying to the populace, orhumiliating to me. The white dress might have been serviceable, but as Ihad not the honor to be either Moor or Jew, they did not think fit tocompliment me with it. 

The affair did not end here, I must now go to the Inquisition to beabsolved from the dreadful sin of heresy, and return to the bosom of thechurch with the same ceremony to which Henry the Fourth was subjected byhis ambassador. The air and manner of the right reverend FatherInquisitor was by no means calculated to dissipate the secret horror thatseized my spirits on entering this holy mansion. After several questionsrelative to my faith, situation, and family, he asked me bluntly if mymother was damned? Terror repressed the first gust of indignation; thisgave me time to recollect myself, and I answered, I hope not, for Godmight have enlightened her last moments. The monk made no reply, but hissilence was attended with a look by no means expressive of approbation. 

All these ceremonies ended, the very moment I flattered myself I shouldbe plentifully provided for, they exhorted me to continue a goodChristian, and live in obedience to the grace I had received; thenwishing me good fortune, with rather more than twenty francs of smallmoney in my pocket, the produce of the above--mentioned collection, turned me out, shut the door on me, and I saw no more of them!

Thus, in a moment, all my flattering expectations were at an end; andnothing remained from my interested conversion but the remembrance ofhaving been made both a dupe and an apostate. It is easy to imagine whata sudden revolution was produced in my ideas, when every brilliantexpectation of making a fortune terminated by seeing myself plungedin the completest misery. In the morning I was deliberating what palaceI should inhabit, before night I was reduced to seek my lodging in thestreet. It may be supposed that I gave myself up to the most violenttransports of despair, rendered more bitter by a consciousness that myown folly had reduced me to these extremities; but the truth is, Iexperienced none of these disagreeable sensations. I had passed twomonths in absolute confinement; this was new to me; I was nowemancipated, and the sentiment I felt most forcibly, was joy at myrecovered liberty. After a slavery which had appeared tedious, I wasagain master of my time and actions, in a great city, abundant inresources, crowded with people of fortune, to whom my merit and talentscould not fail to recommend me. I had sufficient time before me toexpect this good fortune, for my twenty livres seemed an inexhaustibletreasure, which I might dispose of without rendering an account of toanyone. It was the first time I had found myself so rich, and far fromgiving way to melancholy reflections, I only adopted other hopes, inwhich self-love was by no means a loser. Never did I feel so great adegree of confidence and security; I looked on my fortune as already madeand was pleased to think I should have no one but myself to thank for theacquisition of it. 

The first thing I did was to satisfy my curiosity by rambling all overthe city, and I seemed to consider it as a confirmation of my liberty; Iwent to see the soldiers mount guard, and was delighted with theirmilitary accouterment; I followed processions, and was pleased with thesolemn music of the priests; I next went to see the king's palace, whichI approached with awe, but seeing others enter, I followed their example, and no one prevented me; perhaps I owed this favor to the small parcel Icarried under my arm; be that as it may, I conceived a high opinion of myconsequence from this circumstance, and already thought myself aninhabitant there. The weather was hot; I had walked about till I wasboth fatigued and hungry; wishing for some refreshment, I went into amilk-house; they brought me some cream-cheese curds and whey, and twoslices of that excellent Piedmont bread, which I prefer to any other; andfor five or six sous I had one of the most delicious meals I everrecollect to have made. 

It was time to seek a lodging: as I already knew enough of thePiedmontese language to make myself understood, this was a work of nogreat difficulty; and I had so much prudence, that I wished to adapt itrather to the state of my purse than the bent of my inclinations. In thecourse of my inquiries, I was informed that a soldier's wife, inPo-street, furnished lodgings to servants out of place at only one sou anight, and finding one of her poor beds disengaged, I took possession ofit. She was young and newly married, though she already had five or sixchildren. Mother, children and lodgers, all slept in the same chamber, and it continued thus while I remained there. She was good-natured, swore like a carman, and wore neither cap nor handkerchief; but she had agentle heart, was officious; and to me both kind and serviceable. 

For several days I gave myself up to the pleasures of independence andcuriosity; I continued wandering about the city and its environs, examining every object that seemed curious or new; and, indeed, mostthings had that appearance to a young novice. I never omitted visitingthe court, and assisted regularly every morning at the king's mass. I thought it a great honor to be in the same chapel with this princeand his retinue; but my passion for music, which now began to make itsappearance, was a greater incentive than the splendor of the court, which, soon seen and always the same, presently lost its attraction. The King of Sardinia had at that time the best music in Europe; Somis, Desjardins, and the Bezuzzi shone there alternately; all these were notnecessary to fascinate a youth whom the sound of the most simpleinstrument, provided it was just, transported with joy. Magnificenceonly produced a stupid admiration, without any violent desire to partakeof it, my thoughts were principally employed in observing whether anyyoung princess was present that merited my homage, and whom I could makethe heroine of a romance. 

Meantime, I was on the point of beginning one; in a less elevated sphere, it is true, but where could I have brought it to a conclusion, I shouldhave found pleasures a thousand times more delicious. 

Though I lived with the strictest economy, my purse insensibly grewlighter. This economy was, however, less the effect of prudence thanthat love of simplicity, which, even to this day, the use of the mostexpensive tables has not been able to vitiate. Nothing in my idea, either at that time or since, could exceed a rustic repast; give me milk, vegetables, eggs, and brown bread, with tolerable wine and I shall alwaysthink myself sumptuously regaled; a good appetite will furnish out therest, if the maitre d' hotel, with a number of unnecessary footmen, donot satiate me with their important attentions. Five or six sous wouldthen procure me a more agreeable meal than as many livres would have donesince; I was abstemious, therefore, for want of a temptation to beotherwise: though I do not know but I am wrong to call this abstinence, for with my pears, new cheese, bread and some glasses of Montferrat wine, which you might have cut with a knife, I was the greatest of epicures. Notwithstanding my expenses were very moderate, it was possible to seethe end of twenty livres; I was every day more convinced of this, and, spite of the giddiness of youth, my apprehensions for the future amountedalmost to terror. All my castles in the air were vanished, and I becamesensible of the necessity of seeking some occupation that would procureme a subsistence. 

Even this was a work of difficulty; I thought of my engraving, but knewtoo little of it to be employed as a journeyman, nor do masters abound inTurin; I resolved, therefore, till something better presented itself, togo from shop to shop, offering to engrave ciphers, or coats of arms, onpieces of plate, etc. , and hoped to get employment by working at a lowprice; or taking what they chose to give me. Even this expedient did notanswer my expectations; almost all my applications were ineffectual, thelittle I procured being hardly sufficient to produce a few scanty meals. 

Walking one morning pretty early in the 'Contra nova', I saw a youngtradeswoman behind a counter, whose looks were so charmingly attractive, that, notwithstanding my timidity with the ladies, I entered the shopwithout hesitation, offered my services as usual: and had the happinessto have it accepted. She made me sit down and recite my little history, pitied my forlorn situation; bade me be cheerful, and endeavored to makeme so by an assurance that every good Christian would give me assistance;then (while she had occasion for) she went up stairs and fetched mesomething for breakfast. This seemed a promising beginning, nor was whatfollowed less flattering: she was satisfied with my work, and, when I hada little recovered myself, still more with my discourse. She was ratherelegantly dressed and notwithstanding her gentle looks this appearance ofgayety had disconcerted me; but her good-nature, the compassionate toneof her voice, with her gentle and caressing manner, soon set me at easewith myself; I saw my endeavors to please were crowned with success, andthis assurance made me succeed the more. Though an Italian, and toopretty to be entirely devoid of coquetry, she had so much modesty, and Iso great a share of timidity, that our adventure was not likely to bebrought to a very speedy conclusion, nor did they give us time to makeany good of it. I cannot recall the few short moments I passed with thislovely woman without being sensible of an inexpressible charm, and canyet say, it was there I tasted in their utmost perfection the mostdelightful, as well as the purest pleasures of love. 

She was a lively pleasing brunette, and the good nature that was paintedon her lovely face rendered her vivacity more interesting. She wascalled Madam Basile: her husband, who was considerably older thanherself, consigned her, during his absence, to the care of a clerk, toodisagreeable to be thought dangerous; but who, notwithstanding, hadpretensions that he seldom showed any signs of, except of ill--humors, agood share of which he bestowed on me; though I was pleased to hear himplay the flute, on which he was a tolerable musician. This secondEgistus was sure to grumble whenever he saw me go into his mistress'apartment, treating me with a degree of disdain which she took care torepay him with interest; seeming pleased to caress me in his presence, on purpose to torment him. This kind of revenge, though perfectly to mytaste, would have been still more charming in a 'tete a tete', but shedid not proceed so far; at least, there was a difference in theexpression of her kindness. Whether she thought me too young, that itwas my place to make advances, or that she was seriously resolved to bevirtuous, she had at such times a kind of reserve, which, though notabsolutely discouraging, kept my passion within bounds. 

I did not feel the same real and tender respect for her as I did forMadam de Warrens: I was embarrassed, agitated, feared to look, and hardlydared to breathe in her presence, yet to have left her would have beenworse than death: How fondly did my eyes devour whatever they could gazeon without being perceived! the flowers on her gown, the point of herpretty foot, the interval of a round white arm that appeared between herglove and ruffle, the least part of her neck, each object increased theforce of all the rest, and added to the infatuation. Gazing thus on whatwas to be seen, and even more than was to be seen, my sight becameconfused, my chest seemed contracted, respiration was every moment morepainful. I had the utmost difficulty to hide my agitation, to prevent mysighs from being heard, and this difficulty was increased by the silencein which we were frequently plunged. Happily, Madam Basile, busy at herwork, saw nothing of all this, or seemed not to see it: yet I sometimesobserved a kind of sympathy, especially at the frequent rising of herhandkerchief, and this dangerous sight almost mastered every effort, butwhen on the point of giving way to my transports, she spoke a few wordsto me with an air of tranquility, and in an instant the agitationsubsided. 

I saw her several times in this manner without a word, a gesture, or evena look, too expressive, making the least intelligence between us. Thesituation was both my torment and delight, for hardly in the simplicityof my heart, could I imagine the cause of my uneasiness. I shouldsuppose these 'tete a tete' could not be displeasing to her, at least, she sought frequent occasions to renew them; this was a verydisinterested labor, certainly, as appeared by the use she made, or eversuffered me to make of them. 

Being, one day, wearied with the clerk's discourse, she had retired toher chamber; I made haste to finish what I had to do in the back shop, and followed her; the door was half open, and I entered without beingperceived. She was embroidering near a window on the opposite side ofthe room; she could not see me; and the carts in the streets made toomuch noise for me to be heard. She was always well dressed, but this dayher attire bordered on coquetry. Her attitude was graceful, her headleaning gently forward, discovered a small circle of her neck; her hair, elegantly dressed was ornamented with flowers; her figure was universallycharming, and I had an uninterrupted opportunity to admire it. I wasabsolutely in a state of ecstasy, and, involuntary, sinking on my knees, I passionately extended my arms towards her, certain she could not hear, and having no conception that she could see me; but there was a chimneyglass at the end of the room that betrayed all my proceedings. I amignorant what effect this transport produced on her; she did not speak;she did not look on me; but, partly turning her head, with the movementof her finger only, she pointed to the mat that was at her feet--To startup, with an articulate cry of joy, and occupy the place she hadindicated, was the work of a moment; but it will hardly be believed Idared attempt no more, not even to speak, raise my eyes to hers, or restan instant on her knees, though in an attitude which seemed to rendersuch a support necessary. I was dumb, immovable, but far enough from astate of tranquility; agitation, joy, gratitude, ardent indefinitewishes, restrained by the fear of giving displeasure, which myunpractised heart too much dreaded, were sufficiently discernible. Sheneither appeared more tranquil, nor less intimidated than myself--uneasyat my present situation; confounded at having brought me there, beginningto tremble for the effects of a sign which she had made withoutreflecting on the consequences, neither giving encouragement, norexpressing disapprobation, with her eyes fixed on her work, sheendeavored to appear unconscious of everything that passed; but all mystupidity could not hinder me from concluding that she partook of myembarrassment, perhaps, my transports, and was only hindered by abashfulness like mine, without even that supposition giving me power tosurmount it. Five or six years older than myself, every advance, according to my idea, should have been made by her, and, since she didnothing to encourage mine, I concluded they would offend her. Even atthis time, I am inclined to believe I thought right; she certainly hadwit enough to perceive that a novice like me had occasion, not only forencouragement but instruction. 

I am ignorant how this animated, though dumb scene would have ended, orhow long I should have continued immovable in this ridiculous, thoughdelicious, situation, had we not been interrupted--in the height of myagitation, I heard the kitchen door open, which joined Madam Basile'schamber; who, being alarmed, said, with a quick voice and action, "Getup! Here's Rosina!" Rising hastily I seized one of her hands, which sheheld out to me, and gave it two eager kisses; at the second I felt thischarming hand press gently on my lips. Never in my life did I enjoy sosweet a moment; but the occasion I had lost returned no more, this beingthe conclusion of our amours. 

This may be the reason why her image yet remains imprinted on my heartin such charming colors, which have even acquired fresh lustre since Ibecame acquainted with the world and women. Had she been mistress of theleast degree of experience, she would have taken other measures toanimate so youthful a lover; but if her heart was weak, it was virtuous;and only suffered itself to be borne away by a powerful thoughinvoluntary inclination. This was, apparently, her first infidelity, andI should, perhaps, have found more difficulty in vanquishing her scruplesthan my own; but, without proceeding so far, I experienced in her companythe most inexpressible delights. Never did I taste with any other womanpleasures equal to those two minutes which I passed at the feet of MadamBasile without even daring to touch her gown. I am convinced nosatisfaction can be compared to that we feel with a virtuous woman weesteem; all is transport!--A sign with the finger, a hand lightly pressedagainst my lips, were the only favors I ever received from Madam Basile, yet the bare remembrance of these trifling condescensions continues totransport me. 

It was in vain I watched the two following days for another tete a tete;it was impossible to find an opportunity; nor could I perceive on herpart any desire to forward it; her behavior was not colder, but moredistant than usual, and I believe she avoided my looks for fear of notbeing able sufficiently to govern her own. The cursed clerk was morevexatious than ever; he even became a wit, telling me, with a satiricalsneer, that I should unquestionably make my way among the ladies. Itrembled lest I should have been guilty of some indiscretion, and lookingat myself as already engaged in an intrigue, endeavored to cover with anair of mystery an inclination which hitherto certainly had no great needof it; this made me more circumspect in my choice of opportunities, andby resolving only to seize such as should be absolutely free from thedanger of a surprise, I met none. 

Another romantic folly, which I could never overcome, and which, joinedto my natural timidity, tended directly to contradict the clerk'spredictions, is, I always loved too sincerely, too perfectly, I may say, to find happiness easily attainable. Never were passions at the sametime more lively and pure than mine; never was love more tender, moretrue, or more disinterested; freely would I have sacrificed my ownhappiness to that of the object of my affection; her reputation wasdearer than my life, and I could promise myself no happiness for which Iwould have exposed her peace of mind for a moment. This disposition hasever made me employ so much care, use so many precautions, such secrecyin my adventures, that all of them have failed; in a word, my want ofsuccess with the women has ever proceeded from having loved them toowell. 

To return to our Egistus, the fluter; it was remarkable that in becomingmore insupportable, the traitor put on the appearance of complaisance. From the first day Madam Basile had taken me under her protection, shehad endeavored to make me serviceable in the warehouse; and finding Iunderstood arithmetic tolerably well, she proposed his teaching me tokeep the books; a proposition that was but indifferently received by thishumorist, who might, perhaps, be fearful of being supplanted. As thisfailed, my whole employ, besides what engraving I had to do, was totranscribe some bills and accounts, to write several books over fair, and translate commercial letters from Italian into French. All at oncehe thought fit to accept the before rejected proposal, saying, he wouldteach me bookkeeping, by double--entry, and put me in a situation tooffer my services to M. Basile on his return; but there was something sofalse, malicious, and ironical, in his air and manner, that it was by nomeans calculated to inspire me with confidence. Madam Basile, repliedarchly, that I was much obliged to him for his kind offer, but she hopedfortune would be more favorable to my merits, for it would be a greatmisfortune, with so much sense, that I should only be a pitiful clerk. 

She often said, she would procure me some acquaintance that might beuseful; she doubtless felt the necessity of parting with me, and hadprudently resolved on it. Our mute declaration had been made onThursday, the Sunday following she gave a dinner. A Jacobin of goodappearance was among the guests, to whom she did me the honor to presentme. The monk treated me very affectionately, congratulated me on my lateconversion, mentioned several particulars of my story, which plainlyshowed he had been made acquainted with it, then, tapping me familiarlyon the cheek, bade me be good, to keep up my spirits, and come to see himat his convent, where he should have more opportunity to talk with me. I judged him to be a person of some consequence by the deference that waspaid him; and by the paternal tone he assumed with Madam Basile, to beher confessor. I likewise remember that his decent familiarity wasattended with an appearance of esteem, and even respect for his fairpenitent, which then made less impression on me than at present. Had Ipossessed more experience how should I have congratulated myself onhaving touched the heart of a young woman respected by her confessor!

The table not being large enough to accommodate all the company, a smallone was prepared, where I had the satisfaction of dining with ouragreeable clerk; but I lost nothing with regard to attention and goodcheer, for several plates were sent to the side-table which werecertainly not intended for him. 

Thus far all went well; the ladies were in good spirits, and thegentlemen very gallant, while Madam Basile did the honors of the tablewith peculiar grace. In the midst of the dinner we heard a chaise stopat the door, and presently some one coming up stairs--it was M. Basile. Methinks I now see him entering, in his scarlet coat with gold buttons--from that day I have held the color in abhorrence. M. Basile was a tallhandsome man, of good address: he entered with a consequential look andan air of taking his family unawares, though none but friends werepresent. His wife ran to meet him, threw her arms about his neck, andgave him a thousand caresses, which he received with the utmostindifference; and without making any return saluted the company and tookhis place at table. They were just beginning to speak of his journey, when casting his eye on the small table he asked in a sharp tone, whatlad that was? Madam Basile answered ingenuously. He then inquiredwhether I lodged in the house; and was answered in the negative. "Whynot?" replied he, rudely, "since he stays here all day, he might as wellremain all night too. " The monk now interfered, with a serious and trueeulogium on Madam Basile: in a few words he made mine also, adding, thatso far from blaming, he ought to further the pious charity of his wife, since it was evident she had not passed the bounds of discretion. Thehusband answered with an air of petulance, which (restrained by thepresence of the monk) he endeavored to stifle; it was, however, sufficient to let me understand he had already received information ofme, and that our worthy clerk had rendered me an ill office. 

We had hardly risen from table, when the latter came in triumph from hisemployer, to inform me, I must leave the house that instant, and nevermore during my life dare to set foot there. He took care to aggravatethis commission by everything that could render it cruel and insulting. I departed without a word, my heart overwhelmed with sorrow, less forbeing obliged to quit this amiable woman, than at the thought of leavingher to the brutality of such a husband. He was certainly right to wishher faithful; but though prudent and wellborn, she was an Italian, thatis to say, tender and vindictive; which made me think, he was extremelyimprudent in using means the most likely in the world to draw on himselfthe very evil he so much dreaded. 

Such was the success of my first adventure. I walked several times upand down the street, wishing to get a sight of what my heart incessantlyregretted; but I could only discover her husband, or the vigilant clerk, who, perceiving me, made a sign with the ell they used in the shop, whichwas more expressive than alluring: finding, therefore, that I was socompletely watched, my courage failed, and I went no more. I wished, at least, to find out the patron she had provided me, but, unfortunately, I did not know his name. I ranged several times round the convent, endeavoring in vain to meet with him. At length, other events banishedthe delightful remembrance of Madam Basile; and in a short time I so farforgot her, that I remained as simple, as much a novice as ever, nor didmy penchant for pretty women even receive any sensible augmentation. 

Her liberality had, however, increased my little wardrobe, though she haddone this with precaution and prudence, regarding neatness more thandecoration, and to make me comfortable rather than brilliant. The coat Ihad brought from Geneva was yet wearable, she only added a hat and somelinen. I had no ruffles, nor would she give me any, not but I felt agreat inclination for them. She was satisfied with having put it in mypower to keep myself clean, though a charge to do this was unnecessarywhile I was to appear before her. 

A few days after this catastrophe; my hostess, who, as I have alreadyobserved, was very friendly, with great satisfaction informed me she hadheard of a situation, and that a lady of rank desired to see me. Iimmediately thought myself in the road to great adventures; that beingthe point to which all my ideas tended: this, however, did not prove sobrilliant as I had conceived it. I waited on the lady with the servant;who had mentioned me: she asked a number of questions, and my answers notdispleasing her, I immediately entered into her service not, indeed, inthe quality of favorite, but as a footman. I was clothed like the restof her people, the only difference being, they wore a shoulder--knot, which I had not, and, as there was no lace on her livery, it appearedmerely a tradesman's suit. This was the unforeseen conclusion of all mygreat expectancies!

The Countess of Vercellis, with whom I now lived, was a widow withoutchildren; her husband was a Piedmontese, but I always believed her to bea Savoyard, as I could have no conception that a native of Piedmont couldspeak such good French, and with so pure an accent. She was amiddle-aged woman, of a noble appearance and cultivated understanding, being fond of French literature, in which she was well versed. Herletters had the expression, and almost the elegance of Madam deSavigne's; some of them might have been taken for hers. My principalemploy, which was by no means displeasing to me, was to write from herdictating; a cancer in the breast, from which she suffered extremely, not permitting her to write herself. 

Madam de Vercellis not only possessed a good understanding, but a strongand elevated soul. I was with her during her last illness, and saw hersuffer and die, without showing an instant of weakness, or the leasteffort of constraint; still retaining her feminine manners, withoutentertaining an idea that such fortitude gave her any claim tophilosophy; a word which was not yet in fashion, nor comprehended by herin the sense it is held at present. This strength of dispositionsometimes extended almost to apathy, ever appearing to feel as little forothers as herself; and when she relieved the unfortunate, it was ratherfor the sake of acting right, than from a principle of realcommiseration. I have frequently experienced this insensibility, in somemeasure, during the three months I remained with her. It would have beennatural to have had an esteem for a young man of some abilities, who wasincessantly under her observation, and that she should think, as she felther dissolution approaching, that after her death he would have occasionfor assistance and support: but whether she judged me unworthy ofparticular attention, or that those who narrowly watched all her motions, gave her no opportunity to think of any but themselves, she did nothingfor me. 

I very well recollect that she showed some curiosity to know my story, frequently questioning me, and appearing pleased when I showed her theletters I wrote to Madam de Warrens, or explained my sentiments; but asshe never discovered her own, she certainly did not take the right meansto come at them. My heart, naturally communicative, loved to display itsfeelings, whenever I encountered a similar disposition; but dry, coldinterrogatories, without any sign of blame or approbation on my answers, gave me no confidence. Not being able to determine whether my discoursewas agreeable or displeasing, I was ever in fear, and thought less ofexpressing my ideas, than of being careful not to say anything that mightseem to my disadvantage. I have since remarked that this dry method ofquestioning themselves into people's characters is a common trick amongwomen who pride themselves on superior understanding. These imagine, that by concealing their own sentiments, they shall the more easilypenetrate into those of others; being ignorant that this method destroysthe confidence so necessary to make us reveal them. A man, on beingquestioned, is immediately on his guard: and if once he supposes that, without any interest in his concerns, you only wish to set him a-talking, either he entertains you with lies, is silent, or, examining every wordbefore he utters it, rather chooses to pass for a fool, than to be thedupe of your curiosity. In short, it is ever a bad method to attempt toread the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our own. 

Madam de Vercellis never addressed a word to me which seemed to expressaffection, pity, or benevolence. She interrogated me coldly, and myanswers were uttered with so much timidity, that she doubtlessentertained but a mean opinion of my intellects, for latterly she neverasked me any questions, nor said anything but what was absolutelynecessary for her service. She drew her judgment less from what I reallywas, than from what she had made me, and by considering me as a footmanprevented my appearing otherwise. 

I am inclined to think I suffered at that time by the same interestedgame of concealed manoeuvre, which has counteracted me throughout mylife, and given me a very natural aversion for everything that has theleast appearance of it. Madam de Vercellis having no children, hernephew, the Count de la Roque, was her heir, and paid his courtassiduously, as did her principal domestics, who, seeing her endapproaching, endeavored to take care of themselves; in short, so manywere busy about her, that she could hardly have found time to think ofme. At the head of her household was a M. Lorenzy, an artful genius, with a still more artful wife; who had so far insinuated herself into thegood graces of her mistress, that she was rather on the footing of afriend than a servant. She had introduced a niece of hers as lady'smaid: her name was Mademoiselle Pontal; a cunning gypsy, that gaveherself all the airs of a waiting-woman, and assisted her aunt so well inbesetting the countess, that she only saw with their eyes, and actedthrough their hands. I had not the happiness to please this worthytriumvirate; I obeyed, but did not wait on them, not conceiving that myduty to our general mistress required me to be a servant to her servants. Besides this, I was a person that gave them some inquietude; they saw Iwas not in my proper situation, and feared the countess would discover itlikewise, and by placing me in it, decrease their portions; for such sortof people, too greedy to be just, look on every legacy given to others asa diminution of their own wealth; they endeavored, therefore, to keep meas much out of her sight as possible. She loved to write letters, in hersituation, but they contrived to give her a distaste to it; persuadingher, by the aid of the doctor, that it was too fatiguing; and, underpretence that I did not understand how to wait on her, they employed twogreat lubberly chairmen for that purpose; in a word, they managed theaffair so well, that for eight days before she made her will, I had notbeen permitted to enter the chamber. Afterwards I went in as usual, andwas even more assiduous than any one, being afflicted at the sufferingsof the unhappy lady, whom I truly respected and beloved for the calmnessand fortitude with which she bore her illness, and often did I shed tearsof real sorrow without being perceived by any one. 

At length we lost her--I saw her expire. She had lived like a woman ofsense and virtue, her death was that of a philosopher. I can truly say, she rendered the Catholic religion amiable to me by the serenity withwhich she fulfilled its dictates, without any mixture of negligence oraffectation. She was naturally serious, but towards the end of herillness she possessed a kind of gayety, too regular to be assumed, whichserved as a counterpoise to the melancholy of her situation. She onlykept her bed two days, continuing to discourse cheerfully with thoseabout her to the very last. 

She had bequeathed a year's wages to all the under servants, but, notbeing on the household list, I had nothing: the Count de la Roque, however, ordered me thirty livres, and the new coat I had on, which M. Lorenzy would certainly have taken from me. He even promised to procureme a place; giving me permission to wait on him as often as I pleased. Accordingly, I went two or three times, without being able to speak tohim, and as I was easily repulsed, returned no more; whether I did wrongwill be seen hereafter. 

Would I had finished what I have to say of my living at Madam deVercellis's. Though my situation apparently remained the same, I did notleave her house as I had entered it: I carried with me the long andpainful remembrance of a crime; an insupportable weight of remorse whichyet hangs on my conscience, and whose bitter recollection, far fromweakening, during a period of forty years, seems to gather strength as Igrow old. Who would believe, that a childish fault should be productiveof such melancholy consequences? But it is for the more than probableeffects that my heart cannot be consoled. I have, perhaps, caused anamiable, honest, estimable girl, who surely merited a better fate thanmyself, to perish with shame and misery. 

Though it is very difficult to break up housekeeping without confusion, and the loss of some property; yet such was the fidelity of thedomestics, and the vigilance of M. And Madam Lorenzy, that no article ofthe inventory was found wanting; in short, nothing was missing but a pinkand silver ribbon, which had been worn, and belonged to MademoisellePontal. Though several things of more value were in my reach, thisribbon alone tempted me, and accordingly I stole it. As I took no greatpains to conceal the bauble, it was soon discovered; they immediatelyinsisted on knowing from whence I had taken it; this perplexed me--Ihesitated, and at length said, with confusion, that Marion gave it me. 

Marion was a young Mauriennese, and had been cook to Madam de Vercellisever since she left off giving entertainments, for being sensible she hadmore need of good broths than fine ragouts, she had discharged her formerone. Marion was not only pretty, but had that freshness of color only tobe found among the mountains, and, above all, an air of modesty andsweetness, which made it impossible to see her without affection; she wasbesides a good girl, virtuous, and of such strict fidelity, that everyonewas surprised at hearing her named. They had not less confidence in me, and judged it necessary to certify which of us was the thief. Marion wassent for; a great number of people were present, among whom was the Countde la Roque: she arrives; they show her the ribbon; I accuse her boldly:she remains confused and speechless, casting a look on me that would havedisarmed a demon, but which my barbarous heart resisted. At length, shedenied it with firmness, but without anger, exhorting me to return tomyself, and not injure an innocent girl who had never wronged me. Withinfernal impudence, I confirmed my accusation, and to her face maintainedshe had given me the ribbon: on which, the poor girl, bursting intotears, said these words--"Ah, Rousseau! I thought you a gooddisposition--you render me very unhappy, but I would not be in yoursituation. " She continued to defend herself with as much innocence asfirmness, but without uttering the least invective against me. Hermoderation, compared to my positive tone, did her an injury; as it didnot appear natural to suppose, on one side such diabolical assurance; onthe other, such angelic mildness. The affair could not be absolutelydecided, but the presumption was in my favor; and the Count de la Roque, in sending us both away, contented himself with saying, "The conscienceof the guilty would revenge the innocent. " His prediction was true, andis being daily verified. 

I am ignorant what became of the victim of my calumny, but there islittle probability of her having been able to place herself agreeablyafter this, as she labored under an imputation cruel to her character inevery respect. The theft was a trifle, yet it was a theft, and, what wasworse, employed to seduce a boy; while the lie and obstinacy left nothingto hope from a person in whom so many vices were united. I do not evenlook on the misery and disgrace in which I plunged her as the greatestevil: who knows, at her age, whither contempt and disregarded innocencemight have led her?--Alas! if remorse for having made her unhappy isinsupportable, what must I have suffered at the thought of rendering hereven worse than myself. The cruel remembrance of this transaction, sometimes so troubles and disorders me, that, in my disturbed slumbers, I imagine I see this poor girl enter and reproach me with my crime, as though I had committed it but yesterday. While in easy tranquilcircumstances, I was less miserable on this account, but, during atroubled agitated life, it has robbed me of the sweet consolation ofpersecuted innocence, and made me wofully experience, what, I think, Ihave remarked in some of my works, that remorse sleeps in the calmsunshine of prosperity, but wakes amid the storms of adversity. I couldnever take on me to discharge my heart of this weight in the bosom of afriend; nor could the closest intimacy ever encourage me to it, even withMadam de Warrens: all I could do, was to own I had to accuse myself of anatrocious crime, but never said in what it consisted. The weight, therefore, has remained heavy on my conscience to this day; and I cantruly own the desire of relieving myself, in some measure, from it, contributed greatly to the resolution of writing my Confessions. 

I have proceeded truly in that I have just made, and it will certainly bethought I have not sought to palliate the turpitude of my offence; but Ishould not fulfill the purpose of this undertaking, did I not, at thesame time, divulge my interior disposition, and excuse myself as far asis conformable with truth. 

Never was wickedness further from my thoughts, than in that cruel moment;and when I accused the unhappy girl, it is strange, but strictly true, that my friendship for her was the immediate cause of it. She waspresent to my thoughts; I formed my excuse from the first object thatpresented itself: I accused her with doing what I meant to have done, and as I designed to have given her the ribbon, asserted she had givenit to me. When she appeared, my heart was agonized, but the presenceof so many people was more powerful than my compunction. I did not fearpunishment, but I dreaded shame: I dreaded it more than death, more thanthe crime, more than all the world. I would have buried, hid myself inthe centre of the earth: invincible shame bore down every othersentiment; shame alone caused all my impudence, and in proportion as Ibecame criminal, the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid. I felt nodread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face, declared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of thisovercame every other sensation. Had I been left to myself, I shouldinfallibly have declared the truth. Or if M. De la Rogue had taken measide, and said--"Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty ownit, "--I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet;but they intimidated, instead of encouraging me. I was hardly out of mychildhood, or rather, was yet in it. It is also just to make someallowance for my age. In youth, dark, premeditated villainy is morecriminal than in a riper age, but weaknesses are much less so; my faultwas truly nothing more; and I am less afflicted at the deed itself thanfor its consequences. It had one good effect, however, in preserving methrough the rest of my life from any criminal action, from the terribleimpression that has remained from the only one I ever committed; and Ithink my aversion for lying proceeds in a great measure from regret athaving been guilty of so black a one. If it is a crime that can beexpiated, as I dare believe, forty years of uprightness and honor onvarious difficult occasions, with the many misfortunes that haveoverwhelmed my latter years, may have completed it. Poor Marion hasfound so many avengers in this world, that however great my offencetowards her, I do not fear to bear the guilt with me. Thus have Idisclosed what I had to say on this painful subject; may I be permittednever to mention it again. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK III. 

Leaving the service of Madam de Vercellis nearly as I had entered it, I returned to my former hostess, and remained there five or six weeks;during which time health, youth, and laziness, frequently rendered mytemperament importunate. I was restless, absent, and thoughtful: I weptand sighed for a happiness I had no idea of, though at the same timehighly sensible of some deficiency. This situation is indescribable, few men can even form any conception of it, because, in general, theyhave prevented that plenitude of life, at once tormenting and delicious. My thoughts were incessantly occupied with girls and women, but in amanner peculiar to myself: these ideas kept my senses in a perpetual anddisagreeable activity, though, fortunately, they did not point out themeans of deliverance. I would have given my life to have met with a MissGoton, but the time was past in which the play of infancy predominated;increase of years had introduced shame, the inseparable companion of aconscious deviation from rectitude, which so confirmed my naturaltimidity as to render it invincible; and never, either at that time orsince, could I prevail on myself to offer a proposition favorable to mywishes (unless in a manner constrained to it by previous advances) evenwith those whose scruples I had no cause to dread. 

My stay at Madam de Vercellis's had procured me some acquaintance, whichI thought might be serviceable to me, and therefore wished to retain. Among others, I sometimes visited a Savoyard abbe, M. Gaime, who wastutor to the Count of Melarede's children. He was young, and not muchknown, but possessed an excellent cultivated understanding, with greatprobity, and was, altogether, one of the best men I ever knew. He wasincapable of doing me the service I then stood most in need of, nothaving sufficient interest to procure me a situation, but from him Ireaped advantages far more precious, which have been useful to me throughlife, lessons of pure morality, and maxims of sound judgment. 

In the successive order of my inclinations and ideas, I had ever been toohigh or too low. Achilles or Thersites; sometimes a hero, at others avillain. M. Gaime took pains to make me properly acquainted with myself, without sparing or giving me too much discouragement. He spoke inadvantageous terms of my disposition and talents, adding, that he foresawobstacles which would prevent my profiting by them; thus, according tohim, they were to serve less as steps by which I should mount to fortune, than as resources which might enable me to exist without one. He gave mea true picture of human life, of which, hitherto, I had formed but a veryerroneous idea, teaching me, that a man of understanding, though destinedto experience adverse fortune, might, by skilful management, arrive athappiness; that there was no true felicity without virtue, which waspracticable in every situation. He greatly diminished my admiration ofgrandeur, by proving that those in a superior situation are neitherbetter nor happier than those they command. One of his maxims hasfrequently returned to my memory: it was, that if we could truly read thehearts of others we should feel more inclination to descend than rise:this reflection, the truth of which is striking without extravagance, I have found of great utility, in the various exigences of my life, as ittended to make me satisfied with my condition. He gave me the first justconception of relative duties, which my high-flown imagination had everpictured in extremes, making me sensible that the enthusiasm of sublimevirtues is of little use in society; that while endeavoring to rise toohigh we are in danger of falling; and that a virtuous and uniformdischarge of little duties requires as great a degree of fortitude asactions which are called heroic, and would at the same time procure morehonor and happiness. That it was infinitely more desirable to possessthe lasting esteem of those about us, than at intervals to attractadmiration. 

In properly arranging the various duties between man and man, it wasnecessary to ascend to principles; the step I had recently taken, and ofwhich my present situation was the consequence, naturally led us to speakof religion. It will easily be conceived that the honest M. Gaime was, in a great measure, the original of the Savoyard Vicar; prudence onlyobliging him to deliver his sentiments, on certain points, with morecaution and reserve, and explain himself with less freedom; but hissentiments and councils were the same, not even excepting his advice toreturn to my country; all was precisely as I have since given it to thepubic. Dwelling no longer, therefore, on conversations which everyonemay see the substance of, I shall only add, that these wise instructions(though they did not produce an immediate effect) were as so many seedsof virtue and religion in my heart which were never rooted out, and onlyrequired the fostering cares of friendship to bring to maturity. 

Though my conversation was not very sincere, I was affected by hisdiscourses, and far from being weary, was pleased with them on account oftheir clearness and simplicity, but above all because his heart seemedinterested in what he said. My disposition is naturally tender, I haveever been less attached to people for the good they have really done methan for that they designed to do, and my feelings in this particularhave seldom misled me: thus I truly esteemed M. Gaime. I was in a mannerhis second disciple, which even at that time was of inestimable servicein turning me from a propensity to vice into which my idleness wasleading me. 

One day, when I least expected it, I was sent for by the Count de laRoque. Having frequently called at his house, without being able tospeak with him, I grew weary, and supposing he had either forgot me orretained some unfavorable impression of me, returned no more: but I wasmistaken in both these conjectures. He had more than once witnessed thepleasure I took in fulfilling my duty to his aunt: he had even mentionedit to her, and afterwards spoke of it, when I no longer thought of itmyself. 

He received me graciously, saying that instead of amusing me with uselesspromises, he had sought to place me to advantage; that he had succeeded, and would put me in a way to better my situation, but the rest mustdepend on myself. That the family into which he should introduce mebeing both powerful and esteemed, I should need no other patrons; andthough at first on the footing of a servant, I might be assured, that ifmy conduct and sentiments were found above that station, I should notlong remain in it. The end of this discourse cruelly disappointed thebrilliant hopes the beginning had inspired. "What! forever a footman?"said I to myself, with a bitterness which confidence presently effaced, for I felt myself too superior to that situation to fear long remainingthere. 

He took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, andChief of the illustrious House of Solar. The air of dignity conspicuousin this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which hereceived me yet more interesting. He questioned me with evidentinterest, and I replied with sincerity. He then told the Count de laRoque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which hebelieved I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time mustshow the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, "Child, almost allsituations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours, however, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, andendeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment;for the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of. " Immediatelyafter he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whomhe presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son. I was elatedwith this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude, that so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of afootman. In fact, I was not treated like one. I dined at the steward'stable; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth)having commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered thatI should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house. Meantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of afootman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without beingappointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters, which were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Countde Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time. This trial of mydiscretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous, and not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might havecontracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into. Fortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained thelessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and Isometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition ofthem. I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, hadno conception of my business. Nothing could be more prudent than theadvice he gave me respecting my conduct. My beginning was admirable; somuch attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone. The AbbyGaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, andthat relaxation should be considered as neglect. "Your setting out, "said he, "is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor graduallyto increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish them. "

As they paid but little attention to my trifling talents, and supposed Ipossessed no more than nature had given me, there was no appearance(notwithstanding the promises of Count de Gauvon) of my meeting with anyparticular consideration. Some objects of more consequence hadintervened. The Marquis de Breil, son of the Count de Gauvon, was thenambassador at Vienna; some circumstances had occurred at that court whichfor some weeks kept the family in continual agitation, and left them notime to think of me. Meantime I had relaxed but little in my attentions, though one object in the family did me both good and harm, making me moresecure from exterior dissipation, but less attentive to my duty. 

Mademoiselle de Breil was about my own age, tolerably handsome, and veryfair complexioned, with black hair, which notwithstanding, gave herfeatures that air of softness so natural to the flaxen, and which myheart could never resist. The court dress, so favorable to youth, showedher fine neck and shape to advantage, and the mourning, which was thenworn, seemed to add to her beauty. It will be said, a domestic shouldnot take notice of these things; I was certainly to blame, yet Iperceived all this, nor was I the only one; the maitre d' hotel and valetde chambre spoke of her sometimes at table with a vulgarity that painedme extremely. My head, however, was not sufficiently turned to allow ofmy being entirely in love; I did not forget myself, or my situation. I loved to see Mademoiselle de Breil; to hear her utter anything thatmarked wit, sense, or good humor: my ambition, confined to a desire ofwaiting on her, never exceeded its just rights. At table I was everattentive to make the most of them; if her footman quitted her chair, I instantly supplied his place; in default of this, I stood facing her, seeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and watching themoment to change her plate. What would I not have given to hear hercommand, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me! but no, I had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not evenperceive I was there. Her brother, who frequently spoke to me while attable, having one day said something which I did not consider obliging, I made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her attention;she cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient to fill me withtransport. The next day, a second occasion presented itself, which Ifortunately made use of. A great dinner was given; and I saw, withastonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting at table, with a sword by his side, and hat on his head. By chance, the discourseturned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms, worked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'. As the Piedmonteseare not in general very perfect in the French language, they found faultwith the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no't'. The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to casthis eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything;he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion. I then said, I did notthink the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French word, not derivedfrom the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from the verb 'ferit', hestrikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, somethreat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'. The whole company fixedtheir eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never wasa greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an airof satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle deBreil. This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at leastas valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared towait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which hefully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerlychorused by the whole table. This interval was short, but delightful inmany respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, whichplace things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for theinjuries of fortune. Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil againraised her eyes, desiring me with a voice of timid affability to give hersome drink. It will easily be supposed I did not let her wait, butadvancing towards her, I was seized with such a trembling, that havingfilled the glass too full, I spilled some of the water on her plate, and even on herself. Her brother asked me, giddily, why I trembled thus?This question increased my confusion, while the face of Mademoiselle deBreil was suffused with a crimson blush. 

Here ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile, and others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate inthe conclusion of my amours. In vain I placed myself in the antechamberof Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from herdaughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I theconfidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, thatone day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing andcovering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare toquit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of afootman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness. To complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to pleaseMadam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, myservices; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly, "If I had nothing to do?" I was obliged, therefore, to renounce thisdear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other thingsintervening, I presently thought no more of it. 

The disdain of Madam de Breil was fully compensated by the kindness ofher father-in-law, who at length began to think of me. The evening afterthe entertainment, I have already mentioned, he had a conversation withme that lasted half an hour, which appeared to satisfy him, andabsolutely enchanted me. This good man had less sense than Madam deVercellis, but possessed more feeling; I therefore succeeded much betterwith him. He bade me attach myself to his son, the Abbe Gauvon, who hadan esteem for me, which, if I took care to cultivate, might beserviceable in furnishing me with what was necessary to complete theirviews for my future establishment. The next morning I flew to M. TheAbbe, who did not receive me as a servant, but made me sit by hisfireside, and questioned me with great affability. He soon found that myeducation, which had attempted many things, had completed none; butobserving that I understood something of Latin, he undertook to teach memore, and appointed me to attend him every morning. Thus, by one of thewhimsicalities which have marked the whole course of my life, at onceabove and below my natural situation, I was pupil and footman in the samehouse: and though in servitude, had a preceptor whose birth entitled himto supply that place only to the children of kings. 

The Abbe de Gauvon was a younger son, and designed by his family for abishopric, for which reason his studies had been pursued, further than isusual with people of quality. He had been sent to the university ofSienna, where he had resided some years, and from whence he had brought agood portion of cruscantism, designing to be that at Turin which the Abbede Dangeau was formerly at Paris. Being disgusted with theology, he gavein to the belle-lettres, which is very frequent in Italy, with those whohave entered the career of prelacy. He had studied the poets, and wrotetolerable Latin and Italian verses; in a word, his taste was calculatedto form mine, and give some order to that chaos of insignificant trashwith which my brain was encumbered; but whether my prating had misledhim, or that he could not support the trouble of teaching the elementaryparts of Latin, he put me at first too high; and I had scarcelytranslated a few fables of Phoedrus before he put me into Virgil, where Icould hardly understand anything. It will be seen hereafter that I wasdestined frequently to learn Latin, but never to attain it. I laboredwith assiduity, and the abbe bestowed his attention with a degree ofkindness, the remembrance of which, even at this time, both interests andsoftens me. I passed the greater part of the morning with him as muchfor my own instruction as his service; not that he ever permitted me toperform any menial office, but to copy, or write from his dictating; andmy employment of secretary was more useful than that of scholar, and bythis means I not only learned the Italian in its utmost purity, but alsoacquired a taste for literature, and some discernment of composition, which could not have been at La Tribu's, and which was useful to me whenI afterwards wrote alone. 

At this period of my life, without being romantic, I might reasonablyhave indulged the hope of preferment. The abbe, thoroughly pleased withme, expressed his satisfaction to everyone, while his father had such asingular affection for me, that I was assured by the Count de Favria, that he had spoken of me to the king; even Madam de Breil had laid asideher disdainful looks; in short I was a general favorite, which gave greatjealousy to the other servants, who seeing me honored by the instructionsof their master's son, were persuaded I should not remain their equal. 

As far as I could judge by some words dropped at random, and which Ireflected on afterwards, it appeared to me, that the House of Solar, wishing to run the career of embassies, and hoping perhaps in time toarrive at the ministry, wished to provide themselves with a person ofmerit and talents, who depending entirely on them, might obtain theirconfidence, and be of essential service. This project of the Count deGauvon was judicious, magnanimous, and truly worthy of a powerfulnobleman, equally provident and generous; but besides my not seeing, atthat time, its full extent, it was far too rational for my brain, andrequired too much confinement. 

My ridiculous ambition sought for fortune in the midst of brilliantadventures, and not finding one woman in all this scheme, it appearedtedious, painful and melancholy; though I should rather have thought itmore honorable on this account, as the species of merit generallypatronized by women is certainly less worthy that I was supposed topossess. 

Everything succeeded to my wish: I had obtained, almost forced, theesteem of all; the trial was over, and I was universally considered as ayoung man with flattering prospects, who was not at present in his propersphere, but was expected soon to reach it; but my place was not assignedme by man, and I was to reach it by very difficult paths. I now come toone of those characteristic traits, which are so natural to me, andwhich, indeed, the reader might have observed without this reflection. 

There were at Turin several new converts of my own stamp, whom I neitherliked nor wish to see; but I had met with some Genevese who were not ofthis description, and among others a M. Mussard, nicknamed Wryneck, aminiature painter, and a distant relation. This M. Mussard, havinglearned my situation at the Count de Gauvon's, came to see me, withanother Genevese, named Bacle, who had been my comrade during myapprenticeship. This Bacle was a very sprightly, amusing young fellow, full of lively sallies, which at his time of life appeared extremelyagreeable. At once, then, behold me delighted with M. Bacle; charmed tosuch a degree that I found it impossible to quit him. He was shortly todepart for Geneva; what a loss had I to sustain! I felt the whole forceof it, and resolving to make the best use of this precious interval, Idetermined not to leave him, or, rather, he never quitted me, for my headwas not yet sufficiently turned to think of quitting the house withoutleave, but it was soon perceived that he engrossed my whole time, and hewas accordingly forbid the house. This so incensed me, that forgettingeverything but my friend Bacle, I went neither to the abbe nor the count, and was no longer to be found at home. I paid no attention to repeatedreprimands, and at length was threatened with dismissal. This threat wasmy ruin, as it suggested the idea that it was not absolutely necessarythat Bacle should depart alone. From that moment I could think of noother pleasure, no other situation or happiness than taking this journey. To render the felicity still more complete, at the end of it (though atan immense distance) I pictured to myself Madam de Warrens; for as toreturning to Geneva, it never entered into my imagination. The hills, fields, brooks and villages, incessantly succeeded each other with newcharms, and this delightful jaunt seemed worthy to absorb my wholeexistence. Memory recalled, with inexpressible pleasure, how charmingthe country had appeared in coming to Turin; what then must it be, when, to the pleasure of independence, should be added the company of agood-humored comrade of my own age and disposition, without anyconstraint or obligation, but free to go or stay as we pleased? Wouldit not be madness to sacrifice the prospect of so much felicity toprojects of ambition, slow and difficult in their execution, anduncertain in their event? But even supposing them realized, and intheir utmost splendor, they were not worth one quarter of an hour of thesweet pleasure and liberty of youth. 

Full of these wise conclusions, I conducted myself so improperly, that(not indeed without some trouble) I got myself dismissed; for on myreturn one night the maitre de hotel gave me warning on the part of thecount. This was exactly what I wanted; for feeling, spite of myself, the extravagance of my conduct, I wished to excuse it by the addition ofinjustice and ingratitude, by throwing the blame on others, andsheltering myself under the idea of necessity. 

I was told the Count de Favria wished to speak with me the next morningbefore my departure; but, being sensible that my head was so far turnedas to render it possible for me to disobey the injunction, the maitre dehotel declined paying the money designed me, and which certainly I hadvery ill earned, till after this visit; for my kind patrons beingunwilling to place me in the situation of a footman, I had not any fixedwages. 

The Count de Favria, though young and giddy, talked to me on thisoccasion in the most sensible and serious manner: I might add, if itwould not be thought vain, with the utmost tenderness. He reminded me, in the most flattering terms, of the cares of his uncle, and intentionsof his grandfather; after having drawn in lively colors what I wassacrificing to ruin, he offered to make my peace, without stipulating anyconditions, but that I should no more see the worthless fellow who hadseduced me. 

It was so apparent that he did not say all this of himself, thatnotwithstanding my blind stupidity, I powerfully felt the kindness of mygood old master, but the dear journey was too firmly printed on myimagination for any consideration to balance the charm. Bereft ofunderstanding, firm to my purpose, I hardened myself against conviction, and arrogantly answered, that as they had thought fit to give me warning, I had resolved to take it, and conceived it was now too late to retract, since, whatever might happen to me, I was fully resolved not to be drivena second time from the same house. The count, justly irritated, bestowedon me some names which I deserved, and putting me out of his apartment bythe shoulders, shut the door on me. I departed triumphant, as if I hadgained the greatest victory, and fearful of sustaining a second combateven had the ingratitude to leave the house without thanking the abbe forhis kindness. 

To form a just conception of my delirium at that moment, the excess towhich my heart is subject to be heated by the most trifling incidents, and the ardor with which my imagination seizes on the most attractiveobjects should be conceived. At these times, plans the most ridiculous, childish, and void of sense, flatter my favorite idea, and persuade methat it is reasonable to sacrifice everything to the possession of it. Would it be believed, that when near nineteen, any one could be so stupidas to build his hopes of future subsistence on an empty phial? Forexample:

The Abbe de Gauvon had made me a present, some weeks before, of a verypretty heron fountain, with which I was highly delighted. Playing withthis toy, and speaking of our departure, the sage Bacle and myselfthought it might be of infinite advantage, and enable us to lengthen ourjourney. What in the world was so curious as a heron fountain? Thisidea was the foundation on which we built our future fortune: we were toassemble the country people in every village we might pass through, anddelight them with the sight of it, when feasting and good cheer would besure to pour on us abundantly; for we were both firmly persuaded, thatprovisions could cost nothing to those who grew and gathered them, and ifthey did not stuff travellers, it was downright ill-nature. 

We pictured in all parts entertainments and weddings, reckoning thatwithout any expense but wind from our lungs, and the water of ourfountain, we should be maintained through Piedmont, Savoy, France, andindeed, all the world over. There was no end to our projected travels, and we immediately directed our course northward, rather for the pleasureof crossing the Alps, than from a supposed necessity of being obliged tostop at any place. 

Such was the plan on which I set out, abandoning without regret, mypreceptors, studies, and hopes, with the almost certain attainment of afortune, to lead the life of a real vagabond. Farewell to the capital;adieu to the court, ambition, love, the fair, and all the greatadventures into which hope had led me during the preceding year! Ideparted with my fountain and my friend Bacle, a purse lightly furnished, but a heart over-flowing with pleasure, and only thinking how to enjoythe extensive felicity which I supposed my project encircled. 

This extravagant journey was performed almost as agreeably as I hadexpected, though not exactly on the same plan; not but our fountainhighly amused the hostess and servants for some minutes at all theale-houses where we halted, yet we found it equally necessary to pay onour departure; but that gave us no concern, as we never thought ofdepending on it entirely until our money should be expended. Anaccident spared us that trouble, our fountain was broken near Bramant, and in good time, for we both felt (though without daring to own it toeach other) that we began to be weary of it. This misfortune renderedus gayer than ever; we laughed heartily at our giddiness in havingforgotten that our clothes and shoes would wear out, or trusting torenew them by the play of our fountain. We continued our journey asmerrily as we had begun it, only drawing faster towards that terminationwhere our drained purses made it necessary for us to arrive. 

At Chambery I became pensive; not for the folly I had committed, fornever did any one think less of the past, but on account of the receptionI should meet with from Madam de Warrens; for I looked on her house as mypaternal home. I had written her an account of my reception at the Countde Gauvon's; she knew my expectancies, and, in congratulating me on mygood fortune, had added some wise lessons on the return I ought to makefor the kindness with which they treated me. She looked on my fortune asalready made, if not destroyed by my own negligence; what then would shesay on my arrival? for it never entered my mind that she might shut thedoor against me, but I dreaded the uneasiness I might give her; I dreadedher reproaches, to me more wounding than want; I resolved to bear all insilence, and, if possible to appease her. I now saw nothing but Madam deWarrens in the whole universe, and to live in disgrace with her wasimpossible. 

I was most concerned about my companion, whom I did not wish to offend, and feared I should not easily get rid of. I prefaced this separation byan affected coldness during the last day's journey. The drole understoodme perfectly; in fact, he was rather giddy than deficient in point ofsense--I expected he would have been hurt at my inconstancy, but I wasquite mistaken; nothing affected my friend Bacle, for hardly had we setfoot in town, on our arrival in Annecy, before he said, "You are now athome, "--embraced--bade me adieu--turned on his heel, and disappeared; norhave I ever heard of him since. 

How did my heart beat as I approached the habitation of Madam de Warrens!my legs trembled under me, my eyes were clouded with a mist, I neithersaw, heard, nor recollected any one, and was obliged frequently to stopthat I might draw breath, and recall my bewildered senses. Was it fearof not obtaining that succor I stood in need of, which agitated me tothis degree? At the age I then was, does the fear of perishing withhunger give such alarms? No: I declare with as much truth as pride, thatit was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of mylife, to expand or contract my heart. In the course of a painful life, memorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum, andwithout bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, bothopulence and misery. In want I might have begged or stolen, as othershave done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to suchnecessities. Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed somany tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, makeme heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids. My soul, in despite of fortune, has only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend onher; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could makelife pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals. 

The first glance of Madam de Warrens banished all my fears--my heartleaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and intransports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand. I am ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me. I discovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow. "Poor child!" said she, in an affectionate tone, "art thou here again?I knew you were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, thatit did not turn out so bad as I apprehended. " She then made me recountmy history; it was not long, and I did it faithfully: suppressing onlysome trifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing norexcusing myself. 

The question was, where I could lodge: she consulted her maid on thispoint--I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when Iheard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy; and sawthe little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined apartmentwith much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put up at Madamde Wolmar's. To complete all, I had the satisfaction to find that thisfavor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they thought meattentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warrens say, "They may talkas they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I am determinednot to abandon him. "

Behold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date thehappiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare mefor them. Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly toenjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect oforganization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without acertain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the mostacute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having beenacquainted with his own temperament. This was my case till that time, and such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam deWarrens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her longenough to contract that pleasing habit of affectionate sentiments withwhich she inspired me. I dare affirm, that those who only love, do notfeel the most charming sensations we are capable of: I am acquainted withanother sentiment, less impetuous, but a thousand times more delightful;sometimes joined with love, but frequently separated from it. Thisfeeling is not simply friendship; it is more enchanting, more tender; nordo I imagine it can exist between persons of the same sex; at least Ihave been truly a friend, if ever a man was, and yet never experienced itin that kind. This distinction is not sufficiently clear, but willbecome so hereafter: sentiments are only distinguishable by theireffects. 

Madam de Warrens inhabited an old house, but large enough to have ahandsome spare apartment, which she made her drawing-room. I nowoccupied this chamber, which was in the passage I have before mentionedas the place of our first meeting. Beyond the brook and gardens was aprospect of the country, which was by no means uninteresting to the younginhabitant, being the first time, since my residence at Bossey, that Ihad seen anything before my windows but walls, roofs, or the dirtystreet. How pleasing then was this novelty! it helped to increase thetenderness of my disposition, for I looked on this charming landscape asthe gift of my dear patroness, who I could almost fancy had placed itthere on purpose for me. Peaceably seated, my eyes pursued her amidstthe flowers and the verdure; her charms seemed to me confounded withthose of the spring; my heart, till now contracted, here found means toexpand itself, and my sighs exhaled freely in this charming retreat. 

The magnificence I had been accustomed to at Turin was not to be found atMadam de Warrens, but in lieu of it there was neatness, regularity, and apatriarchal abundance, which is seldom attached to pompous ostentation. She had very little plate, no china, no game in her kitchen, or foreignwines in her cellar, but both were well furnished, and at every one'sservice; and her coffee, though served in earthenware cups, wasexcellent. Whoever came to her house was invited to dine there, andnever did laborer, messenger, or traveller, depart without refreshment. Her family consisted of a pretty chambermaid from Fribourg, namedMerceret; a valet from her own country called Claude Anet (of whom Ishall speak hereafter), a cook, and two hired chairmen when she visited, which seldom happened. This was a great deal to be done out of twothousand livres a year; yet, with good management, it might have beensufficient in a country where land is extremely good, and money veryscarce. Unfortunately, economy was never her favorite virtue; shecontracted debts--paid them--thus her money passed from hand to hand likea weaver's shuttle, and quickly disappeared. 

The arrangement of her housekeeping was exactly what I should havechosen, and I shared it with satisfaction. I was least pleased with thenecessity of remaining too long at table. Madam de Warrens was so muchincommoded with the first smell of soup or meat, as almost to occasionfainting; from this she slowly recovered, talking meantime, and neverattempting to eat for the first half hour. I could have dined thrice inthe time, and had ever finished my meal long before she began; I then ateagain for company; and though by this means I usually dined twice, feltno inconvenience from it. In short, I was perfectly at my ease, and thehappier as my situation required no care. Not being at this timeinstructed in the state of her finances, I supposed her means wereadequate to her expense; and though I afterwards found the sameabundance, yet when instructed in her real situation, finding her pensionever anticipated, prevented me from enjoying the same tranquility. Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment; in vain I saw theapproach of misfortunes, I was never the more likely to avoid them. 

From the first moment of our meeting, the softest familiarity wasestablished between us: and in the same degree it continued during therest of her life. Child was my name, Mamma was hers, and child and mammawe have ever continued, even after a number of years had almost effacedthe apparent difference of age between us. I think those names convey anexact idea of our behavior, the simplicity of our manners, and above all, the similarity of our dispositions. To me she was the tenderest ofmothers, ever preferring my welfare to her own pleasure; and if my ownsatisfaction found some interest in my attachment to her, it was not tochange its nature, but only to render it more exquisite, and infatuate mewith the charm of having a mother young and handsome, whom I wasdelighted to caress: I say literally, to caress, for never did it enterinto her imagination to deny me the tenderest maternal kisses andendearments, or into my heart to abuse them. It will be said, at lengthour connection was of a different kind: I confess it; but have patience, that will come in its turn. 

The sudden sight of her, on our first interview, was the only trulypassionate moment she ever inspired me with; and even that wasprincipally the work of surprise. With her I had neither transports nordesires, but remained in a ravishing calm, sensible of a happiness Icould not define, and thus could I have passed my whole life, or eveneternity, without feeling an instant of uneasiness. 

She was the only person with whom I never experienced that want ofconversation, which to me is so painful to endure. Our tete-a-tetes wererather an inexhaustible chat than conversation, which could only concludefrom interruption. So far from finding discourse difficult, I ratherthought it a hardship to be silent; unless, when contemplating herprojects, she sunk into a reverie; when I silently let her meditate, andgazing on her, was the happiest of men. I had another singular fancy, which was that without pretending to the favor of a tete-a-tete, I wasperpetually seeking occasion to form them, enjoying such opportunitieswith rapture; and when importunate visitors broke in upon us, no matterwhether it was man or woman, I went out murmuring, not being able toremain a secondary object in her company; then, counting the minutes inher antechamber, I used to curse these eternal visitors, thinking itinconceivable how they could find so much to say, because I had stillmore. 

If ever I felt the full force of my attachment, it was when I did not seeher. When in her presence, I was only content; when absent, myuneasiness reached almost to melancholy, and a wish to live with her gaveme emotions of tenderness even to tears. Never shall I forget one greatholiday, while she was at vespers, when I took a walk out of the city, my heart full of her image, and the ardent wish to pass my life with her. I could easily enough see that at present this was impossible; that thehappiness I enjoyed would be of short duration, and this idea gave to mycontemplations a tincture of melancholy, which, however, was not gloomy, but tempered with a flattering hope. The ringing of bells, which everparticularly affects me, the singing of birds, the fineness of the day, the beauty of the landscape, the scattered country houses, among which inidea I placed our future dwelling, altogether struck me with animpression so lively, tender, melancholy, and powerful, that I saw myselfin ecstasy transported into that happy time and abode, where my heart, possessing all the felicity it could desire, might taste it with rapturesinexpressible. 

I never recollect to have enjoyed the future with such force of illusionsas at that time; and what has particularly struck me in the recollectionof this reverie, is that when realized, I found my situation exactly as Ihad imagined it. If ever waking dream had an appearance of a propheticvision, it was assuredly this; I was only deceived in its imaginaryduration, for days, years, and life itself, passed ideally in perfecttranquility, while the reality lasted but a moment. Alas! my mostdurable happiness was but as a dream, which I had no sooner had a glimpseof, than I instantly awoke. 

I know not when I should have done, if I was to enter into a detail ofall the follies that affection for my dear Madam de Warrens made mecommit. When absent from her, how often have I kissed the bed on asupposition that she had slept there; the curtains and all the furnitureof my chamber, on recollecting they were hers, and that her charminghands had touched them; nay, the floor itself, when I considered she hadwalked there. Sometimes even in her presence, extravagancies escaped me, which only the most violent passions seemed capable of inspiring; in aword, there was but one essential difference to distinguish me from anabsolute lover, and that particular renders my situation almostinconceivable. 

I had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no oneof my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted withwomen. My ardent constitution had found resources in those means bywhich youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity at theexpense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself. My localsituation should likewise be considered--living with a pretty woman, cherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her during thewhole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled her incessantlyto my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I knew she had slept. What a situation! Who can read this without supposing me on the brink ofthe grave? But quite the contrary; that which might have ruined me, acted as a preservative, at least for a time. Intoxicated with the charmof living with her, with the ardent desire of passing my life there, absent or present I saw in her a tender mother, an amiable sister, arespected friend, but nothing more; meantime, her image filled my heart, and left room far no other object. The extreme tenderness with which sheinspired me excluded every other woman from my consideration, andpreserved me from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because Iloved her. Let these particulars, which I recount but indifferently, beconsidered, and then let any one judge what kind of attachment I had forher: for my part, all I can say, is, that if it hitherto appearsextraordinary, it will appear much more so in the sequel. 

My time passed in the most agreeable manner, though occupied in a waywhich was by no means calculated to please me; such as having projects todigest, bills to write fair, receipts to transcribe, herbs to pick, drugsto pound, or distillations to attend; and in the midst of all this, camecrowds of travellers, beggars, and visitors of all denominations. Sometimes it was necessary to converse at the same time with a soldier, anapothecary, a prebendary, a fine lady, and a lay brother. I grumbled, swore, and wished all this troublesome medley at the devil, while sheseemed to enjoy it, laughing at my chagrin till the tears ran down hercheeks. What excited her mirth still more, was to see that my anger wasincreased by not being able myself to refrain from laughter. Theselittle intervals, in which I enjoyed the pleasure of grumbling, werecharming; and if, during the dispute, another importunate visitorarrived, she would add to her amusement by maliciously prolonging thevisit, meantime casting glances at me for which I could almost have beather; nor could she without difficulty refrain from laughter on seeing myconstrained politeness, though every moment glancing at her the look ofa fury, while, even in spite of myself, I thought the scene trulydiverting. 

All this, without being pleasing in itself, contributed to amuse, becauseit made up a part of a life which I thought delightful. Nothing that wasperformed around me, nothing that I was obliged to do, suited my taste, but everything suited my heart; and I believe, at length, I should haveliked the study of medicine, had not my natural distaste to itperpetually engaged us in whimsical scenes, that prevented my thinking ofit in a serious light. It was, perhaps, the first time that this artproduced mirth. I pretended to distinguish a physical book by its smell, and what was more diverting, was seldom mistaken. Madam de Warrens mademe taste the most nauseous drugs; in vain I ran, or endeavored to defendmyself; spite of resistance or wry faces, spite of my struggles, or evenof my teeth, when I saw her charming fingers approach my lips, I wasobliged to give up the contest. 

When shut up in an apartment with all her medical apparatus, any one whohad heard us running and shouting amidst peals of laughter would ratherhave imagined we had been acting a farce than preparing opiates orelixirs. 

My time, however, was not entirely passed in these fooleries; in theapartment which I occupied I found a few books: there was the Spectator, Puffendorf, St. Everemond, and the Henriade. Though I had not my oldpassion for books, yet I amused myself with reading a part of them. TheSpectator was particularly pleasing and serviceable to me. The Abbe deGauvon had taught me to read less eagerly, and with a greater degree ofattention, which rendered my studies more serviceable. I accustomedmyself to reflect on elocution and the elegance of composition;exercising myself in discerning pure French from my provincial idiom. For example, I corrected an orthographical fault (which I had in commonwith all Genevese) by these two lines of the Henriade:

 Soit qu' un ancient respect pour le sang de leurs maitres, Parlat encore pour lui dans le coeur de ces traitres

I was struck with the word 'parlat', and found a 't' was necessary toform the third person of the subjunctive, whereas I had always writtenand pronounced it parla, as in the present of the indicative. 

Sometimes my studies were the subject of conversation with Madam deWarrens; sometimes I read to her, in which I found great satisfaction;and as I endeavored to read well, it was extremely serviceable to me. I have already observed that her mind was cultivated; her understandingwas at this time in its meridian. Several people of learning having beenassiduous to ingratiate themselves, had taught her to distinguish worksof merit; but her taste (if I may so express myself) was ratherProtestant; ever speaking warmly of Bayle, and highly esteeming St. Evremond, though long since almost forgotten in France: but this did notprevent her having a taste for literature, or expressing her thoughtswith elegance. She had been brought up with polite company, and comingyoung to Savoy, by associating with people of the best fashion, had lostthe affected manners of her own country, where the ladies mistake wit forsense, and only speak in epigram. 

Though she had seen the court but superficially, that glance wassufficient to give her a competent idea of it; and notwithstanding secretjealousies and the murmurs excited by her conduct and running in debt, she ever preserved friends there, and never lost her pension. She knewthe world, and was useful. This was her favorite theme in ourconversations, and was directly opposite to my chimerical ideas, thoughthe kind of instruction I particularly had occasion for. We read Bruyeretogether; he pleased her more than Rochefoucault, who is a dull, melancholy author, particularly to youth, who are not fond ofcontemplating man as he really is. In moralizing she sometimesbewildered herself by the length of her discourse; but by kissing herlips or hand from time to time I was easily consoled, and never foundthem wearisome. 

This life was too delightful to be lasting; I felt this, and theuneasiness that thought gave me was the only thing that disturbed myenjoyment. Even in playfulness she studied my disposition, observed andinterrogated me, forming projects for my future fortune, which I couldreadily have dispensed with. Happily it was not sufficient to know mydisposition, inclinations and talents; it was likewise necessary to finda situation in which they would be useful, and this was not the work of aday. Even the prejudices this good woman had conceived in favor of mymerit put off the time of calling it into action, by rendering her moredifficult in the choice of means; thus (thanks to the good opinion sheentertained of me), everything answered to my wish; but a change soonhappened which put a period to my tranquility. 

A relation of Madam de Warrens, named M. D'Aubonne, came to see her; aman of great understanding and intrigue, being, like her, fond ofprojects, though careful not to ruin himself by them. He had offeredCardinal Fleury a very compact plan for a lottery, which, however, hadnot been approved of, and he was now going to propose it to the court ofTurin, where it was accepted and put into execution. He remained sometime at Annecy, where he fell in love with the Intendant's lady, who wasvery amiable, much to my taste and the only person I saw with pleasure atthe house of Madam de Warrens. M. D'Aubonne saw me, I was stronglyrecommended by his relation; he promised, therefore, to question and seewhat I was fit for, and, if he found me capable to seek me a situation. Madam de Warrens sent me to him two or three mornings, under pretense ofmessages, without acquainting me with her real intention. He spoke to megayly, on various subjects, without any appearance of observation; hisfamiliarity presently set me talking, which by his cheerful and jestingmanner he encouraged without restraint--I was absolutely charmed withhim. The result of his observations was, that notwithstanding theanimation of my countenance, and promising exterior, if not absolutelysilly, I was a lad of very little sense, and without ideas of learning;in fine, very ignorant in all respects, and if I could arrive at beingcurate of some village, it was the utmost honor I ought ever to aspireto. Such was the account he gave of me to Madam de Warrens. This wasnot the first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was itthe last; the judgment of M. Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed. 

The cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character notto need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I canin conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality, whatever M. Masseron, M. D'Aubonne and many others may have said, Icannot help thinking them mistaken. 

Two things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannotmyself conceive. My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions livelyand impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great embarrassmentand after much afterthought. It might be said my heart and understandingdo not belong to the same individual. A sentiment takes possession of mysoul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, itdazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, butstupid; to think I must be cool. What is astonishing, my conception isclear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus atleisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice. I could hold a tolerable conversation by the post, as they say theSpaniards play at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke ofSavoy, who turned himself round, while on a journey, to cry out 'a votregorge, marchand de Paris!' I said, "Here is a trait of my character!"

This slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not onlysensible of in conversation, but even alone. When I write, my ideas arearranged with the utmost difficulty. They glance on my imagination andferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation; duringthis state of agitation, I see nothing properly, cannot write a singleword, and must wait till it is over. Insensibly the agitation subsides, the chaos acquires form, and each circumstance takes its proper place. Have you never seen an opera in Italy? where during the change of sceneeverything is in confusion, the decorations are intermingled, and any onewould suppose that all would be overthrown; yet by little and little, everything is arranged, nothing appears wanting, and we feel surprised tosee the tumult succeeded by the most delightful spectacle. This is aresemblance of what passes in my brain when I attempt to write; had Ialways waited till that confusion was past, and then pointed, in theirnatural beauties, the objects that had presented themselves, few authorswould have surpassed me. 

Thence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing; my manuscripts, blotted, scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they costme; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe fouror five times before it went to press. Never could I do anything whenplaced at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or inthe woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that Icompose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has notthe advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain byheart six verses. Some of my periods I have turned and returned in myhead five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus itis that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, thanthose that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could neversucceed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;nor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without itcosting me hours of fatigue. If I write immediately what strikes me, myletter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which, when read, can hardly be understood. 

It is not only painful to me to give language to my ideas but even toreceive them. I have studied mankind, and think myself a tolerableobserver, yet I know nothing from what I see, but all from what Iremember, nor have I understanding except in my recollections. From allthat is said, from all that passes in my presence, I feel nothing, conceive nothing, the exterior sign being all that strikes me; afterwardsit returns to my remembrance; I recollect the place, the time, themanner, the look, and gesture, not a circumstance escapes me; it is then, from what has been done or said, that I imagine what has been thought, and I have rarely found myself mistaken. 

So little master of my understanding when alone, let any one judge what Imust be in conversation, where to speak with any degree of ease you mustthink of a thousand things at the same time: the bare idea that I shouldforget something material would be sufficient to intimidate me. Nor canI comprehend how people can have the confidence to converse in largecompanies, where each word must pass in review before so many, and whereit would be requisite to know their several characters and histories toavoid saying what might give offence. In this particular, those whofrequent the world would have a great advantage, as they know betterwhere to be silent, and can speak with greater confidence; yet even theysometimes let fall absurdities; in what predicament then must he be whodrops as it were from the clouds? it is almost impossible he should speakten minutes with impunity. 

In a tete-a-tete there is a still worse inconvenience; that is; thenecessity of talking perpetually, at least, the necessity of answeringwhen spoken to, and keeping up the conversation when the other is silent. This insupportable constraint is alone sufficient to disgust me withvariety, for I cannot form an idea of a greater torment than beingobliged to speak continually without time for recollection. I know notwhether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint; but if I amobliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense. What is still worse, instead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing tosay, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination: andendeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible, Ihastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they onlychance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to conquer or hide myincapacity, I rarely fail to show it. 

I think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I havefrequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this wasthe more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise, andexpectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more shocking. This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will not beuseless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which mightotherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a savagehumor I do not possess. I love society as much as any man, was I notcertain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but totallydifferent from what I really am. The plan I have adopted of writing andretirement, is what exactly suits me. Had I been present, my worth wouldnever have been known, no one would even have suspected it; thus it waswith Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived for severalyears; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though on the wholethis rule may be subject to some exceptions. I shall now return to myhistory. 

The estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable ofpromised, the question only remained how to render her capable offulfilling my destined vocation. The principle difficulty was, I did notknow Latin enough for a priest. Madam de Warrens determined to have metaught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to theSuperior, who was a Lazarist, called M. Gras, a good-natured littlefellow, half blind, meagre, gray-haired, insensible, and the leastpedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no greatmatter. 

He frequently visited Madam de Warrens, who entertained, caressed, andmade much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he waswilling enough to perform. While thus employed, she would run about theroom, this way or that, as occasion happened to call her. Drawn by thelace, Monsieur the Superior followed, grumbling, repeating at everymoment, "Pray, madam, do stand still;" the whole forming a scene trulydiverting. 

M. Gras willingly assented to the project of Madam de Warrens, and, for avery moderate pension, charged himself with the care of instructing me. The consent of the bishop was all that remained necessary, who not onlygranted it, but offered to pay the pension, permitting me to retain thesecular habit till they could judge by a trial what success they mighthave in my improvement. 

What a change! but I was obliged to submit; though I went to the seminarywith about the same spirits as if they had been taking me to execution. What a melancholy abode! especially for one who left the house of apretty woman. I carried one book with me, that I had borrowed of Madamde Warrens, and found it a capital resource! it will not be easilyconjectured what kind of book this was--it was a music book. Among thetalents she had cultivated, music was not forgotten; she had a tolerablegood voice, sang agreeably, and played on the harpsichord. She had takenthe pains to give me some lessons in singing, though before I was veryuninformed in that respect, hardly knowing the music of our psalms. Eight or ten interrupted lessons, far from putting me in a condition toimprove myself, did not teach me half the notes; notwithstanding, I hadsuch a passion for the art, that I determined to exercise myself alone. The book I took was not of the most easy kind; it was the cantatas ofClerambault. It may be conceived with what attention and perseverance Istudied, when I inform my reader, that without knowing anything oftransposition or quantity, I contrived to sing with tolerablecorrectness, the first recitative and air in the cantata of Alpheus andArethusa; it is true this air is, so justly set, that it is onlynecessary to recite the verses in their just measure to catch the music. 

There was at the seminary a curst Lazarist, who by undertaking to teachme Latin made me detest it. His hair was coarse, black and greasy, hisface like those formed in gingerbread, he had the voice of a buffalo, thecountenance of an owl, and the bristles of a boar in lieu of a beard; hissmile was sardonic, and his limbs played like those of a puppet moved bywires. I have forgotten his odious name, but the remembrance of hisfrightful precise countenance remains with me, though hardly can Irecollect it without trembling; especially when I call to mind ourmeeting in the gallery, when he graciously advanced his filthy square capas a sign for me to enter his apartment, which appeared more dismal in myapprehension than a dungeon. Let any one judge the contrast between mypresent master and the elegant Abbe de Gauvon. 

Had I remained two months at the mercy of this monster, I am certain myhead could not have sustained it; but the good M. Gras, perceiving I wasmelancholy, grew thin, and did not eat my victuals, guessed the cause ofmy uneasiness (which indeed was not very difficult) and taking me fromthe claws of this beast, by another yet more striking contrast, placed mewith the gentlest of men, a young Faucigneran abbe, named M. Gatier, who studied at the seminary, and out of complaisance for M. Gras, andhumanity to myself, spared some time from the prosecution of his ownstudies in order to direct mine. Never did I see a more pleasingcountenance than that of M. Gatier. He was fair complexioned, his beardrather inclined to red; his behavior like that of the generality of hiscountrymen (who under a coarseness of countenance conceal muchunderstanding), marked in him a truly sensible and affectionate soul. In his large blue eyes there was a mixture of softness, tenderness, andmelancholy, which made it impossible to see him without feeling one'sself interested. From the looks and manner of this young abbe he mighthave been supposed to have foreseen his destiny, and that he was born tobe unhappy. 

His disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience andcomplaisance, he rather appeared to study with than to instruct me. So much was not necessary to make me love him, his predecessor havingrendered that very easy; yet, notwithstanding all the time he bestowed onme, notwithstanding our mutual good inclinations, and that his plan ofteaching was excellent, with much labor, I made little progress. It isvery singular, that with a clear conception I could never learn much frommasters except my father and M. Lambercier; the little I know besides Ihave learned alone, as will be seen hereafter. My spirit, impatient ofevery species of constraint, cannot submit to the law of the moment; eventhe fear of not learning prevents my being attentive, and a dread ofwearying those who teach, makes me feign to understand them; thus theyproceed faster than I can comprehend, and the conclusion is I learnnothing. My understanding must take its own time and cannot submit tothat of another. 

The time of ordination being arrived, M. Gatier returned to his provinceas deacon, leaving me with gratitude, attachment, and sorrow for hisloss. The vows I made for him were no more answered than those I offeredfor myself. Some years after, I learned, that being vicar of a parish, a young girl was with child by him, being the only one (though hepossessed a very tender heart) with whom he was ever in love. This was adreadful scandal in a diocese severely governed, where the priests (beingunder good regulation) ought never to have children--except by marriedwomen. Having infringed this politic law, he was put in prison, defamed, and driven from his benefice. I know not whether it was ever after inhis power to reestablish his affairs; but the remembrance of hismisfortunes, which were deeply engraven on my heart, struck me when Iwrote Emilius, and uniting M. Gatier with M. Gaime, I formed from thesetwo worthy priests the character of the Savoyard Vicar, and flattermyself the imitation has not dishonored the originals. 

While I was at the seminary, M. D'Aubonne was obliged to quit Annecy, Moultou being displeased that he made love to his wife, which was actinglike a dog in the manger, for though Madam Moultou was extremely amiable, he lived very ill with her, treating her with such brutality that aseparation was talked of. Moultou, by repeated oppressions, at lengthprocured a dismissal from his employment: he was a disagreeable man; amole could not be blacker, nor an owl more knavish. It is said theprovincials revenge themselves on their enemies by songs; M. D'Aubonnerevenged himself on his by a comedy, which he sent to Madam de Warrens, who showed it to me. I was pleased with it, and immediately conceivedthe idea of writing one, to try whether I was so silly as the author hadpronounced me. This project was not executed till I went to Chambery, where I wrote 'The Lover of Himself'. Thus when I said in the preface tothat piece, "it was written at eighteen, " I cut off a few years. 

Nearly about this time an event happened, not very important in itself, but whose consequence affected me, and made a noise in the world when Ihad forgotten it. Once a week I was permitted to go out; it is notnecessary to say what use I made of this liberty. Being one Sunday atMadam de Warrens, a building belonging to the Cordeliers, which joinedher house, took fire; this building which contained their oven, beingfull of dry fagots, blazed violently and greatly endangered the house;for the wind happening to drive the flames that way, it was covered withthem. The furniture, therefore, was hastily got out and carried into thegarden which fronted the windows, on the other side the before-mentionedbrook. I was so alarmed that I threw indiscriminately everything thatcame to hand out of the window, even to a large stone mortar, which atanother time I should have found it difficult to remove, and should havethrown a handsome looking-glass after it had not some one prevented me. The good bishop, who that day was visiting Madam de Warrens, did notremain idle; he took her into the garden, where they went to prayers withthe rest that were assembled there, and where sometime afterwards, I found them on their knees, and presently joined them. While the goodman was at his devotions, the wind changed, so suddenly and critically, that the flames which had covered the house and began to enter thewindows, were carried to the other side of the court, and the housereceived no damage. Two years after, Monsieur de Berner being dead, theAntoines, his former brethren, began to collect anecdotes which mightserve as arguments of his beatification; at the desire of Father Baudet, I joined to these an attestation of what I have just related, in doingwhich, though I attested no more than the truth, I certainly acted ill, as it tended to make an indifferent occurrence pass for a miracle. I hadseen the bishop in prayer, and had likewise seen the wind change duringthe prayer, and even much to the purpose, all this I could certify truly;but that one of these facts was the cause of the other, I ought not tohave attested, because it is what I could not possibly be assured of. Thus much I may say, that as far as I can recollect what my ideas were atthat time, I was sincerely, and in good earnest a Catholic. Love of themarvellous is natural to the human heart; my veneration for the virtuousprelate, and secret pride in having, perhaps, contributed to the event inquestion, all helped to seduce me; and certainly, if this miracle was theeffect of ardent prayer, I had a right to claim a share of the merits. 

More than thirty years after, when I published the 'Lettres de laMontagne', M. Feron (I know not by what means) discovered thisattestation, and made use of it in his paper. I must confess thediscovery was very critically timed, and appeared very diverting, even to me. 

I was destined to be the outcast of every condition; for notwithstandingM. Gatier gave the most favorable account he possibly could of mystudies, they plainly saw the improvement I received bore no proportionto the pains taken to instruct me, which was no encouragement to continuethem: the bishop and superior, therefore, were disheartened, and I wassent back to Madam de Warrens, as a subject not even fit to make a priestof; but as they allowed, at the same time, that I was a tolerably goodlad, and far from being vicious, this account counterbalanced the former, and determined her not to abandon me. 

I carried back in triumph the dear music book, which had been so usefulto me, the air of Alpheus and Arethusa being almost all I had learned atthe seminary. My predilection for this art started the idea of making amusician of, me. A convenient opportunity offered; once a week, atleast, she had a concert at her house, and the music-master from thecathedral, who directed this little band, came frequently to see her. This was a Parisian, named M. Le Maitre, a good composer, very lively, gay, young, well made, of little understanding, but, upon the whole, agood sort of man. Madam de Warrens made us acquainted; I attached myselfto him, and he seemed not displeased with me. A pension was talked of, and agreed on; in short, I went home with him, and passed the winter themore agreeably at his chambers, as they were not above twenty pacesdistant from Madam de Warrens', where we frequently supped together. It may easily be supposed that this situation, ever gay, and singing withthe musicians and children of the choir, was more pleasing to me than theseminary and fathers of St. Lazarus. This life, though free, wasregular; here I learned to prize independence, but never to abuse it. For six whole months I never once went out except to see Madam deWarrens, or to church, nor had I any inclination to it. This interval isone of those in which I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction, and which Ihave ever recollected with pleasure. Among the various situations I havebeen placed in, some were marked with such an idea of virtuoussatisfaction, that the bare remembrance affects me as if they were yetpresent. I vividly recollect the time, the place, the persons, and eventhe temperature of the air, while the lively idea of a certain localimpression peculiar to those times, transports me back again to the veryspot; for example, all that was repeated at our meetings, all that wassung in the choir, everything that passed there; the beautiful and noblehabits of the canons, the chasubles of the priests, the mitres of thesingers, the persons of the musicians; an old lame carpenter who playedthe counter-bass, a little fair abbe who performed on the violin, theragged cassock which M. Le Maitre, after taking off his sword, used toput over his secular habit, and the fine surplice with which he coveredthe rags of the former, when he went to the choir; the pride with which Iheld my little flute to my lips, and seated myself in the orchestra, toassist in a recitative which M. Le Maitre had composed on purpose for me;the good dinner that afterwards awaited us, and the good appetites wecarried to it. This concourse of objects, strongly retraced in mymemory, has charmed me a hundred time as much, or perhaps more, than everthe reality had done. I have always preserved an affection for a certainair of the 'Conditor alme Syderum', because one Sunday in Advent I heardthat hymn sung on the steps of the cathedral, (according to the custom ofthat place) as I lay in bed before daybreak. Mademoiselle Merceret, Madam de Warrens' chambermaid, knew something of music; I shall neverforget a little piece that M. Le Maitre made me sing with her, and whichher mistress listened to with great satisfaction. In a word, everyparticular, even down to the servant Perrine, whom the boys of the choirtook such delight in teasing. The remembrance of these times ofhappiness and innocence frequently returning to my mind, both ravish andaffect me. 

I lived at Annecy during a year without the least reproach, givinguniversal satisfaction. Since my departure from Turin I had been guiltyof no folly, committed none while under the eye of Madam de Warrens. She was my conductor, and ever led me right; my attachment for her becamemy only passion, and what proves it was not a giddy one, my heart andunderstanding were in unison. It is true that a single sentiment, absorbing all my faculties, put me out of a capacity of learning evenmusic: but this was not my fault, since to the strongest inclination, I added the utmost assiduity. I was attentive and thoughtful; what couldI do? Nothing was wanting towards my progress that depended on me;meantime, it only required a subject that might inspire me to occasionthe commission of new follies: that subject presented itself, chancearranged it, and (as will be seen hereafter) my inconsiderate head gavein to it. 

One evening, in the month of February, when it was very cold, being allsat round the fire, we heard some one knock at the street door. Perrinetook a light, went down and opened it: a young man entering, cameupstairs, presented himself with an easy air, and making M. Maitre ashort, but well-turned compliment, announced himself as a Frenchmusician, constrained by the state of his finances to take this liberty. The hart of the good Le Maitre leaped at the name of a French musician, for he passionately loved both his country and profession; he thereforeoffered the young traveller his service--and use of his apartment, whichhe appeared to stand much in need of, and which he accepted without muchceremony. I observed him while he was chatting and warming himselfbefore supper; he was short and thick, having some fault in his shape, though without any particular deformity; he had (if I may so expressmyself) an appearance of being hunchbacked, with flat shoulders, and Ithink he limped. He wore a black coat, rather worn than old, which hungin tatters, a very fine but dirty shirt, frayed ruffles; a pair ofsplatterdashes so large that he could have put both legs into either ofthem, and, to secure himself from the snow, a little hat, only fit to becarried under his arm. With this whimsical equipage, he had, however, something elegant in his manners and conversation; his countenance wasexpressive and agreeable, and he spoke with facility if not with modesty;in short, everything about him bore the mark of a young debauchee, whodid not crave assistance like a beggar, but as a thoughtless madcap. He told us his name was Venture de Villeneuve, that he came from Paris, had lost his way, and seeming to forget that he had announced himself fora musician, added that he was going to Grenoble to see a relation thatwas a member of Parliament. 

During supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well: he knewall the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors, actresses, pretty women, and powerful lords; in short nothing wasmentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with. Though nosooner was any topic started, than by some drollery, which set every onea-laughing, he made them forget what had been said. This was on aSaturday; the next day there was to be music at the cathedral: M. LeMaitre asked if he would sing there--"Very willingly. "--"What part wouldhe chose?"--"The counter-tenor:" and immediately began speaking of otherthings. Before he went to church they offered him his part to peruse, but he did not even look at it. This Gasconade surprised Le Maitre--"You'll see, " said he, whispering to me, "that he does not know a singlenote. "--I replied: "I am very much afraid of him. " I followed them intothe church; but was extremely uneasy, and when they began, my heart beatviolently, so much was I interested in his behalf. 

I was presently out of pain: he sung his two recitatives with allimaginable taste and judgment; and what was yet more, with a veryagreeable voice. I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise. After mass, M. Venture received the highest compliments from the canons andmusicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace. M. LeMaitre embraced him heartily; I did the same; he saw I was rejoiced athis success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction. 

It will easily be surmised, that after having been delighted with M. Bacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuatedwith M. Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of theworld, and might be called an agreeable rake. This was exactly whathappened, and would, I believe, have happened to any other young man inmy place; especially supposing him possessed of better judgment todistinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it; for Venturedoubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, veryrare at his age, namely, that of never being in haste to display histalents. It is true, he boasted of many things he did not understand, but of those he knew (which were very numerous) he said nothing, patiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did withease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect. As there was ever some intermission between the proofs of his variousabilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever discoveredall his talents. Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing inconversation, ever smiling, but never laughing, and repeating the rudestthings in the most elegant manner--even the most modest women wereastonished at what they endured from him: it was in vain for them todetermine to be angry; they could not assume the appearance of it. It was extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a countrywhere they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so longremained only a musician. 

My attachment to M. Venture, more reasonable in its cause, was also lessextravagant in its effects, though more lively and durable than that Ihad conceived for M. Bacle. I loved to see him, to hear him, all hisactions appeared charming, everything he said was an oracle to me, butthe enchantment did not extend far enough to disable me from quittinghim. I spoke of him with transport to Madam de Warrens, Le Maitrelikewise spoke in his praise, and she consented we should bring him toher house. This interview did not succeed; he thought her affected, shefound him a libertine, and, alarmed that I had formed such an illacquaintance, not only forbade me bringing him there again, but likewisepainted so strongly the danger I ran with this young man, that I became alittle more circumspect in giving in to the attachment; and very happily, both for my manners and wits, we were soon separated. 

M. Le Maitre, like most of his profession, loved good wine; at table hewas moderate, but when busy in his closet he must drink. His maid was sowell acquainted with this humor that no sooner had he prepared his paperto compose, and taken his violoncello, than the bottle and glass arrived, and was replenished from time to time: thus, without being everabsolutely intoxicated, he was usually in a state of elevation. This wasreally unfortunate, for he had a good heart, and was so playful thatMadam de Warrens used to call him the kitten. Unhappily, he loved hisprofession, labored much and drank proportionately, which injured hishealth, and at length soured his temper. Sometimes he was gloomy andeasily offended, though incapable of rudeness, or giving offence to anyone, for never did he utter a harsh word, even to the boys of the choir:on the other hand, he would not suffer another to offend him, which wasbut just: the misfortune was, having little understanding, he did notproperly discriminate, and was often angry without cause. 

The Chapter of Geneva, where so many princes and bishops formerly thoughtit an honor to be seated, though in exile it lost its ancient splendor, retained (without any diminution) its pride. To be admitted, you musteither be a gentleman or Doctor of Sorbonne. If there is a pardonablepride, after that derived from personal merit, it is doubtless thatarising from birth, though, in general, priests having laymen in theirservice treat them with sufficient haughtiness, and thus the canonsbehaved to poor Le Maitre. The chanter, in particular, who was calledthe Abbe de Vidonne, in other respects a well-behaved man, but too fullof his nobility, did not always show him the attention his talentsmerited. M. Le Maitre could not bear these indignities patiently;and this year, during passion week, they had a more serious dispute thanordinary. At an institution dinner that the bishop gave the canons, andto which M. Maitre was always invited, the abbe failed in some formality, adding, at the same time, some harsh words, which the other could notdigest; he instantly formed the resolution to quit them the followingnight; nor could any consideration make him give up his design, thoughMadam de Warrens (whom he went to take leave of) spared no pains toappease him. He could not relinquish the pleasure of leaving his tyrantsembarrassed for the Easter feast, at which time he knew they stood ingreatest need of him. He was most concerned about his music, which hewished to take with him; but this could not easily be accomplished, as itfilled a large case, and was very heavy, and could not be carried underthe arm. 

Madam de Warrens did what I should have done in her situation; andindeed, what I should yet do: after many useless efforts to retain him, seeing he was resolved to depart, whatever might be the event, she formedthe resolution to give him every possible assistance. I must confess LeMaitre deserved it of her, for he was (if I may use the expression)dedicated to her service, in whatever appertained to either his art orknowledge, and the readiness with which he obliged gave a double value tohis complaisance: thus she only paid back, on an essential occasion, themany favors he had been long conferring on her; though I should observe, she possessed a soul that, to fulfill such duties, had no occasion to bereminded of previous obligations. Accordingly she ordered me to followLe Maitre to Lyons, and to continue with him as long as he might haveoccasion for my services. She has since avowed, that a desire ofdetaching me from Venture had a great hand in this arrangement. Sheconsulted Claude Anet about the conveyance of the above-mentioned case. He advised, that instead of hiring a beast at Annecy, which wouldinfallibly discover us, it would be better, at night, to take it to someneighboring village, and there hire an ass to carry it to Seyssel, whichbeing in the French dominions, we should have nothing to fear. This planwas adopted; we departed the same night at seven, and Madam de Warrens, under pretense of paying my expenses, increased the purse of poor LeMaitre by an addition that was very acceptable. Claude Anet, thegardiner, and myself, carried the case to the first village, then hiredan ass, and the same night reached Seyssel. 

I think I have already remarked that there are times in which I am sounlike myself that I might be taken for a man of a direct oppositedisposition; I shall now give an example of this. M. Reydelet, curate ofSeyssel, was canon of St. Peter's, consequently known to M. Le Maitre, and one of the people from whom he should have taken most pains toconceal himself; my advice, on the contrary, was to present ourselves tohim, and, under some pretext, entreat entertainment as if we visited himby consent of the chapter. Le Maitre adopted the idea, which seemed togive his revenge the appearance of satire and waggery; in short, we wentboldly to Reydelet, who received us very kindly. Le Maitre told him hewas going to Bellay by desire of the bishop, that he might superintendthe music during the Easter holidays, and that he proposed returning thatway in a few days. To support this tale, I told a hundred others, sonaturally that M. Reydelet thought me a very agreeable youth, and treatedme with great friendship and civility. We were well regaled and welllodged: M. Reydelet scarcely knew how to make enough of us; and we partedthe best friends in the world, with a promise to stop longer on ourreturn. We found it difficult to refrain from laughter, or wait till wewere alone to give free vent to our mirth: indeed, even now, the barerecollection of it forces a smile, for never was waggery better or morefortunately maintained. This would have made us merry during theremainder of our journey, if M. Le Maitre (who did not cease drinking)had not been two or three times attacked with a complaint that heafterwards became very subject to, and which resembled an epilepsy. These fits threw me into the most fearful embarrassments, from which Iresolved to extricate myself with the first opportunity. 

According to the information given to M. Reydelet, we passed our Easterholidays at Bellay, and though not expected there, were received by themusic--master, and welcomed by every one with great pleasure. M. LeMaitre was of considerable note in his profession, and, indeed, meritedthat distinction. The music-master of Bellay (who was fond of his ownworks) endeavored to obtain the approbation of so good a judge; forbesides being a connoisseur, M. Le Maitre was equitable, neither ajealous, ill-natured critic, nor a servile flatterer. He was so superiorto the generality of country music-masters and they were so sensible ofit, that they treated him rather as their chief than a brother musician. 

Having passed four or five days very agreeably at Bellay, we departed, and continuing our journey without meeting with any accidents, exceptthose I have just spoken of, arrived at Lyons, and were lodged at NotreDame de Pitie. While we waited for the arrival of the before-mentionedcase (which by the assistance of another lie, and the care of our goodpatron, M. Reydelet, we had embarked on the Rhone) M. Le Maitre went tovisit his acquaintance, and among others Father Cato, a Cordelier, whowill be spoken of hereafter, and the Abbe Dortan, Count of Lyons, both ofwhom received him well, but afterwards betrayed him, as will be seenpresently; indeed, his good fortune terminated with M. Reydelet. 

Two days after our arrival at Lyons, as we passed a little street not farfrom our inn, Le Maitre was attacked by one of his fits; but it was nowso violent as to give me the utmost alarm. I screamed with terror, called for help, and naming our inn, entreated some one to bear him toit, then (while the people were assembled, and busy round a man that hadfallen senseless in the street) he was abandoned by the only friend onwhom he could have any reasonable dependence; I seized the instant whenno one heeded me, turned the corner of the street and disappeared. Thanks to Heaven, I have made my third painful confession; if many suchremained, I should certainly abandon the work I have undertaken. 

Of all the incidents I have yet related, a few traces are remaining inthe places where I have lived; but what I have to relate in the followingbook is almost entirely unknown; these are the greatest extravagancies ofmy life, and it is happy they had not worse conclusions. My head, (if Imay use the simile) screwed up to the pitch of an instrument it did notnaturally accord with, had lost its diapason; in time it returned to itagain, when I discontinued my follies, or at least gave in to those moreconsonant to my disposition. This epoch of my youth I am least able torecollect, nothing having passed sufficiently interesting to influence myheart, to make me clearly retrace the remembrance. In so many successivechanges, it is difficult not to make some transpositions of time orplace. I write absolutely from memory, without notes or materials tohelp my recollection. Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they hadrecently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill upbut by the aid of recital, as confused as the remaining traces of thoseto which they refer. It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred intrifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance I cananswer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same veracitythe reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it. 

My resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Maitre; I set outimmediately for Annecy. The cause and mystery of our departure hadinterested me for the security of our retreat: this interest, whichentirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every otheridea; but no sooner was I secure and in tranquility, than my predominantsentiment regained its place. Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me, Ihad no wish but to return to Madam de Warrens; the tenderness and truthof my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginableproject, and all the follies of ambition, I conceived no happiness butliving near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that thedistance between us was increased. I returned, therefore, as soon aspossible, with such speed, and with my spirits in such a state ofagitation, that though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, Ihave not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leavingLyons and reaching Annecy. Let anyone judge whether this last event canhave slipped my memory, when informed that on my arrival I found Madam deWarrens was not there, having set out for Paris. 

I was never well informed of the motives of this journey. I am certainshe would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious tolearn the secrets of his friend. My heart is ever so entirely filledwith the present, or with past pleasures, which become a principal partof my enjoyment, that there is not a chink or corner for curiosity toenter. All that I conceive from what I heard of it, is, that in therevolution caused at Turin by the abdication of the King of Sardinia, she feared being forgotten, and was willing by favor of the intrigues ofM. D' Aubonne to seek the same advantage in the court of France, whereshe has often told me she should, have preferred it, as the multiplicityof business there prevents your conduct from being so closely inspected. If this was her business, it is astonishing that on her return she wasnot ill received; be that as it will, she continued to enjoy herallowance without any interruption. Many people imagined she was chargedwith some secret commission, either by the bishop, who then had businessat the court of France, where he himself was soon after obliged to go, or some one yet more powerful, who knew how to insure her a graciousreception at her return. If this was the case, it is certain theambassadress was not ill chosen, since being young and handsome, she hadall the necessary qualifications to succeed in a negotiation. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK IV. 

Let any one judge my surprise and grief at not finding her on my arrival. I now felt regret at having abandoned M. Le Maitre, and my uneasinessincreased when I learned the misfortunes that had befallen him. His boxof music, containing all his fortune, that precious box, preserved withso much care and fatigue, had been seized on at Lyons by means of CountDortan, who had received information from the Chapter of our havingabsconded with it. In vain did Le Maitre reclaim his property, his meansof existence, the labor of his life; his right to the music in questionwas at least subject to litigation, but even that liberty was not allowedhim, the affair being instantly decided on the principal of superiorstrength. Thus poor Le Maitre lost the fruit of his talents, the laborof his youth, and principal dependence for the support of old age. 

Nothing was wanting to render the news I had received truly afflicting, but I was at an age when even the greatest calamities are to besustained; accordingly I soon found consolation. I expected shortlyto hear news of Madam de Warrens, though I was ignorant of the address, and she knew nothing of my return. As to my desertion of Le Maitre (allthings considered) I did not find it so very culpable. I had beenserviceable to him at his retreat; it was not in my power to give him anyfurther assistance. Had I remained with him in France it would not havecured his complaint. I could not have saved his music, and should onlyhave doubled his expense: in this point of view I then saw my conduct;I see it otherwise now. It frequently happens that a villainous actiondoes not torment us at the instant we commit it, but on recollection, andsometimes even after a number of years have elapsed, for the remembranceof crimes is not to be extinguished. 

The only means I had to obtain news of Madam de Warrens was to remain atAnnecy. Where should I seek her in Paris? or how bear the expense ofsuch a journey? Sooner or later there was no place where I could be socertain to hear of her as that I was now at; this considerationdetermined me to remain there, though my conduct was very indifferent. I did not go to the bishop, who had already befriended me, and mightcontinue to do so; my patroness was not present, and I feared hisreprimands on the subject of our flight; neither did I go to theseminary, M. Graswas no longer there; in short, I went to none of myacquaintances. I should gladly have visited the intendant's lady, butdid not dare; I did worse, I sought out M. Venture, whom (notwithstandingmy enthusiasm) I had never thought of since my departure. I found himquite gay, in high spirits, and the universal favorite of the ladies ofAnnecy. 

This success completed my infatuation; I saw nothing but M. Venture; healmost made me forget even Madam de Warrens. That I might profit more atease by his instructions and example, I proposed to share his lodgings, to which he readily consented. It was at a shoemaker's; a pleasant, jovial fellow, who, in his county dialect, called his wife nothing buttrollop; an appellation which she certainly merited. Venture took careto augment their differences, though under an appearance of doing thedirect contrary, throwing out in a distant manner, and provincialaccents, hints that produced the utmost effect, and furnished such scenesas were sufficient to make any one die with laughter. Thus the morningspassed without our thinking of them; at two or three o'clock we took somerefreshment. Venture then went to his various engagements, where hesupped, while I walked alone, meditating on his great merit, coveting andadmiring his rare talents, and cursing my own unlucky stars, that did notcall me to so happy a life. How little did I then know of myself! minehad been a thousand times more delightful, had I not been such a fool, orknown better how to enjoy it. 

Madam de Warrens had taken no one with her but Anet: Merceret, thechambermaid, whom I have before mentioned, still remained in the house. Merceret was something older than myself, not pretty, but tolerablyagreeable; good-natured, free from malice, having no fault to myknowledge but being a little refractory with her mistress. I often wentto see her; she was an old acquaintance, who recalled to my remembranceone more beloved, and this made her dear to me. She had several friends, and among others one Mademoiselle Giraud, a Genevese, who, for thepunishment of my sins, took it in her head to have an inclination for me, always pressing Merceret, when she returned her visits, to bring me withher. As I liked Merceret, I felt no disinclination to accompany her;besides I met there with some young people whose company pleased me. For Mademoiselle Giraud, who offered every kind of enticement, nothingcould increase the aversion I had for her. When she drew near me, withher dried black snout, smeared with Spanish snuff, it was with the utmostdifficulty that I could refrain from expressing my distaste; but, beingpleased with her visitors, I took patience. Among these were two girlswho (either to pay their court to Mademoiselle Giraud or myself) paid meevery possible attention. I conceived this to be only friendship; buthave since thought it depended only on myself to have discoveredsomething more, though I did not even think of it at the time. 

There was another reason for my stupidity. Seamstresses, chambermaids, or milliners, never tempted me; I sighed for ladies! Every one has hispeculiar taste, this has ever been mine; being in this particular of adifferent opinion from Horace. Yet it is not vanity of riches or rankthat attracts me; it is a well-preserved complexion, fine hands, eleganceof ornaments, an air of delicacy and neatness throughout the wholeperson; more in taste, in the manner of expressing themselves, a finer orbetter made gown, a well-turned ankle, small foot, ribbons, lace, andwell-dressed hair; I even prefer those who have less natural beauty, provided they are elegantly decorated. I freely confess this preferenceis very ridiculous; yet my heart gives in to it spite of myunderstanding. Well, even this advantage presented itself, and it onlydepended on my own resolution to have seized the opportunity. 

How do I love, from time to time, to return to those moments of my youth, which were so charmingly delightful; so short, so scarce, and enjoyed atso cheap a rate!--how fondly do I wish to dwell on them! Even yet theremembrance of these scenes warms my heart with a chaste rapture, whichappears necessary to reanimate my drooping courage, and enable me tosustain the weariness of my latter days. 

The appearance of Aurora seemed so delightful one morning that, puttingon my clothes, I hastened into the country, to see the rising of the sun. I enjoyed that pleasure in its utmost extent; it was one week aftermidsummer; the earth was covered with verdure and flowers, thenightingales, whose soft warblings were almost concluded, seemed to viewith each other, and in concert with birds of various kinds to bid adieuto spring, and hail the approach of a beautiful summer's day: one ofthose lovely days that are no longer to be enjoyed at my age, and whichhave never been seen on the melancholy soil I now inhabit. 

I had rambled insensibly, to a considerable distance from the town--theheat augmented--I was walking in the shade along a valley, by the side ofa brook, I heard behind me the steps of horses, and the voice of somefemales who, though they seemed embarrassed, did not laugh the lessheartily on that account. I turn round, hear myself called by name, andapproaching, find two young people of my acquaintance, Mademoiselle deG---- and Mademoiselle Galley, who, not being very excellent horsewomen, could not make their horses cross the rivulet. 

Mademoiselle de G---- was a young lady of Berne, very amiable; who, having been sent from that country for some youthful folly, had imitatedMadam de Warrens, at whose house I had sometimes seen her; but nothaving, like her, a pension, she had been fortunate in this attachment toMademoiselle Galley, who had prevailed on her mother to engage her youngfriend as a companion, till she could be otherwise provided for. Mademoiselle Galley was one year younger than her friend, handsomer, more delicate, more ingenious, and to complete all, extremely well made. They loved each other tenderly, and the good disposition of both couldnot fail to render their union durable, if some lover did not derange it. They informed me they were going to Toune, an old castle belonging toMadam Galley, and implored my assistance to make their horses cross thestream, not being able to compass it themselves. I would have given eacha cut or two with the whip, but they feared I might be kicked, andthemselves thrown; I therefore had recourse to another expedient, I tookhold of Mademoiselle Galley's horse and led him through the brook, thewater reaching half-way up my legs. The other followed without anydifficulty. This done, I would have paid my compliments to the ladies, and walked off like a great booby as I was, but after whispering eachother, Mademoiselle de G---- said, "No, no, you must not think to escapethus; you have got wet in our service, and we ought in conscience to takecare and dry you. If you please you must go with us, you are now ourprisoner. " My heart began to beat--I looked at Mademoiselle Galley--"Yes, yes, " added she, laughing at my fearful look; "our prisoner of war;come, get up behind her, we shall give a good account of you. "--"But, mademoiselle, " continued I, "I have not the honor to be acquainted withyour mother; what will she say on my arrival?"--"Her mother, " repliedMademoiselle de G---- is not at Toune, we are alone, we shall return atnight, and you shall come back with us. "

The stroke of electricity has not a more instantaneous effect than thesewords produced on me. Leaping behind Mademoiselle de G----, I trembledwith joy, and when it became necessary to clasp her in order to holdmyself on, my heart beat so violently that she perceived it, and told mehers beat also from a fear of falling. In my present posture, I mightnaturally have considered this an invitation to satisfy myself of thetruth of her assertion, yet I did not dare, and during the whole way myarm served as a girdle (a very close one, I must confess), without beinga moment displaced. Some women that may read this would be for giving mea box on the ear, and, truly, I deserved it. 

The gayety of the journey, and the chat of these girls, so enlivened me, that during the whole time we passed together we never ceased talking amoment. They had set me so thoroughly at ease, that my tongue spoke asfast as my eyes, though not exactly the same things. Some minutes, indeed, when I was left alone with either, the conversation became alittle embarrassed, but neither of them was absent long enough to allowtime for explaining the cause. 

Arrived at Toune, and myself well dried, we breakfasted together; afterwhich it was necessary to settle the important business of preparingdinner. The young ladies cooked, kissing from time to time the farmer'schildren, while the poor scullion looked on grumbling. Provisions hadbeen sent for from town, and there was everything necessary for a gooddinner, but unhappily they had forgotten wine; this forgetfulness was byno means astonishing to girls who seldom drank any, but I was sorry forthe omission, as I had reckoned on its help, thinking it might add to myconfidence. They were sorry likewise, and perhaps from the same motive;though I have no reason to say this, for their lively and charming gayetywas innocence itself; besides, there were two of them, what could theyexpect from me? they went everywhere about the neighborhood to seek forwine, but none could be procured, so pure and sober are the peasants inthose parts. As they were expressing their concern, I begged them not togive themselves any uneasiness on my account, for while with them I hadno occasion for wine to intoxicate me. This was the only gallantry Iventured at during the whole of the day, and I believe the sly rogues sawwell enough that I said nothing but the truth. 

We dined in the kitchen; the two friends were seated on the benches, oneon each side the long table, and their guest at the end, between them, ona three--legged stool. What a dinner! how charming the remembrance!While we can enjoy, at so small an expense, such pure, such truedelights, why should we be solicitous for others? Never did those'petite soupes', so celebrated in Paris, equal this; I do not only sayfor real pleasure and gayety, but even for sensuality. 

After dinner, we were economical; instead of drinking the coffee we hadreserved at breakfast, we kept it for an afternoon collation, with cream, and some cake they had brought with them. To keep our appetites in play, we went into the orchard, meaning to finish our dessert with cherries. I got into a tree, throwing them down bunches, from which they returnedthe stones through the branches. One time, Mademoiselle Galley, holdingout her apron, and drawing back her head, stood so fair, and I took suchgood aim, that I dropped a bunch into her bosom. On her laughing, I saidto myself, "Why are not my lips cherries? How gladly would I throw themthere likewise. "

Thus the day passed with the greatest freedom, yet with the utmostdecency; not a single equivocal word, not one attempt at double-meaningpleasantry; yet this delicacy was not affected, we only performed theparts our hearts dictated; in short, my modesty, some will say my folly, was such that the greatest familiarity that escaped me was once kissingthe hand of Mademoiselle Galley; it is true, the attending circumstanceshelped to stamp a value on this trifling favor; we were alone, I wasembarrassed, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and my lips, instead ofuttering words, were pressed on her hand, which she drew gently backafter the salute, without any appearance of displeasure. I know not whatI should have said to her; but her friend entered, and at that moment Ithought her ugly. 

At length, they bethought themselves, that they must return to townbefore night; even now we had but just time to reach it by daylight;and we hastened our departure in the same order we came. Had I pleasedmyself, I should certainly have reversed this order, for the glance ofMademoiselle Galley had reached my heart, but I dared not mention it, and the proposal could not reasonably come from her. On the way, weexpressed our sorrow that the day was over, but far from complaining ofthe shortness of its duration, we were conscious of having prolonged itby every possible amusement. 

I quitted them in nearly the same spot where I had taken them up. Withwhat regret did we part! With what pleasure did we form projects torenew our meeting! Delightful hours, which we passed innocentlytogether, yet were worth ages of familiarity! The sweet remembrance ofthose days cost those amiable girls nothing; the tender union whichreigned among us equalled more lively pleasures, with which it could nothave existed. We loved each other without shame or mystery, and wishedto continue our reciprocal affection. There is a species of enjoymentconnected with innocence of manners which is superior to any other, because it has no interval; for myself, the remembrance of such a daytouches me nearer, delights me more, and returns with greater rapture tomy heart than any other pleasure I ever tasted. I hardly knew what Iwished with those charming girls. I do not say: that had the arrangementbeen in my power, I should have divided my heart between them;I certainly felt some degree of preference: though I should have beenhappy to have had Mademoiselle de G----, for a mistress, I think, by choice, I should have liked her, better as a confidante; be that as itmay, I felt on leaving them as though I could not live without either. Who would have thought that I should never see them more; and that hereour ephemeral amours must end?

Those who read this will not fail to laugh at my gallantries, and remark, that after very promising preliminaries, my most forward adventuresconcluded by a kiss of the hand: yet be not mistaken, reader, in yourestimate of my enjoyments; I have, perhaps, tasted more real pleasure inmy amours, which concluded by a kiss of the hand, than you will ever havein yours, which, at least, begin there. 

Venture, who had gone to bed late the night before, came in soon afterme. I did not now see him with my usual satisfaction, and took care notto inform him how I had passed the day. The ladies had spoken of himslightingly, and appeared discontented at finding me in such bad hands;this hurt him in my esteem; besides, whatever diverted my ideas from themwas at this time disagreeable. However, he soon brought me back to himand myself, by speaking of the situation of my affairs, which was toocritical to last; for, though I spent very little, my slender financeswere almost exhausted. I was without resource; no news of Madam deWarrens; not knowing what would become of me, and feeling a cruel pang atheart to see the friend of Mademoiselle Galley reduced to beggary. 

I now learned from Venture that he had spoken of me to the Judge Major, and would take me next day to dine with him; that he was a man who bymeans of his friends might render me essential service. In otherrespects he was a desirable acquaintance, being a man of wit and letters, of agreeable conversation, one who possessed talents and loved them inothers. After this discourse (mingling the most serious concerns withthe most trifling frivolity) he showed me a pretty couplet, which camefrom Paris, on an air in one of Mouret's operas, which was then playing. Monsieur Simon (the judge major) was so pleased with this couplet, thathe determined to make another in answer to it, on the same air. He haddesired Venture to write one, and he wished me to make a third, that, ashe expressed it, they might see couplets start up next day like incidentsin a comic romance. 

In the night (not being able to sleep) I composed a couplet, as my firstessay in poetry. It was passable; better, or at least composed with moretaste than it would have been the preceding night, the subject beingtenderness, to which my heart was now entirely disposed. In the morningI showed my performance to Venture, who, being pleased with the couplet, put it in his pocket, without informing me whether he had made his. Wedined with M. Simon, who treated us very politely. The conversation wasagreeable; indeed it could not be otherwise between two men of naturalgood sense, improved by reading. For me, I acted my proper part, whichwas to listen without attempting to join in the conversation. Neither ofthem mentioned the couplet nor do I know that it ever passed for mine. M. Simon appeared satisfied with my behavior; indeed, it was almost allhe saw of me at this interview. We had often met at Madam de Warrens, but he had never paid much attention to me; it is from this dinner, therefore, that I date our acquaintance, which, though of no use inregard to the object I then had in view, was afterwards productive ofadvantages which make me recollect it with pleasure. I should be wrongnot to give some account of this person, since from his office ofmagistrate, and the reputation of wit on which he piqued himself, no ideacould be formed of it. The judge major, Simon, certainly was not two feethigh; his legs spare, straight, and tolerably long, would have addedsomething to his stature had they been vertical, but they stood in thedirection of an open pair of compasses. His body was not only short, butthin, being in every respect of most inconceivable smallness--when nakedhe must have appeared like a grasshopper. His head was of the commonsize, to which appertained a well-formed face, a noble look, andtolerably fine eyes; in short, it appeared a borrowed head, stuck on amiserable stump. He might very well have dispensed with dress, for hislarge wig alone covered him from head to foot. 

He had two voices, perfectly different, which intermingled perpetually inhis conversation, forming at first a diverting, but afterwards a verydisagreeable contrast. One grave and sonorous, was, if I may hazard theexpression, the voice of his head: the other, clear, sharp, and piercing, the voice of his body. When he paid particular attention, and spokeleisurely, so as to preserve his breath, he could continue his deep tone;but if he was the least animated, or attempted a lively accent, his voicesounded like the whistling of a key, and it was with the utmostdifficulty that he could return to the bass. 

With the figure I have just described, and which is by no meansovercharged, M. Simon was gallant, ever entertaining the ladies withsoft tales, and carrying the decoration of his person even to foppery. Willing to make use of every advantage he, during the morning, gaveaudience in bed, for when a handsome head was discovered on the pillow noone could have imagined what belonged to it. This circumstance gavebirth to scenes, which I am certain are yet remembered by all Annecy. 

One morning, when he expected to give audience in bed, or rather on thebed, having on a handsome night-cap ornamented with rose-colored ribbon, a countryman arriving knocked at the door; the maid happened to be out;the judge, therefore, hearing the knock repeated, cried "Come in, " and, as he spoke rather loud, it was in his shrill tone. The man entered, looked about, endeavoring to discover whence the female voice proceededand at length seeing a handsome head-dress set off with ribbons, wasabout to leave the room, making the supposed lady a hundred apologies. M. Simon, in a rage, screamed the more; and the countryman, yet moreconfirmed in his opinion, conceiving himself to be insulted, beganrailing in his turn, saying that, "Apparently, she was nothing betterthan a common streetwalker, and that the judge major should be ashamed ofsetting such ill examples. " The enraged magistrate, having no otherweapon than the jordan under his bed, was just going to throw it at thepoor fellow's head as his servant returned. 

This dwarf, ill-used by nature as to his person, was recompensed bypossessing an understanding naturally agreeable, and which he had beencareful to cultivate. Though he was esteemed a good lawyer, he did notlike his profession, delighting more in the finer parts of literature, which he studied with success: above all, he possessed that superficialbrilliancy, the art of pleasing in conversation, even with the ladies. He knew by heart a number of little stories, which he perfectly well knewhow to make the most of; relating with an air of secrecy, and as ananecdote of yesterday, what happened sixty years before. He understoodmusic, and could sing agreeably; in short, for a magistrate, he had manypleasing talents. By flattering the ladies of Annecy, he becamefashionable among them, appearing continually in their train. He evenpretended to favors, at which they were much amused. A Madam D'Epignyused to say "The greatest favor he could aspire to, was to kiss a lady onher knees. "

As he was well read, and spoke fluently, his conversation was bothamusing and instructive. When I afterwards took a taste for study, I cultivated his acquaintance, and found my account in it: when atChambery, I frequently went from thence to see him. His praisesincreased my emulation, to which he added some good advice respecting theprosecution of my studies, which I found useful. Unhappily, this weaklybody contained a very feeling soul. Some years after, he was chagrinedby I know not what unlucky affair, but it cost him his life. This wasreally unfortunate, for he was a good little man, whom at a firstacquaintance one laughed at, but afterwards loved. Though our situationsin life were very little connected with each other, as I received someuseful lessons from him, I thought gratitude demanded that I shoulddedicate a few sentences to his memory. 

As soon as I found myself at liberty, I ran into the street whereMademoiselle Galley lived, flattering myself that I should see someone goin or out, or at least open a window, but I was mistaken, not even a catappeared, the house remaining as close all the time as if it had beenuninhabited. The street was small and lonely, any one loitering aboutwas, consequently, more likely to be noticed; from time to time peoplepassed in and out of the neighborhood; I was much embarrassed, thinkingmy person might be known, and the cause that brought me thereconjectured; this idea tortured me, for I have ever preferred the honorand happiness of those I love to my own pleasures. 

At length, weary of playing the Spanish lover, and having no guitar, I determined to write to Mademoiselle de G----. I should have preferredwriting to her friend, but did not dare take that liberty, as it appearedmore proper to begin with her to whom I owed the acquaintance, and withwhom I was most familiar. Having written my letter, I took it toMademoiselle Giraud, as the young ladies had agreed at parting, theyhaving furnished me with this expedient. Mademoiselle Giraud was aquilter, and sometimes worked at Madam Galley's, which procured her freeadmission to the house. I must confess, I was not thoroughly satisfiedwith this messenger, but was cautious of starting difficulties, fearingthat if I objected to her no other might be named, and it was impossibleto intimate that she had an inclination to me herself. I even felthumiliated that she should think I could imagine her of the same sex asthose young ladies: in a word, I accepted her agency rather than none, and availed myself of it at all events. 

At the very first word, Giraud discovered me. I must own this was not adifficult matter, for if sending a letter to young girls had not spokensufficiently plain, my foolish embarrassed air would have betrayed me. It will easily be supposed that the employment gave her littlesatisfaction, she undertook it, however, and performed it faithfully. The next morning I ran to her house and found an answer ready for me. How did I hurry away that I might have an opportunity to read and kiss italone! though this need not been told, but the plan adopted byMademoiselle Giraud (and in which I found more delicacy and moderationthan I had expected) should. She had sense enough to conclude that herthirty--seven years, hare's eyes, daubed nose, shrill voice, and blackskin, stood no chance against two elegant young girls, in all the heightand bloom of beauty; she resolved, therefore, nether to betray nor assistthem, choosing rather to lose me entirely than entertain me for them. 

As Merceret had not heard from her mistress for some time, she thought ofreturning to Fribourg, and the persuasions of Giraud determined her; naymore, she intimated it was proper someone should conduct her to herfather's and proposed me. As I happened to be agreeable to littleMerceret, she approved the idea, and the same day they mentioned it to meas a fixed point. Finding nothing displeasing in the manner they haddisposed of me, I consented, thinking it could not be above a week'sjourney at most; but Giraud, who had arranged the whole affair, thoughtotherwise. It was necessary to avow the state of my finances, and theconclusion was, that Merceret should defray my expenses; but to retrenchon one hand what was expended on the other, I advised that her littlebaggage should be sent on before, and that we should proceed by easyjourneys on foot. 

I am sorry to have so many girls in love with me, but as there is nothingto be very vain of in the success of these amours, I think I may tell thetruth without scruple. Merceret, younger and less artful than Giraud, never made me so many advances, but she imitated my manners, my actions, repeated my words, and showed me all those little attentions I ought tohave had for her. Being very timorous, she took great care that weshould both sleep in the same chamber; a circumstance that usuallyproduces some consequences between a lad of twenty and a girl of twenty--five. 

For once, however, it went no further; my simplicity being such, thatthough Merceret was by no means a disagreeable girl, an idea of gallantrynever entered my head, and even if it had, I was too great a novice tohave profited by it. I could not imagine how two young persons couldbring themselves to sleep together, thinking that such familiarity mustrequire an age of preparation. If poor Merceret paid my expenses inhopes of any return, she was terribly cheated, for we arrived at Fribourgexactly as we had quitted Annecy. 

I passed through Geneva without visiting any one. While going over thebridges, I found myself so affected that I could scarcely proceed. Nevercould I see the walls of that city, never could I enter it, withoutfeeling my heart sink from excess of tenderness, at the same time thatthe image of liberty elevated my soul. The ideas of equality, union, andgentleness of manners, touched me even to tears, and inspired me with alively regret at having forfeited all these advantages. What an errorwas I in! but yet how natural! I imagined I saw all this in my nativecountry, because I bore it in my heart. 

It was necessary to pass through Nion: could I do this without seeing mygood father? Had I resolved on doing so, I must afterwards have diedwith regret. I left Merceret at the inn, and ventured to his house. How wrong was I to fear him! On seeing me, his soul gave way to theparental tenderness with which it was filled. What tears were mingledwith our embraces! He thought I was returned to him: I related myhistory, and informed him of my resolution. He opposed it feebly, mentioning the dangers to which I exposed myself, and telling me theshortest follies were best, but did not attempt to keep me by force, in which particular I think he acted right; but it is certain he did notdo everything in his power to detain me, even by fair means. Whetherafter the step I had taken, he thought I ought not to return, or waspuzzled at my age to know what to do with me--I have since found that heconceived a very unjust opinion of my travelling companion. My step--mother, a good woman, a little coaxingly put on an appearance of wishingme to stay to supper; I did not, however, comply, but told them Iproposed remaining longer with them on my return; leaving as a depositmy little packet, that had come by water, and would have been anincumbrance, had I taken it with me. I continued my journey the nextmorning, well satisfied that I had seen my father, and had taken courageto do my duty. 

We arrived without any accident at Fribourg. Towards the conclusion ofthe journey, the politeness of Mademoiselle Merceret rather diminished, and, after our arrival, she treated me even with coldness. Her father, who was not in the best circumstances, did not show me much attention, and I was obliged to lodge at an alehouse. I went to see them the nextmorning, and received an invitation to dine there, which I accepted. Weseparated without tears at night; I returned to my paltry lodging, anddeparted the second day after my arrival, almost without knowing whitherto go to. 

This was a circumstance of my life in which Providence offered meprecisely what was necessary to make my days pass happily. Merceret wasa good girl, neither witty, handsome, nor ugly; not very lively, buttolerably rational, except while under the influence of some littlehumors, which usually evaporated in tears, without any violent outbreakof temper. She had a real inclination for me; I might have married herwithout difficulty, and followed her father's business. My taste formusic would have made me love her; I should have settled at Fribourg, asmall town, not pretty, but inhabited by very worthy people--I shouldcertainly have missed great pleasures, but should have lived in peace tomy last hour, and I must know best what I should have gained by such astep. 

I did not return to Nion, but to Lausanne, wishing to gratify myself witha view of that beautiful lake which is seen there in its utmost extent. The greater part of my secret motives have not been so reasonable. Distant expectation has rarely strength enough to influence my actions;the uncertainty of the future ever making me regard projects whoseexecution requires a length of time as deceitful lures. I give in tovisionary scenes of hope as well as others, provided they cost nothing, but if attended with any trouble, I have done with them. The smallest, the most trifling pleasure that is conveniently within my reach, temptsme more than all the joys of paradise. I must except, however, thosepleasures which are necessarily followed by pain; I only love thoseenjoyments which are unadulterated, which can never be the case where weare conscious they must be followed by repentance. 

It was necessary I should arrive at some place, and the nearest was best;for having lost my way on the road, I found myself in the evening atMoudon, where I spent all that remained of my little stock except tencreuzers, which served to purchase my next day's dinner. Arriving in theevening at Lausanne, I went into an ale-house, without a penny in mypocket to pay for my lodging, or knowing what would become of me. Ifound myself extremely hungry--setting, therefore, a good face on thematter, I ordered supper, made my meal, went to bed without thought andslept with great composure. In the morning, having breakfasted andreckoned with my host, I offered to leave my waistcoat in pledge forseven batz, which was the amount of my expenses. The honest man refusedthis, saying, thank Heaven, he had never stripped any one, and would notnow begin for seven batz, adding I should keep my waistcoat and pay himwhen I could. I was affected with this unexpected kindness, but felt itless than I ought to have done, or have since experienced on theremembrance of it. I did not fail sending him his money, with thanks, byone I could depend on. Fifteen years after, passing Lausanne, on myreturn from Italy, I felt a sensible regret at having forgotten the nameof the landlord and house. I wished to see him, and should have feltreal pleasure in recalling to his memory that worthy action. Services which doubtless have been much more important, but rendered withostentation, have not appeared to me so worthy of gratitude as the simpleunaffected humanity of this honest man. 

As I approached Lausanne, I thought of my distress, and the means ofextricating myself, without appearing in want to my step-mother. I compared myself, in this walking pilgrimage, to my friend Venture, on his arrival at Annecy, and was so warmed with the idea, that withoutrecollecting that I had neither his gentility nor his talents, Idetermined to act the part of little Venture at Lausanne, to teach music, which I did not understand, and say I came from Paris, where I had neverbeen. 

In consequence of this noble project (as there was no company where Icould introduce myself without expense, and not choosing to venture amongprofessional people), I inquired for some little inn, where I could lodgecheap, and was directed to one named Perrotet, who took in boarders. This Perrotet, who was one of the best men in the world, received me verykindly, and after having heard my feigned story and profession, promisedto speak of me, and endeavored to procure me scholars, saying he shouldnot expect any money till I had earned it. His price for board, thoughmoderate in itself, was a great deal to me; he advised me, therefore, tobegin with half board, which consisted of good soup only for dinner, buta plentiful supper at night. I closed with this proposition, and thepoor Perrotet trusted me with great cheerfulness, sparing, meantime, notrouble to be useful to me. 

Having found so many good people in my youth, why do I find so few in myage? Is their race extinct? No; but I do not seek them in the samesituation I did formerly, among the commonality, where violent passionspredominate only at intervals, and where nature speaks her genuinesentiments. In more elevated stations they are entirely smothered, andunder the mask of sentiment, only interest or vanity is heard. 

Having written to my father from Lausanne, he sent my packet and someexcellent advice, of which I should have profited better. I have alreadyobserved that I have moments of inconceivable delirium, in which I amentirely out of myself. The adventure I am about to relate is aninstance of this: to comprehend how completely my brain was turned, andto what degree I had 'Venturised' (if I may be allowed the expression), the many extravagances I ran into at the same time should be considered. Behold me, then, a singing master, without knowing how to note a commonsong; for if the five or six months passed with Le Maitre had improvedme, they could not be supposed sufficient to qualify me for such anundertaking; besides, being taught by a master was enough (as I havebefore observed) to make me learn ill. Being a Parisian from Geneva, and a Catholic in a Protestant country, I thought I should change my namewith my religion and country, still approaching as near as possible tothe great model I had in view. He called himself Venture de Villeneuve. I changed, by anagram, the name Rousseau into that of Vaussore, callingmyself Monsieur Vaussore de Villeneuve. Venture was a good composer, though he had not said so; without knowing anything of the art, I boastedof my skill to every one. This was not all: being presented to Monsieurde Freytorens, professor of law, who loved music, and who gave concertsat his house, nothing would do but I must give him a proof of my talents, and accordingly I set about composing a piece for his concerts, as boldlyas if I had really understood the science. I had the constancy to labora fortnight at this curious business, to copy it fair, write out thedifferent parts, and distribute them with as much assurance as if theyhad been masterpieces of harmony; in short (what will hardly be believed, though strictly true), I tacked a very pretty minuet to the end of it, that was commonly played about the streets, and which many may rememberfrom these words, so well known at that time:

 Quel caprice! Quel injustice! Quio, tu Clarice Trahiriot tes feux? &'c. 

Venture had taught me this air with the bass, set to other words, by thehelp of which I had retained it: thus at the end of my composition, I putthis minuet and bass, suppressing the words, and uttering it for my ownas confidently as if I had been speaking to the inhabitants of the moon. They assembled to perform my piece; I explain to each the movement, tasteof execution, and references to his part--I was fully occupied. Theywere five or six minutes preparing, which were for me so many ages: atlength, everything is adjusted, myself in a conspicuous situation, a fineroll of paper in my hand, gravely preparing to beat time. I gave four orfive strokes with my paper, attending with "take care!" they begin--No, never since French operas existed was there such a confused discord!The minuet, however, presently put all the company in good humor; hardlywas it begun, before I heard bursts of laughter from all parts, every onecongratulated me on my pretty taste for music, declaring this minuetwould make me spoken of, and that I merited the loudest praise. It isnot necessary to describe my uneasiness, or to own how much I deservedit. 

Next day, one of the musicians, named Lutold, came to see me and was kindenough to congratulate me on my success. The profound conviction of myfolly, shame, regret, and the state of despair to which I was reduced, with the impossibility of concealing the cruel agitation of my heart, made me open it to him; giving, therefore, a loose to my tears, notcontent with owning my ignorance, I told all, conjuring him to secrecy;he kept his word, as every one will suppose. The same evening, allLausanne knew who I was, but what is remarkable, no one seemed to know, not even the good Perrotet, who (notwithstanding what had happened)continued to lodge and board me. 

I led a melancholy life here; the consequences of such an essay had notrendered Lausanne a very agreeable residence. Scholars did not presentthemselves in crowds, not a single female, and not a person of the city. I had only two or three great dunces, as stupid as I was ignorant, whofatigued me to death, and in my hands were not likely to edify much. 

At length, I was sent for to a house, where a little serpent of a girlamused herself by showing me a parcel of music that I could not read anote of, and which she had the malice to sing before her master, to teachhim how it should be executed; for I was so unable to read an air atfirst sight, that in the charming concert I have just described, I couldnot possibly follow the execution a moment, or know whether they playedtruly what lay before them, and I myself had composed. 

In the midst of so many humiliating circumstances, I had the pleasingconsolation, from time to time, of receiving letters from my two charmingfriends. I have ever found the utmost consolatory virtue in the fair;when in disgrace, nothing softens my affliction more than to be sensiblethat an amiable woman is interested for me. This correspondence ceasedsoon after, and was never renewed: indeed it was my own fault, for inchanging situations I neglected sending my address, and forced bynecessity to think perpetually of myself, I soon forgot them. 

It is a long time since I mentioned Madam de Warrens, but it should notbe supposed I had forgotten her; never was she a moment absent from mythoughts. I anxiously wished to find her, not merely because she wasnecessary to my subsistence, but because she was infinitely morenecessary to my heart. My attachment to her (though lively and tender, as it really was) did not prevent my loving others, but then it was notin the same manner. All equally claimed my tenderness for their charms, but it was those charms alone I loved, my passion would not have survivedthem, while Madam de Warrens might have become old or ugly without myloving her the less tenderly. My heart had entirely transmitted toherself the homage it first paid to her beauty, and whatever change shemight experience, while she remained herself, my sentiments could notchange. I was sensible how much gratitude I owed to her, but in truth, Inever thought of it, and whether she served me or not, it would ever havebeen the same thing. I loved her neither from duty, interest, norconvenience; I loved her because I was born to love her. During myattachment to another, I own this affection was in some measure deranged;I did not think so frequently of her, but still with the same pleasure, and never, in love or otherwise, did I think of her without feeling thatI could expect no true happiness in life while in a state of separation. 

Though in so long a time I had received no news from Madam de Warrens, Inever imagined I had entirely lost her, or that she could have forgottenme. I said to myself, she will know sooner or later that I am wanderingabout, and will find some means to inform me of her situation: I amcertain I shall find her. In the meantime, it was a pleasure to live inher native country, to walk in the streets where she had walked, andbefore the houses that she had lived in; yet all this was the work ofconjecture, for one of my foolish peculiarities was, not daring toinquire after her, or even pronounce her name without the most absolutenecessity. It seemed in speaking of her that I declared all I felt, thatmy lips revealed the secrets of my heart, and in some degree injured theobject of my affection. I believe fear was likewise mingled with thisidea; I dreaded to hear ill of her. Her management had been much spokenof, and some little of her conduct in other respects; fearing, therefore, that something might be said which I did not wish to hear, I preferredbeing silent on the subject. 

As my scholars did not take up much of my time, and the town where shewas born was not above four leagues from Lausanne, I made it a walk ofthree or four days; during which time a most pleasant emotion never leftme. A view of the lake of Geneva and its admirable banks, had ever, inmy idea, a particular attraction which I cannot describe; not arisingmerely from the beauty of the prospect, but something else, I know notwhy, more interesting, which affects and softens me. Every time I haveapproached the Vaudois country I have experienced an impression composedof the remembrance of Madam de Warrens, who was born there; of my father, who lived there; of Miss Vulson, who had been my first love, and ofseveral pleasant journeys I had made there in my childhood, mingled withsome nameless charm, more powerfully attractive than all the rest. Whenthat ardent desire for a life of happiness and tranquility (which everfollows me, and for which I was born) inflames my mind, 'tis ever to thecountry of Vaud, near the lake, in those charming plains, thatimagination leads me. An orchard on the banks of that lake, and noother, is absolutely necessary; a firm friend, an amiable woman, a cow, and a little boat; nor could I enjoy perfect happiness on earth withoutthese concomitants. I laugh at the simplicity with which I have severaltimes gone into that country for the sole purpose of seeking thisimaginary happiness when I was ever surprised to find the inhabitants, particularly the women, of a quite different disposition to what Isought. How strange did this appear to me! The country and people whoinhabit it, were never, in my idea, formed for each other. 

Walking along these beautiful banks, on my way to Vevay, I gave myselfup to the soft melancholy; my heart rushed with ardor into a thousandinnocent felicities; melting to tenderness, I sighed and wept like achild. How often, stopping to weep more at my ease, and seated on alarge stone, did I amuse myself with seeing my tears drop into the water. 

On my arrival at Vevay, I lodged at the Key, and during the two days Iremained there, without any acquaintance, conceived a love for that city, which has followed me through all my travels, and was finally the causethat I fixed on this spot, in the novel I afterwards wrote, for theresidence of my hero and heroines. I would say to any one who has tasteand feeling, go to Vevay, visit the surrounding country, examine theprospects, go on the lake and then say, whether nature has not designedthis country for a Julia, a Clara, and a St. Preux; but do not seek themthere. I now return to my story. 

Giving myself out for a Catholic, I followed without mystery or scruplethe religion I had embraced. On a Sunday, if the weather was fine, Iwent to hear mass at Assans, a place two leagues distant from Lausanne, and generally in company with other Catholics, particularly a Parisianembroiderer, whose name I have forgotten. Not such a Parisian as myself, but a real native of Paris, an arch-Parisian from his maker, yet honestas a peasant. He loved his country so well, that he would not doubt mybeing his countryman, for fear he should not have so much occasion tospeak of it. The lieutenant-governor, M. De Crouzas, had a gardener, whowas likewise from Paris, but not so complaisant; he thought the glory ofhis country concerned, when any one claimed that honor who was not reallyentitled to it; he put questions to me, therefore, with an air and tone, as if certain to detect me in a falsehood, and once, smiling malignantly, asked what was remarkable in the 'Marcheneuf'? It may be supposed Iasked the question; but I have since passed twenty years at Paris, andcertainly know that city, yet was the same question repeated at this day, I should be equally embarrassed to answer it, and from this embarrassmentit might be concluded I had never been there: thus, even when we meetwith truths, we are subject to build our opinions on circumstances, whichmay easily deceive us. 

I formed no ideas, while at Lausanne, that were worth recollecting, norcan I say exactly how long I remained there; I only know that not findingsufficient to subsist on, I went from thence to Neutchatel, where Ipassed the winter. Here I succeeded better, I got some scholars, andsaved enough to pay my good friend Perrotet, who had faithfully sent mybaggage, though at that time I was considerably in his debt. 

By continuing to teach music, I insensibly gained some knowledge of it. The life I led was sufficiently agreeable, and any reasonable man mighthave been satisfied, but my unsettled heart demanded something more. On Sundays, or whenever I had leisure, I wandered, sighing andthoughtful, about the adjoining woods, and when once out of the citynever returned before night. One day, being at Boudry, I went to dine ata public-house, where I saw a man with a long beard, dressed in aviolet-colored Grecian habit, with a fur cap, and whose air and mannerwere rather noble. This person found some difficulty in making himselfunderstood, speaking only an unintelligible jargon, which bore moreresemblance to Italian than any other language. I understood almost allhe said, and I was the only person present who could do so, for he wasobliged to make his request known to the landlord and others about him bysigns. On my speaking a few words in Italian, which he perfectlyunderstood, he got up and embraced me with rapture; a connection was soonformed, and from that moment, I became his interpreter. His dinner wasexcellent, mine rather worse than indifferent, he gave me an invitationto dine with him, which I accepted without much ceremony. Drinking andchatting soon rendered us familiar, and by the end of the repast we hadall the disposition in the world to become inseparable companions. Heinformed me he was a Greek prelate, and 'Archimandrite' of Jerusalem;that he had undertaken to make a gathering in Europe for thereestablishment of the Holy Sepulchre, and showed me some very finepatents from the czarina, the emperor, and several other sovereigns. He was tolerably content with what he had collected hitherto, though hehad experienced inconceivable difficulties in Germany; for notunderstanding a word of German, Latin, or French, he had been obliged tohave recourse to his Greek, Turkish Lingua Franca, which did not procurehim much in the country he was travelling through; his proposal, therefore, to me was, that I should accompany him in the quality ofsecretary and interpreter. In spite of my violet-colored coat, whichaccorded well enough with the proposed employment, he guessed from mymeagre appearance, that I should easily be gained; and he was notmistaken. The bargain was soon made, I demanded nothing, and he promisedliberally; thus, without any security or knowledge of the person I wasabout to serve, I gave myself up entirely to his conduct, and the nextday behold me on an expedition to Jerusalem. 

We began our expedition unsuccessfully by the canton of Fribourg. Episcopal dignity would not suffer him to play the beggar, or solicithelp from private individuals; but we presented his commission to theSenate, who gave him a trifling sum. From thence we went to Berne, wherewe lodged at the Falcon, then a good inn, and frequented by respectablecompany; the public table being well supplied and numerously attended. I had fared indifferently so long, that I was glad to make myself amends, therefore took care to profit by the present occasion. My lord, theArchimandrite, was himself an excellent companion, loved good cheer, wasgay, spoke well for those who understood him, and knew perfectly well howto make the most of his Grecian erudition. One day, at dessert whilecracking nuts, he cut his finger pretty deeply, and as it bled freelyshowed it to the company, saying with a laugh, "Mirate, signori; questo asangue Pelasgo. "

At Berne, I was not useless to him, nor was my performance so bad as Ihad feared: I certainly spoke better and with more confidence than Icould have done for myself. Matters were not conducted here with thesame simplicity as at Fribourg; long and frequent conferences werenecessary with the Premiers of the State, and the examination of histitles was not the work of a day; at length, everything being adjusted, he was admitted to an audience by the Senate; I entered with him asinterpreter, and was ordered to speak. I expected nothing less, for itnever entered my mind, that after such long and frequent conferences withthe members, it was necessary to address the assembly collectively, as ifnothing had been said. Judge my embarrassment!--a man so bashful tospeak, not only in public, but before the whole of the Senate of Berne!to speak impromptu, without a single moment for recollection; it wasenough to annihilate me--I was not even intimidated. I describeddistinctly and clearly the commission of the Archimandrite; extolled thepiety of those princes who had contributed, and to heighten that of theirexcellencies by emulation, added that less could not be expected fromtheir well--known munificence; then, endeavoring to prove that this goodwork was equally interesting to all Christians, without distinction ofsect; and concluded by promising the benediction of Heaven to all thosewho took part in it. I will not say that my discourse was the cause ofour success, but it was certainly well received; and on our quitting theArchimandrite was gratified by a very genteel present, to which some veryhandsome compliments were added on the understanding of his secretary;these I had the agreeable office of interpreting; but could not takecourage to render them literally. 

This was the only time in my life that I spoke in public, and before asovereign; and the only time, perhaps, that I spoke boldly and well. What difference in the disposition of the same person. Three years ago, having been to see my old friend, M. Roguin, at Yverdon, I received adeputation to thank me for some books I had presented to the library ofthat city; the Swiss are great speakers; these gentlemen, accordingly, made me a long harangue, which I thought myself obliged in honor toanswer, but so embarrassed myself in the attempt, that my head becameconfused, I stopped short, and was laughed at. Though naturally timid, I have sometimes acted with confidence in my youth, but never in myadvanced age: the more I have seen of the world the less I have been ableto adapt its manners. 

On leaving Berne, we went to Soleurre: the Archimandrite designing tore-enter Germany, and return through Hungary or Poland to his own country. This would have been a prodigious tour; but as the contents of his purserather increased than diminished during his journey, he was in no hasteto return. For me, who was almost as much pleased on horseback as onfoot, I would have desired no better than to have travelled thus duringmy whole life; but it was pre-ordained that my journey should soon end. 

The first thing we did after our arrival at Soleurre, was to pay ourrespects to the French ambassador there. Unfortunately for my bishop, this chanced to be the Marquis de Bonac, who had been ambassador at thePorte, and was acquainted with every particular relative to the HolySepulchre. The Archimandrite had an audience that lasted about a quarterof an hour, to which I was not admitted, as the ambassador spoke Frenchand Italian at least as well as myself. On my Grecian's retiring, I wasprepared to follow him, but was detained: it was now my turn. Havingcalled myself a Parisian, as such, I was under the jurisdiction of hisexcellency: he therefore asked me who I was? exhorting me to tell thetruth; this I promised to do, but entreated a private audience, which wasimmediately granted. The ambassador took me to his closet, and shut thedoor; there, throwing myself at his feet, I kept my word, nor should Ihave said less, had I promised nothing, for a continual wish to unbosommyself, puts my heart perpetually upon my lips. After having disclosedmyself without reserve to the musician Lutold, there was no occasion toattempt acting the mysterious with the Marquis de Bonac, who was so wellpleased with my little history, and the ingenuousness with which I hadrelated it, that he led me to the ambassadress, and presented me, with anabridgment of my recital. Madam de Bonac received me kindly, saying, I must not be suffered to follow that Greek monk. It was accordinglyresolved that I should remain at their hotel till something better couldbe done for me. I wished to bid adieu to my poor Archimandrite, for whomI had conceived an attachment, but was not permitted; they sent him wordthat I was to be detained there, and in quarter of an hour after, I sawmy little bundle arrive. M. De la Martiniere, secretary of the embassy, had in a manner the care of me; while following him to the chamberappropriated to my use, he said, "This apartment was occupied under theCount de Luc, by a celebrated man of the same name as yourself; it is inyour power to succeed him in every respect, and cause it to be saidhereafter, Rousseau the First, Rousseau the Second. " This similaritywhich I did not then expect, would have been less flattering to my wishescould I have foreseen at what price I should one day purchase thedistinction. 

What M. De la Martiniere had said excited my curiosity; I read the worksof the person whose chamber I occupied, and on the strength of thecompliment that had been paid me (imagining I had a taste for poetry)made my first essay in a cantata in praise of Madam de Bonac. Thisinclination was not permanent, though from time to time I have composedtolerable verses. I think it is a good exercise to teach elegant turnsof expression, and to write well in prose, but could never findattractions enough in French poetry to give entirely in to it. 

M. De la Martiniere wished to see my style, and asked me to write thedetail I had before made the ambassador; accordingly I wrote him a longletter, which I have since been informed was preserved by M. De Marianne, who had long been attached to the Marquis de Bonac, and has sincesucceeded M. De Martiniere as secretary to the embassy of M. DeCourtellies. 

The experience I began to acquire tended to moderate my romanticprojects; for example, I did not fall in love with Madam de Bonac, butalso felt I did not stand much chance of succeeding in the service of herhusband. M. De la Martiniere was already in the only place that couldhave satisfied my ambition, and M. De Marianne in expectancy: thus myutmost hopes could only aspire to the office of under secretary, whichdid not infinitely tempt me: this was the reason that when consulted onthe situation I should like to be placed in, I expressed a great desireto go to Paris. The ambassador readily gave in to the idea, which atleast tended to disembarrass him of me. M. De Mervilleux interpretingsecretary to the embassy, said, that his friend, M. Godard, a Swisscolonel, in the service of France, wanted a person to be with his nephew, who had entered very young into the service, and made no doubt that Ishould suit him. On this idea, so lightly formed, my departure wasdetermined; and I, who saw a long journey to perform with Paris at theend of it, was enraptured with the project. They gave me severalletters, a hundred livres to defray the expenses of my journey, accompanied with some good advice, and thus equipped I departed. 

I was a fortnight making the journey, which I may reckon among thehappiest days of my life. I was young, in perfect health, with plenty ofmoney, and the most brilliant hopes, add to this, I was on foot, andalone. It may appear strange, I should mention the latter circumstanceas advantageous, if my peculiarity of temper is not already familiar tothe reader. I was continually occupied with a variety of pleasingchimeras, and never did the warmth of my imagination produce moremagnificent ones. When offered an empty place in a carriage, or anyperson accosted me on the road, how vexed was I to see that fortuneoverthrown, whose edifice, while walking, I had taken such pains to rear. 

For once my ideas were all martial: I was going to live with a militaryman; nay, to become one, for it was concluded I should begin with being acadet. I already fancied myself in regimentals, with a fine whitefeather nodding on my hat, and my heart was inflamed by the noble idea. I had some smattering of geometry and fortification; my uncle was anengineer; I was in a manner a soldier by inheritance. My short sight, indeed, presented some little obstacle, but did not by any meansdiscourage me, as I reckoned to supply that defect by coolness andintrepidity. I had read, too, that Marshal Schomberg was remarkablyshortsighted, and why might not Marshal Rousseau be the same? Myimagination was so warm by these follies, that it presented nothing buttroops, ramparts, gabions, batteries, and myself in the midst of fire andsmoke, an eyeglass in hand, commanding with the utmost tranquility. Notwithstanding, when the country presented a delightful prospect, when Isaw charming groves and rivulets, the pleasing sight made me sigh withregret, and feel, in the midst of all this glory, that my heart was notformed for such havoc; and soon without knowing how, I found my thoughtswandering among my dear sheep-folds, renouncing forever the labor ofMars. 

How much did Paris disappoint the idea I had formed of it! The exteriordecorations I had seen at Turin, the beauty of the streets, the symmetryand regularity of the houses, contributed to this disappointment, since Iconcluded that Paris must be infinitely superior. I had figured tomyself a splendid city, beautiful as large, of the most commandingaspect, whose streets were ranges of magnificent palaces, composed ofmarble and gold. On entering the faubourg St. Marceau, I saw nothing butdirty stinking streets, filthy black houses, an air of slovenliness andpoverty, beggars, carters, butchers, cries of diet-drink and old hats. This struck me so forcibly, that all I have since seen of realmagnificence in Paris could never erase this first impression, which hasever given me a particular disgust to residing in that capital; and I maysay, the whole time I remained there afterwards, was employed in seekingresources which might enable me to live at a distance from it. This isthe consequence of too lively imagination, which exaggerates even beyondthe voice of fame, and ever expects more than is told. I have heardParis so flatteringly described, that I pictured it like the ancientBabylon, which, perhaps, had I seen, I might have found equally faulty, and unlike that idea the account had conveyed. The same thing happenedat the Opera-house, to which I hastened the day after my arrival! I wassensible of the same deficiency at Versailles! and some time after onviewing the sea. I am convinced this would ever be the consequence of atoo flattering description of any object; for it is impossible for man, and difficult even for nature herself, to surpass the riches of myimagination. 

By the reception I met with from all those to whom my letters wereaddressed, I thought my fortune was certainly made. The person whoreceived me the least kindly was M. De Surbeck, to whom I had thewarmest recommendation. He had retired from the service, and livedphilosophically at Bagneux, where I waited on him several times withouthis offering me even a glass of water. I was better received by Madam deMerveilleux, sister-in-law to the interpreter, and by his nephew, who wasan officer in the guards. The mother and son not only received mekindly, but offered me the use of their table, which favor I frequentlyaccepted during my stay at Paris. 

Madam de Merveilleux appeared to have been handsome; her hair was of afine black, which, according to the old mode, she wore curled on thetemples. She still retained (what do not perish with a set of features)the beauties of an amiable mind. She appeared satisfied with mine, anddid all she could to render me service; but no one seconded herendeavors, and I was presently undeceived in the great interest they hadseemed to take in my affairs. I must, however, do the French nation thejustice to say, they do not so exhaust themselves with protestations, as some have represented, and that those they make are usually sincere;but they have a manner of appearing interested in your affairs, which ismore deceiving than words. The gross compliments of the Swiss can onlyimpose upon fools; the manners of the French are more seducing, and atthe same time so simple, that you are persuaded they do not express allthey mean to do for you, in order that you may be the more agreeablysurprised. I will say more; they are not false in their protestations, being naturally zealous to oblige, humane, benevolent, and even (whatevermay be said to the contrary) more sincere than any other nation; but theyare too flighty: in effect they feel the sentiments they profess for you, but that sentiment flies off as instantaneously as it was formed. Inspeaking to you, their whole attention is employed on you alone, whenabsent you are forgotten. Nothing is permanent in their hearts, all isthe work of the moment. 

Thus I was greatly flattered, but received little service. ColonelGodard for whose nephew I was recommended, proved to be an avaricious oldwretch, who, on seeing my distress (though he was immensely rich), wishedto have my services for nothing, meaning to place me with his nephew, rather as a valet without wages than a tutor. He represented that as Iwas to be continually engaged with him, I should be excused from duty, and might live on my cadet's allowance; that is to say, on the pay of asoldier: hardly would he consent to give me a uniform, thinking theclothing of the army might serve. Madam de Merveilleux, provoked at hisproposals, persuaded me not to accept them; her son was of the sameopinion; something else was to be thought on, but no situation wasprocured. Meantime, I began to be necessitated; for the hundred livreswith which I had commenced my journey could not last much longer;happily, I received a small remittance from the ambassador, which wasvery serviceable, nor do I think he would have abandoned me had Ipossessed more patience; but languishing, waiting, soliciting, are to meimpossible: I was disheartened, displeased, and thus all my brilliantexpectations came once more to nothing. I had not all this timeforgotten my dear Madam de Warrens, but how was I to find her? Whereshould I seek her? Madam de Merveilleux, who knew my story, assisted mein the search, but for a long time unavailingly; at length, she informedme that Madam de Warrens had set out from Paris about two months before, but it was not known whether for Savoy or Turin, and that someconjectured she was gone to Switzerland. Nothing further was necessaryto fix my determination to follow her, certain that wherever she mightbe, I stood more chance of finding her at those places than I couldpossibly do at Paris. 

Before my departure, I exercised my new poetical talent in an epistle toColonel Godard, whom I ridiculed to the utmost of my abilities. I showedthis scribble to Madam de Merveilleux, who, instead of discouraging me, as she ought to have done, laughed heartily at my sarcasms, as well asher son, who, I believe, did not like M. Godard; indeed, it must beconfessed, he was a man not calculated to obtain affection. I wastempted to send him my verses, and they encouraged me in it; accordinglyI made them up in a parcel directed to him, and there being no post thenat Paris by which I could conveniently send this, I put it in my pocket, and sent it to him from Auxerre, as I passed through that place. Ilaugh, even yet, sometimes, at the grimaces I fancy he made on readingthis panegyric, where he was certainly drawn to the life; it began thus:

 Tu croyois, vieux Penard, qu' une folle manie D' elever ton neveu m'inspireroit l'envie. 

This little piece, which, it is true, was but indifferently written; didnot want for salt, and announced a turn for satire; it is, notwithstanding, the only satirical writing that ever came from my pen. I have too little hatred in my heart to take advantage of such a talent;but I believe it may be judged from those controversies, in which fromtime to time I have been engaged in my own defence, that had I been of avindictive disposition, my adversaries would rarely have had the laughteron their side. 

What I most regret, is not having kept a journal of my travels, beingconscious that a number of interesting details have slipped my memory;for never did I exist so completely, never live so thoroughly, never wasso much myself, if I dare use the expression, as in those journeys madeon foot. Walking animates and enlivens my spirits; I can hardly thinkwhen in a state of inactivity; my body must be exercised to make myjudgmemt active. The view of a fine country, a succession of agreeableprospects, a free air, a good appetite, and the health I gained bywalking; the freedom of inns, and the distance from everything that canmake me recollect the dependence of my situation, conspire to free mysoul, and give boldness to my thoughts, throwing me, in a manner, intothe immensity of beings, where I combine, choose and appropriate them tomy fancy, without constraint or fear. I dispose of all nature as Iplease; my heart wandering from object to object, approximates and uniteswith those that please it, is surrounded by charming images, and becomesintoxicated with delicious sensations. If, attempting to render thesepermanent, I am amused in describing to myself, what glow of coloring, what energy of expression, do I give them!--It has been said, that allthese are to be found in my works, though written in the decline of life. Oh! had those of my early youth been seen, those made during my travels, composed, but never written!--Why did I not write them? will be asked;and why should I have written them? I may answer. Why deprive myself ofthe actual charm of my enjoyments to inform others what I enjoyed? Whatto me were readers, the public, or all the world, while I was mountingthe empyrean. Besides, did I carry pens, paper and ink with me? Had Irecollected all these, not a thought would have occurred worthpreserving. I do not foresee when I shall have ideas; they come whenthey please, and not when I call for them; either they avoid mealtogether, or rushing in crowds, overwhelm me with their force andnumber. Ten volumes a day would not suffice barely to enumerate mythoughts; how then should I find time to write them? In stopping, Ithought of nothing but a hearty dinner; on departing, of nothing but acharming walk; I felt that a new paradise awaited me at the door, andeagerly leaped forward to enjoy it. 

Never did I experience this so feelingly as in the perambulation I am nowdescribing. On coming to Paris, I had confined myself to ideas whichrelated to the situation I expected to occupy there. I had rushed intothe career I was about to run, and should have completed it withtolerable eclat, but it was not that my heart adhered to. Some realbeings obscured my imagined ones--Colonel Godard and his nephew could notkeep pace with a hero of my disposition. Thank Heaven, I was soondelivered from all these obstacles, and could enter at pleasure into thewilderness of chimeras, for that alone remained before me, and I wanderedin it so completely that I several times lost my way; but this was nomisfortune, I would not have shortened it, for, feeling with regret, as Iapproached Lyons, that I must again return to the material world, Ishould have been glad never to have arrived there. 

One day, among others, having purposely gone out of my way to take anearer view of a spot that appeared delightful, I was so charmed with it, and wandered round it so often, that at length I completely lost myself, and after several hours' useless walking, weary, fainting with hunger andthirst, I entered a peasant's hut, which had not indeed a very promisingappearance, but was the only one I could discover near me. I thought itwas here, as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where the inhabitants, livingat ease, have it in their power to exercise hospitality. I entreated thecountryman to give me some dinner, offering to pay for it: on which hepresented me with some skimmed milk and coarse barley--bread, saying itwas all he had. I drank the milk with pleasure, and ate the bread, chaffand all; but it was not very restorative to a man sinking with fatigue. The countryman, who watched me narrowly, judged the truth of my story bymy appetite, and presently (after having said that he plainly saw I wasan honest, good--natured young man, and did not come to betray him)opened a little trap door by the side of his kitchen, went down, andreturned a moment after with a good brown loaf of pure wheat, the remainsof a well-flavored ham, and a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoicedmy heart more than all the rest: he then prepared a good thick omelet, and I made such a dinner as none but a walking traveller ever enjoyed. 

When I again offered to pay, his inquietude and fears returned; he notonly would have no money, but refused it with the most evident emotion;and what made this scene more amusing, I could not imagine the motive ofhis fear. At length, he pronounced tremblingly those terrible words, "Commissioners, " and "Cellar-rats, " which he explained by giving me tounderstand that he concealed his wine because of the excise, and hisbread on account of the tax imposed on it; adding, he should be an undoneman, if it was suspected he was not almost perishing with want. What hesaid to me on this subject (of which I had not the smallest idea) made animpression on my mind that can never be effaced, sowing seeds of thatinextinguishable hatred which has since grow up in my heart against thevexations these unhappy people suffer, and against their oppressors. This man, though in easy circumstances, dare not eat the bread gained bythe sweat of his brow, and could only escape destruction by exhibiting anoutward appearance of misery!--I left his cottage with as muchindignation as concern, deploring the fate of those beautiful countries, where nature has been prodigal of her gifts, only that they may becomethe prey of barbarous exactors. 

The incident which I have just related, is the only one I have a distinctremembrance of during this journey: I recollect, indeed, that onapproaching Lyons, I wished to prolong it by going to see the banks ofthe Lignon; for among the romances I had read with my father, Astrea wasnot forgotten and returned more frequently to my thoughts than any other. Stopping for some refreshment (while chatting with my hostess), Iinquired the way to Forez, and was informed that country was an excellentplace for mechanics, as there were many forges, and much iron work donethere. This eulogium instantly calmed my romantic curiosity, for I feltno inclination to seek Dianas and Sylvanders among a generation ofblacksmiths. The good woman who encouraged me with this piece ofinformation certainly thought I was a journeyman locksmith. 

I had some view in going to Lyons: on my arrival, I went to theChasattes, to see Mademoiselle du Chatelet, a friend of Madam de Warrens, for whom I had brought a letter when I came there with M. Le Maitre, so that it was an acquaintance already formed. Mademoiselle du Chateletinformed me her friend had passed through Lyons, but could not tellwhether she had gone on to Piedmont, being uncertain at her departurewhether it would not be necessary to stop in Savoy; but if I choose, she would immediately write for information, and thought my best planwould be to remain at Lyons till she received it. I accepted this offer;but did not tell Mademoiselle du Chatelet how much I was pressed for ananswer, and that my exhausted purse would not permit me to wait long. It was not an appearance of coolness that withheld me, on the contrary, I was very kindly received, treated on the footing of equality, and thistook from me the resolution of explaining my circumstances, for I couldnot bear to descend from a companion to a miserable beggar. 

I seem to have retained a very connecting remembrance of that part of mylife contained in this book; yet I think I remember, about the sameperiod, another journey to Lyons, (the particulars of which I cannotrecollect) where I found myself much straitened, and a confusedremembrance of the extremities to which I was reduced does not contributeto recall the idea agreeably. Had I been like many others, had Ipossessed the talent of borrowing and running in debt at every ale-houseI came to, I might have fared better; but in that my incapacity equalledmy repugnance, and to demonstrate the prevalence of both, it will besufficient to say, that though I have passed almost my whole life inindifferent circumstances, and frequently have been near wanting bread, I was never once asked for money by a creditor without having it in mypower to pay it instantly; I could never bear to contract clamorousdebts, and have ever preferred suffering to owing. 

Being reduced to pass my nights in the streets, may certainly be calledsuffering, and this was several times the case at Lyons, having preferredbuying bread with the few pence I had remaining, to bestowing them on alodging; as I was convinced there was less danger of dying for want ofsleep than of hunger. What is astonishing, while in this unhappysituation, I took no care for the future, was neither uneasy normelancholy, but patiently waited an answer to Mademoiselle du Chatelet'sletter, and lying in the open air, stretched on the earth, or on a bench, slept as soundly as if reposing on a bed of roses. I remember, particularly, to have passed a most delightful night at some distancefrom the city, in a road which had the Rhone, or Soane, I cannotrecollect which, on the one side, and a range of raised gardens, withterraces, on the other. It had been a very hot day, the evening wasdelightful, the dew moistened the fading grass, no wind was stirring, the air was fresh without chillness, the setting sun had tinged theclouds with a beautiful crimson, which was again reflected by the water, and the trees that bordered the terrace were filled with nightingales whowere continually answering each other's songs. I walked along in a kindof ecstasy, giving up my heart and senses to the enjoyment of so manydelights, and sighing only from a regret of enjoying them alone. Absorbed in this pleasing reverie, I lengthened my walk till it grew verylate, without perceiving I was tired; at length, however, I discoveredit, and threw myself on the step of a kind of niche, or false door, in the terrace wall. How charming was the couch! the trees formed astately canopy, a nightingale sat directly over me, and with his softnotes lulled me to rest: how pleasing my repose; my awaking more so. It was broad day; on opening my eyes I saw the water, the verdure, andthe admirable landscape before me. I arose, shook off the remains ofdrowsiness, and finding I was hungry, retook the way to the city, resolving, with inexpressible gayety, to spend the two pieces of sixfrancs I had yet remaining in a good breakfast. I found myself socheerful that I went all the way singing; I even remember I sang acantata of Batistin's called the Baths of Thomery, which I knew by heart. May a blessing light on the good Batistin and his good cantata, whichprocured me a better breakfast than I had expected, and a still betterdinner which I did not expect at all! In the midst of my singing, I heard some one behind me, and turning round perceived an Antonine, who followed after and seemed to listen with pleasure to my song. At length accosting me, he asked, If I understood music. I answered, "A little, " but in a manner to have it understood I knew a great deal, and as he continued questioning of me, related a part of my story. He asked me, If I had ever copied music? I replied, "Often, " which wastrue: I had learned most by copying. "Well, " continued he, "come withme, I can employ you for a few days, during which time you shall want fornothing; provided you consent not to quit my room. " I acquiesced verywillingly, and followed him. 

This Antonine was called M. Rotichon; he loved music, understood it, andsang in some little concerts with his friends; thus far all was innocentand right, but apparently this taste had become a furor, part of which hewas obliged to conceal. He conducted me into a chamber, where I found agreat quantity of music: he gave me some to copy, particularly thecantata he had heard me singing, and which he was shortly to singhimself. 

I remained here three or four days, copying all the time I did not eat, for never in my life was I so hungry, or better fed. M. Rolichon broughtmy provisions himself from the kitchen, and it appeared that these goodpriests lived well, at least if every one fared as I did. In my life, Inever took such pleasure in eating, and it must be owned this good cheercame very opportunely, for I was almost exhausted. I worked as heartilyas I ate, which is saying a great deal; 'tis true I was not as correct asdiligent, for some days after, meeting M. Rolichon in the street, heinformed me there were so many omissions, repetitions, andtranspositions, in the parts I had copied, that they could not beperformed. It must be owned, that in choosing the profession of music, I hit on that I was least calculated for; yet my voice was good and Icopied neatly; but the fatigue of long works bewilders me so much, thatI spend more time in altering and scratching out than in pricking down, and if I do not employ the strictest attention in comparing the severalparts, they are sure to fail in the execution. Thus, through endeavoringto do well, my performance was very faulty; for aiming at expedition, I did all amiss. This did not prevent M. Rolichon from treating me wellto the last, and giving me half-a-crown at my departure, which Icertainly did not deserve, and which completely set me up, for a few daysafter I received news from Madam de Warrens, who was at Chambery, withmoney to defray the expenses of my journey to her, which I performed withrapture. Since then my finances have frequently been very low, but neverat such an ebb as to reduce me to fasting, and I mark this period with aheart fully alive to the bounty of Providence, as the last of my life inwhich I sustained poverty and hunger. 

I remained at Lyons seven or eight days to wait for some littlecommissions with which Madam de Warrens had charged Mademoiselle duChatelet, who during this interval I visited more assiduously thanbefore, having the pleasure of talking with her of her friend, and beingno longer disturbed by the cruel remembrance of my situation, or painfulendeavors to conceal it. Mademoiselle du Chatelet was neither young norhandsome, but did not want for elegance; she was easy and obliging whileher understanding gave price to her familiarity. She had a taste forthat kind of moral observation which leads to the knowledge of mankind, and from her originated that study in myself. She was fond of the worksof Le Sage, particularly Gil Blas, which she lent me, and recommended tomy perusal. I read this performance with pleasure, but my judgment wasnot yet ripe enough to relish that sort of reading. I liked romanceswhich abounded with high-flown sentiments. 

Thus did I pass my time at the grate of Mademoiselle du Chatelet, with asmuch profit as pleasure. It is certain that the interesting and sensibleconversation of a deserving woman is more proper to form theunderstanding of a young man than all the pedantic philosophy of books. I got acquainted at the Chasattes with some other boarders and theirfriends, and among the rest, with a young person of fourteen, calledMademoiselle Serre, whom I did not much notice at that time, though I wasin love with her eight or nine years afterwards, and with great reason, for she was a most charming girl. 

I was fully occupied with the idea of seeing Madam de Warrens, and thisgave some respite to my chimeras, for finding happiness in real objectsI was the less inclined to seek it in nonentities. I had not only foundher, but also by her means, and near her, an agreeable situation, havingsent me word that she had procured one that would suit me, and by which Ishould not be obliged to quit her. I exhausted all my conjectures inguessing what this occupation could be, but I must have possessed the artof divination to have hit it on the right. I had money sufficient tomake my journey agreeable: Mademoiselle du Chatelet persuaded me to hirea horse, but this I could not consent to, and I was certainly right, for by so doing I should have lost the pleasure of the last pedestrianexpedition I ever made; for I cannot give that name to those excursions Ihave frequently taken about my own neighborhood, while I lived atMotiers. 

It is very singular that my imagination never rises so high as when mysituation is least agreeable or cheerful. When everything smiles aroundme, I am least amused; my heart cannot confine itself to realities, cannot embellish, but must create. Real objects strike me as they reallyare, my imagination can only decorate ideal ones. If I would paint thespring, it must be in winter; if describe a beautiful landscape, it mustbe while surrounded with walls; and I have said a hundred times, thatwere I confined in the Bastile, I could draw the most enchanting pictureof liberty. On my departure from Lyons, I saw nothing but an agreeablefuture, the content I now with reason enjoyed was as great as mydiscontent had been at leaving Paris, notwithstanding, I had not duringthis journey any of those delightful reveries I then enjoyed. My mindwas serene, and that was all; I drew near the excellent friend I wasgoing to see, my heart overflowing with tenderness, enjoying in advance, but without intoxication, the pleasure of living near her; I had alwaysexpected this, and it was as if nothing new had happened. Meantime, I was anxious about the employment Madam de Warrens had procured me, as if that alone had been material. My ideas were calm and peaceable, not ravishing and celestial; every object struck my sight in its naturalform; I observed the surrounding landscape, remarked the trees, thehouses, the springs, deliberated on the cross-roads, was fearful oflosing myself, yet did not do so; in a word, I was no longer in theempyrean, but precisely where I found myself, or sometimes perhaps atthe end of my journey, never farther. 

I am in recounting my travels, as I was in making them, loath to arriveat the conclusion. My heart beat with joy as I approached my dear Madamde Warrens, but I went no faster on that account. I love to walk at myease, and stop at leisure; a strolling life is necessary to me:travelling on foot, in a fine country, with fine weather and having anagreeable object to terminate my journey, is the manner of living of allothers most suited to my taste. 

It is already understood what I mean by a fine country; never can a flatone, though ever so beautiful, appear such in my eyes: I must havetorrents, fir trees, black woods, mountains to climb or descend, andrugged roads with precipices on either side to alarm me. I experiencedthis pleasure in its utmost extent as I approached Chambery, not far froma mountain which is called Pas de l'Echelle. Above the main road, whichis hewn through the rock, a small river runs and rushes into fearfulchasms, which it appears to have been millions of ages in forming. Theroad has been hedged by a parapet to prevent accidents, which enabled meto contemplate the whole descent, and gain vertigoes at pleasure; for agreat part of my amusement in these steep rocks, is, they cause agiddiness and swimming in my head, which I am particularly fond of, provided I am in safety; leaning, therefore, over the parapet, I remainedwhole hours, catching, from time to time, a glance of the froth and bluewater, whose rushing caught my ear, mingled with the cries of ravens, andother birds of prep that flew from rock to rock, and bush to bush, at sixhundred feet below me. In places where the slope was tolerably regular, and clear enough from bushes to let stones roll freely, I went aconsiderable way to gather them, bringing those I could but just carry, which I piled on the parapet, and then threw down one after the other, being transported at seeing them roll, rebound, and fly into a thousandpieces, before they reached the bottom of the precipice. 

Near Chambery I enjoyed an equal pleasing spectacle, though of adifferent kind; the road passing near the foot of the most charmingcascade I ever saw. The water, which is very rapid, shoots from the topof an excessively steep mountain, falling at such a distance from itsbase that you may walk between the cascade and the rock without anyinconvenience; but if not particularly careful it is easy to be deceivedas I was, for the water, falling from such an immense height, separates, and descends in a rain as fine as dust, and on approaching too near thiscloud, without perceiving it, you may be wet through in an instant. 

At length I arrived at Madam de Warrens; she was not alone, theintendant-general was with her. Without speaking a word to me, shecaught my hand, and presenting me to him with that natural grace whichcharmed all hearts, said: "This, sir, is the poor young man I mentioned;deign to protect him as long as he deserves it, and I shall feel noconcern for the remainder of his life. " Then added, addressing herselfto me, "Child, you now belong to the king, thank Monsieur the Intendant, who furnishes you with the means of existence. " I stared withoutanswering, without knowing what to think of all this; rising ambitionalmost turned my head; I was already prepared to act the intendantmyself. My fortune, however, was not so brilliant as I had imagined, butit was sufficient to maintain me, which, as I was situated, was a capitalacquisition. I shall now explain the nature of my employment. 

King Victor Amadeus, judging by the event of preceding wars, and thesituation of the ancient patrimony of his fathers, that he should notlong be able to maintain it, wished to drain it beforehand. Resolving, therefore, to tax the nobility, he ordered a general survey of the wholecountry, in order that it might be rendered more equal and productive. This scheme, which was begun under the father, was completed by the son:two or three hundred men, part surveyors, who were called geometricians, and part writers, who were called secretaries, were employed in thiswork: among those of the latter description Madam de Warrens had got meappointed. This post, without being very lucrative, furnished the meansof living eligibly in that country; the misfortune was, this employmentcould not be of any great duration, but it put me in train to procuresomething better, as by this means she hoped to insure the particularprotection of the intendant, who might find me some more settledoccupation before this was concluded. 

I entered on my new employment a few days after my arrival, and as therewas no great difficulty in the business, soon understood it; thus, afterfour or five years of unsettled life, folly, and suffering, since mydeparture from Geneva, I began, for the first time, to gain my bread withcredit. 

These long details of my early youth must have appeared trifling, and Iam sorry for it: though born a man, in a variety of instances, I was longa child, and am so yet in many particulars. I did not promise the publica great personage: I promised to describe myself as I am, and to know mein my advanced age it was necessary to have known me in my youth. As, in general, objects that are present make less impression on me than thebare remembrance of them (my ideas being all from recollection), thefirst traits which were engraven on my mind have distinctly remained:those which have since been imprinted there, have rather combined withthe former than effaced them. There is a certain, yet varied successionof affections and ideas, which continue to regulate those that followthem, and this progression must be known in order to judge rightly ofthose they have influenced. I have studied to develop the first causes, the better to show the concatenation of effects. I would be able by somemeans to render my soul transparent to the eyes of the reader, and forthis purpose endeavor to show it in every possible point of view, to givehim every insight, and act in such a manner, that not a motion shouldescape him, as by this means he may form a judgment of the principlesthat produce them. 

Did I take upon myself to decide, and say to the reader, "Such is mycharacter, " he might think that if I did not endeavor to deceive him, I at least deceived myself; but in, recounting simply all that hashappened to me, all my actions, thoughts, and feelings, I cannot lead himinto an error, unless I do it wilfully, which by this means I could noteasily effect, since it is his province to compare the elements, andjudge of the being they compose: thus the result must be his work, and ifhe is then deceived the error will be his own. It is not sufficient forthis purpose that my recitals should be merely faithful, they must alsobe minute; it is not for me to judge of the importance of facts, I oughtto declare them simply as they are, and leave the estimate that is to beformed of them to him. I have adhered to this principle hitherto, withthe most scrupulous exactitude, and shall not depart from it in thecontinuation; but the impressions of age are less lively than those ofyouth; I began by delineating the latter: should I recollect the restwith the same precision, the reader, may, perhaps, become weary andimpatient, but I shall not be dissatisfied with my labor. I have but onething to apprehend in this undertaking: I do not dread saying too much, or advancing falsities, but I am fearful of not saying enough, orconcealing truths. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK V. 

It was, I believe, in 1732, that I arrived at Chambery, as alreadyrelated, and began my employment of registering land for the king. I wasalmost twenty-one, my mind well enough formed for my age, with respect tosense, but very deficient in point of judgment, and needing everyinstruction from those into whose hands I fell, to make me conduct myselfwith propriety; for a few years' experience had not been able to cure meradically of my romantic ideas; and notwithstanding the ills I hadsustained, I knew as little of the world, or mankind, as if I had neverpurchased instruction. I slept at home, that is, at the house of Madamde Warrens; but it was not as at Annecy: here were no gardens, no brook, no landscape; the house was dark and dismal, and my apartment the mostgloomy of the whole. The prospect a dead wall, an alley instead of astreet, confined air, bad light, small rooms, iron bars, rats, and arotten floor; an assemblage of circumstances that do not constitute avery agreeable habitation; but I was in the same house with my bestfriend, incessantly near her, at my desk, or in chamber, so that I couldnot perceive the gloominess of my own, or have time to think of it. It may appear whimsical that she should reside at Chambery on purpose tolive in this disagreeable house; but it was a trait of contrivance whichI ought not to pass over in silence. She had no great inclination for ajourney to Turin, fearing that after the recent revolutions, and theagitation in which the court yet was, she should not be very favorablyreceived there; but her affairs seemed to demand her presence, as shefeared being forgotten or ill-treated, particularly as the Count deSaint-Laurent, Intendent-general of the Finances, was not in herinterest. He had an old house in Chambery, ill-built, and standing in sodisagreeable a situation that it was always untenanted; she hired, andsettled in this house, a plan that succeeded much better than a journeyto Turin would have done, for her pension was not suppressed, and theCount de Saint-Laurent was ever after one of her best friends. 

Her household was much on the old footing; her faithful Claude Anet stillremained with her. He was, as I have before mentioned, a peasant ofMoutru, who in his childhood had gathered herbs in Jura for the purposeof making Swiss tea; she had taken him into her service for his knowledgeof drugs, finding it convenient to have a herbalist among her domestics. Passionately fond of the study of plants, he became a real botanist, andhad he not died young, might have acquired as much fame in that scienceas he deserved for being an honest man. Serious even to gravity, andolder than myself, he was to me a kind of tutor, commanding respect, andpreserving me from a number of follies, for I dared not forget myselfbefore him. He commanded it likewise from his mistress, who knew hisunderstanding, uprightness, and inviolable attachment to herself, andreturned it. Claude Anet was of an uncommon temper. I never encountereda similar disposition: he was slow, deliberate, and circumspect in hisconduct; cold in his manner; laconic and sententious in his discourse;yet of an impetuosity in his passions, which (though careful to conceal)preyed upon him inwardly, and urged him to the only folly he evercommitted; that folly, indeed was terrible, it was poisoning himself. This tragic scene passed soon after my arrival, and opened my eyes to theintimacy that subsisted between Claude Anet and his mistress, for had notthe information come from her, I should never have suspected it; yet, surely, if attachment, fidelity, and zeal, could merit such a recompense, it was due to him, and what further proves him worthy such a distinction, he never once abused her confidence. They seldom disputed, and theirdisagreements ever ended amicably; one, indeed, was not so fortunate;his mistress, in a passion, said something affronting, which not beingable to digest, he consulted only with despair, and finding a bottle oflaudanum at hand, drank it off; then went peaceably to bed, expecting toawake no more. Madam de Warrens herself was uneasy, agitated, wanderingabout the house and happily--finding the phial empty--guessed the rest. Her screams, while flying to his assistance, alarmed me; she confessedall, implored my help, and was fortunate enough, after repeated efforts, to make him throw up the laudanum. Witness of this scene, I could notbut wonder at my stupidity in never having suspected the connection; butClaude Anet was so discreet, that a more penetrating observer might havebeen deceived. Their reconciliation affected me, and added respect tothe esteem I before felt for him. From this time I became, in somemeasure, his pupil, nor did I find myself the worse for his instruction. 

I could not learn, without pain, that she lived in greater intimacy withanother than with myself: it was a situation I had not even thought of, but (which was very natural) it hurt me to see another in possession ofit. Nevertheless, instead of feeling any aversion to the person who hadthis advantage over me, I found the attachment I felt for her actuallyextend to him. I desired her happiness above all things, and since hewas concerned in her plan of felicity, I was content he should be happylikewise. Meantime he perfectly entered into the views of his mistress;conceived a sincere friendship for me, and without affecting theauthority his situation might have entitled him to, he naturallypossessed that which his superior judgment gave him over mine. I dareddo nothing he disproved of, but he was sure to disapprove only whatmerited disapprobation: thus we lived in an union which rendered usmutually happy, and which death alone could dissolve. 

One proof of the excellence of this amiable woman's character, is, thatall those who loved her, loved each other; even jealousy and rivalshipsubmitting to the more powerful sentiment with which she inspired them, and I never saw any of those who surrounded her entertain the least illwill among themselves. Let the reader pause a moment on this encomium, and if he can recollect any other woman who deserves it, let him attachhimself to her, if he would obtain happiness. 

From my arrival at Chambery to my departure for Paris, 1741, included aninterval of eight or nine years, during which time I have few adventuresto relate; my life being as simple as it was agreeable. This uniformitywas precisely what was most wanting to complete the formation of mycharacter, which continual troubles had prevented from acquiring anydegree of stability. It was during this pleasing interval, that myunconnected, unfinished education, gained consistence, and made me what Ihave unalterably remained amid the storms with which I have since beensurrounded. 

The progress was slow, almost imperceptible, and attended by fewmemorable circumstances; yet it deserves to be followed and investigated. 

At first, I was wholly occupied with my business, the constraint of adesk left little opportunity for other thoughts, the small portion oftime I was at liberty was passed with my dear Madam de Warrens, and nothaving leisure to read, I felt no inclination for it; but when mybusiness (by daily repetition) became familiar, and my mind was lessoccupied, study again became necessary, and (as my desires were everirritated by any difficulty that opposed the indulgence of them) mightonce more have become a passion, as at my master's, had not otherinclinations interposed and diverted it. 

Though our occupation did not demand a very profound skill in arithmetic, it sometimes required enough to puzzle me. To conquer this difficulty, I purchased books which treated on that science, and learned well, for Inow studied alone. Practical arithmetic extends further than is usuallysupposed if you would attain exact precision. There are operations ofextreme length in which I have sometimes seen good geometricians losethemselves. Reflection, assisted by practice, gives clear ideas, andenables you to devise shorter methods, these inventions flatter ourself-complacency, while their exactitude satisfies our understanding, andrenders a study pleasant, which is, of itself, heavy and unentertaining. At length I became so expert as not to be puzzled by any question thatwas solvable by arithmetical calculation; and even now, while everythingI formerly knew fades daily on my memory, this acquirement, in a greatmeasure remains, through an interval of thirty years. A few days ago, in a journey I made to Davenport, being with my host at an arithmeticallesson given his children, I did (with pleasure, and without errors) amost complicated work. While setting down my figures, methought I wasstill at Chambery, still in my days of happiness--how far had I to lookback for them!

The colored plans of our geometricians had given me a taste for drawing:accordingly I bought colors, and began by attempting flowers andlandscapes. It was unfortunate that I had not talents for this art, for my inclination was much disposed to it, and while surrounded withcrayons, pencils, and colors, I could have passed whole months withoutwishing to leave them. This amusement engaged me so much that they wereobliged to force me from it; and thus it is with every inclination I giveinto, it continues to augment, till at length it becomes so powerful, that I lose sight of everything except the favorite amusement. Yearshave not been able to cure me of that fault, nay, have not evendiminished it; for while I am writing this, behold me, like an olddotard, infatuated with another, to me useless study, which I do notunderstand, and which even those who have devoted their youthful days tothe acquisition of, are constrained to abandon, at the age I am beginningwith it. 

At that time, the study I am now speaking of would have been well placed, the opportunity was good, and I had some temptation to profit by it; forthe satisfaction I saw in the eyes of Anet, when he came home loaded withnew discovered plants, set me two or three times on the point of going toherbalize with him, and I am almost certain that had I gone once, I should have been caught, and perhaps at this day might have been anexcellent botanist, for I know no study more congenial to my naturalinclination, than that of plants; the life I have led for these ten yearspast, in the country, being little more than a continual herbalizing, though I must confess, without object, and without improvement; but atthe time I am now speaking of I had no inclination for botany, nay, I even despised, and was disgusted at the idea, considering it only as afit study for an apothecary. Madam de Warrens was fond of it merely forthis purpose, seeking none but common plants to use in her medicalpreparations; thus botany, chemistry, and anatomy were confounded in myidea under the general denomination of medicine, and served to furnish mewith pleasant sarcasms the whole day, which procured me, from time totime, a box on the ear, applied by Madam de Warrens. Besides this, avery contrary taste grew up with me, and by degrees absorbed all others;this was music. I was certainly born for that science, I loved it frommy infancy, and it was the only inclination I have constantly adhered to;but it is astonishing that what nature seemed to have designed me forshould have cost so much pains to learn, and that I should acquire it soslowly, that after a whole life spent in the practice of this art, I could never attain to sing with any certainty at sight. What renderedthe study of music more agreeable to me at that time, was, being able topractise it with Madam de Warrens. In other respects our tastes werewidely different: this was a point of coincidence, which I loved to availmyself of. She had no more objection to this than myself. I knew atthat time almost as much of it as she did, and after two or threeefforts, we could make shift to decipher an air. Sometimes, when I sawher busy at her furnace, I have said, "Here now is a charming duet, whichseems made for the very purpose of spoiling your drugs;" her answer wouldbe, "If you make me burn them, I'll make you eat them:" thus disputing, Idrew her to the harpsichord; the furnace was presently forgotten, theextract of juniper or wormwood calcined (which I cannot recollect withouttransport), and these scenes usually ended by her smearing my face withthe remains of them. 

It may easily be conjectured that I had plenty of employment to fill upmy leisure hours; one amusement, however, found room, that was well worthall the rest. 

We lived in such a confined dungeon, that it was necessary sometimes tobreathe the open air; Anet, therefore, engaged Madam de Warrens to hire agarden in the suburbs, both for this purpose and the convenience ofrearing plants, etc. ; to this garden was added a summer--house, which wasfurnished in the customary manner; we sometimes dined, and I frequentlyslept, there. Insensibly I became attached to this little retreat, decorated it with books and prints, spending part of my time inornamenting it during the absence of Madam de Warrens, that I mightsurprise her the more agreeably on her return. Sometimes I quitted thisdear friend, that I might enjoy the uninterrupted pleasure of thinking onher; this was a caprice I can neither excuse nor fully explain, I onlyknow this really was the case, and therefore I avow it. I remember Madamde Luxembourg told me one day in raillery, of a man who used to leave hismistress that he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to her; Ianswered, I could have been this man; I might have added, That I had donethe very same. 

I did not, however, find it necessary to leave Madam de Warrens that Imight love her the more ardently, for I was ever as perfectly free withher as when alone; an advantage I never enjoyed with any other person, man or woman, however I might be attached to them; but she was so oftensurrounded by company who were far from pleasing me, that spite andweariness drove me to this asylum, where I could indulge the idea, without danger of being interrupted by impertinence. Thus, my time beingdivided between business, pleasure, and instruction, my life passed inthe most absolute serenity. Europe was not equally tranquil: France andthe emperor had mutually declared war, the King of Sardinia had enteredinto the quarrel, and a French army had filed off into Piedmont to awethe Milanese. Our division passed through Chambery, and, among others, the regiment of Champaigne, whose colonel was the Duke de la Trimouille, to whom I was presented. He promised many things, but doubtless nevermore thought of me. Our little garden was exactly at the end of thesuburb by which the troops entered, so that I could fully satisfy mycuriosity in seeing them pass, and I became as anxious for the success ofthe war as if it had nearly concerned me. Till now I had never troubledmyself about politics, for the first time I began reading the gazettes, but with so much partiality on the side of France, that my heart beatwith rapture on its most trifling advantages, and I was as much afflictedon a reverse of fortune, as if I had been particularly concerned. 

Had this folly been transient, I should not, perhaps, have mentioned it, but it took such root in my heart (without any reasonable cause) thatwhen I afterwards acted the anti-despot and proud republican at Paris, inspite of myself, I felt a secret predilection for the nation I declaredservile, and for that government I affected to oppose. The pleasantestof all was that, ashamed of an inclination so contrary to my professedmaxims, I dared not own it to any one, but rallied the French on theirdefeats, while my heart was more wounded than their own. I am certainlythe first man, that, living with a people who treated him well, and whomhe almost adored, put on, even in their own country, a borrowed air ofdespising them; yet my original inclination is so powerful, constant, disinterested, and invincible, that even since my quitting that kingdom, since its government, magistrates, and authors, have outvied each otherin rancor against me, since it has become fashionable to load me withinjustice and abuse, I have not been able to get rid of this folly, butnotwithstanding their ill-treatment, love them in spite of myself. 

I long sought the cause of this partiality, but was never able to findany, except in the occasion that gave it birth. A rising taste forliterature attached me to French books, to their authors, and theircountry: at the very moment the French troops were passing Chambery, Iwas reading Brantome's 'Celebrated Captains'; my head was full of theClissons, Bayards, Lautrecs Colignys, Monlmoreneys, and Trimouille, and Iloved their descendants as the heirs of their merit and courage. In eachregiment that passed by methought I saw those famous black bands who hadformerly done so many noble exploits in Piedmont; in fine, I applied tothese all the ideas I had gathered from books; my reading continued, which, still drawn from the same nation, nourished my affection for thatcountry, till, at length, it became a blind passion, which nothing couldovercome. I have had occasion to remark several times in the course ofmy travels, that this impression was not peculiar to me for France, butwas more or less active in every country, for that part of the nation whowere fond of literature, and cultivated learning; and it was thisconsideration that balanced in my mind the general hatred which theconceited air of the French is so apt to inspire. Their romances, morethan their men, attract the women of all countries, and the celebrateddramatic pieces of France create a fondness in youth for their theaters;the reputation which that of Paris in particular has acquired, draws toit crowds of strangers, who return enthusiasts to their own country: inshort, the excellence of their literature captivates the senses, and inthe unfortunate war just ended, I have seen their authors andphilosophers maintain the glory of France, so tarnished by its warriors. 

I was, therefore, an ardent Frenchman; this rendered me a politician, andI attended in the public square, amid a throng of news-mongers, thearrival of the post, and, sillier than the ass in the fable, was veryuneasy to know whose packsaddle I should next have the honor to carry, for it was then supposed we should belong to France, and that Savoy wouldbe exchanged for Milan. I must confess, however, that I experienced someuneasiness, for had this war terminated unfortunately for the allies, thepension of Madam de Warrens would have been in a dangerous situation;nevertheless, I had great confidence in my good friends, the French, andfor once (in spite of the surprise of M. De Broglio) my confidence wasnot ill-founded--thanks to the King of Sardinia, whom I had never thoughtof. 

While we were fighting in Italy, they were singing in France: the operasof Rameau began to make a noise there, and once more raise the credit ofhis theoretic works, which, from their obscurity, were within the compassof very few understandings. By chance I heard of his 'Treatise onHarmony', and had no rest till I purchased it. By another chance I fellsick; my illness was inflammatory, short and violent, but myconvalescence was tedious, for I was unable to go abroad for a wholemonth. During this time I eagerly ran over my Treatise on Harmony, butit was so long, so diffuse, and so badly disposed, that I found it wouldrequire a considerable time to unravel it: accordingly I suspended myinclination, and recreated my sight with music. 

The cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself with. These were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by heart, andamong the rest, 'The Sleeping Cupids', which I have never seen since thattime, though I still retain it almost entirely; as well as 'Cupid Stungby a Bee', a very pretty cantata by Clerambault, which I learned aboutthe same time. 

To complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdoste, called theAbbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion, who performedvery well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him, and we soonbecame inseparable. He had been brought up by an Italian monk, who was acapital organist. He explained to me his principles of music, which Icompared with Rameau; my head was filled with accompaniments, concordsand harmony, but as it was necessary to accustom the ear to all this, Iproposed to Madam de Warrens having a little concert once a month, towhich she consented. 

Behold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could thinkof nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my time toselect the music, assemble the musicians, look to the instruments, andwrite out the several parts. Madam de Warrens sang; Father Cato (whom Ihave before mentioned, and shall have occasion to speak of again) sanglikewise; a dancing--master named Roche, and his son, played on theviolin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who was employed like myself inthe survey, and has since married at Paris), played on the violoncello;the Abbe Palais performed on the harpsichord, and I had the honor toconduct the whole. It may be supposed all this was charming; I cannotsay it equalled my concert at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly itwas not far behind it. 

This little concert, given by Madam de Warrens, the new convert, wholived (it was expressed) on the king's charity, made the whole tribe ofdevotees murmur, but was a very agreeable amusement to several worthypeople, at the head of whom it would not be easily surmised that I shouldplace a monk; yet, though a monk, a man of considerable merit, and evenof a very amiable disposition, whose subsequent misfortunes gave me themost lively concern, and whose idea, attached to that of my happy days, is yet dear to my memory. I speak of Father Cato, a Cordelier, who, inconjunction with the Count d'Ortan, had caused the music of poor LeMaitre to be seized at Lyons; which action was far from being thebrightest trait in his history. He was a Bachelor of Sorbonne, had livedlong in Paris among the great world, and was particularly caressed by theMarquis d'Antremont, then Ambassador from Sardinia. He was tall and wellmade; full faced, with very fine eyes, and black hair, which formednatural curls on each side of his forehead. His manner was at oncenoble, open, and modest; he presented himself with ease and good manners, having neither the hypocritical nor impudent behavior of a monk, or theforward assurance of a fashionable coxcomb, but the manners of awell-bred man, who, without blushing for his habit, set a value onhimself, and ever felt in his proper situation when in good company. Though Father Cato was not deeply studied for a doctor, he was much sofor a man of the world, and not being compelled to show his talents, hebrought them forward so advantageously that they appeared greater thanthey really were. Having lived much in the world, he had ratherattached himself to agreeable acquirements than to solid learning; hadsense, made verses, spoke well, sang better, and aided his good voice byplaying on the organ and harpsichord. So many pleasing qualities werenot necessary to make his company sought after, and, accordingly, it wasvery much so, but this did not make him neglect the duties of hisfunction: he was chosen (in spite of his jealous competitors) Definitorof his Province, or, according to them, one of the greatest pillars oftheir order. 

Father Cato became acquainted with Madam de Warrens at the Marquis ofAntremont's; he had heard of her concerts, wished to assist at them, andby his company rendered our meetings truly agreeable. We were soonattached to each other by our mutual taste for music, which in both was amost lively passion, with this difference, that he was really a musician, and myself a bungler. Sometimes assisted by Canavas and the Abbe Palais, we had music in his apartment; or on holidays at his organ, andfrequently dined with him; for, what was very astonishing in a monk, he was generous, profuse, and loved good cheer, without the leasttincture of greediness. After our concerts, he always used to stay tosupper, and these evenings passed with the greatest gayety andgood-humor; we conversed with the utmost freedom, and sang duets; I wasperfectly at my ease, had sallies of wit and merriment; Father Cato wascharming, Madam de Warrens adorable, and the Abbe Palais, with his roughvoice, was the butt of the company. Pleasing moments of sportive youth, how long since have ye fled!

As I shall have no more occasion to speak of poor Father Cato, I willhere conclude in a few words his melancholy history. His brother monks, jealous, or rather exasperated to discover in him a merit and elegance ofmanners which favored nothing of monastic stupidity, conceived the mostviolent hatred to him, because he was not as despicable as themselves;the chiefs, therefore, combined against this worthy man, and set on theenvious rabble of monks, who otherwise would not have dared to hazard theattack. He received a thousand indignities; they degraded him from hisoffice, took away the apartment which he had furnished with elegantsimplicity, and, at length, banished him, I know not whither: in short, these wretches overwhelmed him with so many evils, that his honest andproud soul sank under the pressure, and, after having been the delight ofthe most amiable societies, he died of grief, on a wretched bed, hid insome cell or dungeon, lamented by all worthy people of his acquaintance, who could find no fault in him, except his being a monk. 

Accustomed to this manner of life for some time, I became so entirelyattached to music that I could think of nothing else. I went to mybusiness with disgust, the necessary confinement and assiduity appearedan insupportable punishment, which I at length wished to relinquish, thatI might give myself up without reserve to my favorite amusement. It willbe readily believed that this folly met with some opposition; to give upa creditable employment and fixed salary to run after uncertain scholarswas too giddy a plan to be approved of by Madam de Warrens, and evensupposing my future success should prove as great as I flattered myself, it was fixing very humble limits to my ambition to think of reducingmyself for life to the condition of a music-master. She, who formed forme the brightest projects, and no longer trusted implicitly to thejudgment of M. D'Aubonne, seeing with concern that I was so seriouslyoccupied with a talent which she thought frivolous, frequently repeatedto me that provincial proverb, which does not hold quite so good inParis, "Qui biens chante et biens dance, fait un metier qui peu avance. "

 [He who can sweetly sing and featly dance. His interests right little shall advance. ]

On the other hand, she saw me hurried away by this irresistible passion, my taste for music having become a furor, and it was much to be fearedthat my employment, suffering by my distraction, might draw on me adischarge, which would be worse than a voluntary resignation. I represented to her; that this employment could not last long, that itwas necessary I should have some permanent means of subsistence, and thatit would be much better to complete by practice the acquisition of thatart to which my inclination led me than to make fresh essays, whichpossibly might not succeed, since by this means, having passed the agemost proper for improvement, I might be left without a single resourcefor gaining a livelihood: in short, I extorted her consent more byimportunity and caresses than by any satisfactory reasons. Proud of mysuccess, I immediately ran to thank M. Coccelli, Director-General of theSurvey, as though I had performed the most heroic action, and quitted myemployment without cause, reason, or pretext, with as much pleasure as Ihad accepted it two years before. 

This step, ridiculous as it may appear, procured me a kind ofconsideration, which I found extremely useful. Some supposed I hadresources which I did not possess; others, seeing me totally given up tomusic, judged of my abilities by the sacrifice I had made, and concludedthat with such a passion for the art, I must possess it in a superiordegree. In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings. Ipassed here for an excellent master, because all the rest were very badones. Possessing taste in singing, and being favored by my age andfigure, I soon procured more scholars than were sufficient to compensatefor the losses of my secretary's pay. It is certain, that had it beenreasonable to consider the pleasure of my situation only, it wasimpossible to pass more speedily from one extreme to the other. At ourmeasuring, I was confined eight hours in the day to the mostunentertaining employment, with yet more disagreeable company. Shut upin a melancholy counting-house, empoisoned by the smell and respirationof a number of clowns, the major part of whom were ill-combed and verydirty, what with attention, bad air, constraint and weariness, I wassometimes so far overcome as to occasion a vertigo. Instead of this, behold me admitted into the fashionable world, sought after in the firsthouses, and everywhere received with an air of satisfaction; amiable andgay young ladies awaiting my arrival, and welcoming me with pleasure;I see nothing but charming objects, smell nothing but roses and orangeflowers; singing, chatting, laughter, and amusements, perpetually succeedeach other. It must be allowed, that reckoning all these advantages, nohesitation was necessary in the choice; in fact, I was so content withmine, that I never once repented it; nor do I even now, when, free fromthe irrational motives that influenced me at that time, I weigh in thescale of reason every action of my life. 

This is, perhaps, the only time that, listening to inclination, I was notdeceived in my expectations. The easy access, obliging temper, and freehumor of this country, rendered a commerce with the world agreeable, and the inclination I then felt for it, proves to me, that if I have adislike for society, it is more their fault than mine. It is a pity theSavoyards are not rich: though, perhaps, it would be a still greater pityif they were so, for altogether they are the best, the most sociablepeople that I know, and if there is a little city in the world where thepleasures of life are experienced in an agreeable and friendly commerce, it is at Chambery. The gentry of the province who assemble there haveonly sufficient wealth to live and not enough to spoil them; they cannotgive way to ambition, but follow, through necessity, the counsel ofCyneas, devoting their youth to a military employment, and returning hometo grow old in peace; an arrangement over which honor and reason equallypreside. The women are handsome, yet do not stand in need of beauty, since they possess all those qualifications which enhance its value andeven supply the want of it. It is remarkable, that being obliged by myprofession to see a number of young girls, I do not recollect one atChambery but what was charming: it will be said I was disposed to findthem so, and perhaps there maybe some truth in the surmise. I cannotremember my young scholars without pleasure. Why, in naming the mostamiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that happy age in whichour moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with such happinesstogether? The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my neighbor, andsister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime. She was a fine clear brunette, lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as girls of that age usuallyare; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and easy air, rendered hersufficiently pleasing with that degree of plumpness which would havegiven a heightening to her charms. I went there of mornings, when shewas usually in her dishabille, her hair carelessly turned up, and, on myarrival, ornamented with a flower, which was taken off at my departurefor her hair to be dressed. There is nothing I fear so much as a prettywoman in an elegant dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times lessin full dress. Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in theafternoon, was ever so. She made an equally pleasing, but quitedifferent impression on me. Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate, she was very timid and extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of justmodulation, but which she had not courage to employ to its full extent. She had the mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece of bluechenille did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my attention, though not absolutely on its own account. Mademoiselle des Challes, another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed, jolly, very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for hergracefulness, equal temper, and good humor. Her sister, Madam de Charly, the handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but I taught herdaughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty promised to equalher mother's, if she had not unfortunately been a little red-haired. I had likewise among my scholars a little French lady, whose name I haveforgotten, but who merits a place in my list of preferences. She hadadopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in which voice she wouldutter some very keen things, which did not in the least appear tocorrespond with her manner; but she was indolent, and could not generallytake pains to show her wit, that being a favor she did not grant to everyone. After a month or two of negligent attendance, this was an expedientshe devised to make me more assiduous, for I could not easily persuademyself to be so. When with my scholars, I was fond enough of teaching, but could not bear the idea of being obliged to attend at a particularhour; constraint and subjection in every shape are to me insupportable, and alone sufficient to make me hate even pleasure itself. 

I had some scholars likewise among the tradespeople, and, among others, one who was the indirect cause of a change of relationship, which (as Ihave promised to declare all) I must relate in its place. She was thedaughter of a grocer, and was called Mademoiselle de Larnage, a perfectmodel for a Grecian statue, and whom I should quote for the handsomestgirl I have ever seen, if true beauty could exist without life or soul. Her indolence, reserve, and insensibility were inconceivable; it wasequally impossible to please or make her angry, and I am convinced thathad any one formed a design upon her virtue, he might have succeeded, notthrough her inclination, but from her stupidity. Her mother, who wouldrun no risk of this, did not leave her a single moment. In having hertaught to sing and providing a young master, she had hoped to enlivenher, but it all proved ineffectual. While the master was admiring thedaughter, the mother was admiring the master, but this was equally lostlabor. Madam de Larnage added to her natural vivacity that portion ofsprightliness which should have belonged to the daughter. She was alittle, ugly, lively trollop, with small twinkling ferret eyes, andmarked with smallpox. On my arrival in the morning, I always found mycoffee and cream ready, and the mother never failed to welcome me with akiss on the lips, which I would willingly have returned the daughter, tosee how she would have received it. All this was done with such an airof carelessness and simplicity, that even when M. De Larnage was present;her kisses and caresses were not omitted. He was a good quiet fellow, the true original of his daughter; nor did his wife endeavor to deceivehim, because there was absolutely no occasion for it. 

I received all these caresses with my usual stupidity, taking them onlyfor marks of pure friendship, though they were sometimes troublesome; forthe lively Madam Lard was displeased, if, during the day, I passed theshop without calling; it became necessary, therefore (when I had no timeto spare), to go out of my way through another street, well knowing itwas not so easy to quit her house as to enter it. 

Madam Lard thought so much of me, that I could not avoid thinkingsomething of her. Her attentions affected me greatly; and I spoke ofthem to Madam de Warrens, without supposing any mystery in the matter, but had there been one I should equally have divulged it, for to havekept a secret of any kind from her would have been impossible. My heartlay as open to Madam de Warrens as to Heaven. She did not understand thematter quite so simply as I had done, but saw advances where I onlydiscovered friendship. She concluded that Madam Lard would make a pointof not leaving me as great a fool as she found me, and, some way orother, contrive to make herself understood; but exclusive of theconsideration that it was not just, that another should undertake theinstruction of her pupil, she had motives more worthy of her, wishing toguard me against the snares to which my youth and inexperience exposedme. Meantime, a more dangerous temptation offered which I likewiseescaped, but which proved to her that such a succession of dangersrequired every preservative she could possibly apply. 

The Countess of Menthon, mother to one of my scholars, was a woman ofgreat wit, and reckoned to possess, at least, an equal share of mischief, having (as was reported) caused a number of quarrels, and, among others, one that terminated fatally for the house of D' Antremont. Madam deWarrens had seen enough of her to know her character: for having (veryinnocently) pleased some person to whom Madam de Menthon had pretensions, she found her guilty of the crime of this preference, though Madam deWarrens had neither sought after nor accepted it, and from that momentendeavored to play her rival a number of ill turns, none of whichsucceeded. I shall relate one of the most whimsical, by way of specimen. 

They were together in the country, with several gentlemen of theneighborhood, and among the rest the lover in question. Madam de Menthontook an opportunity to say to one of these gentlemen, that Madam deWarrens was a prude, that she dressed ill, and particularly that shecovered her neck like a tradeswoman. "O, for that matter, " replied theperson she was speaking to (who was fond of a joke), "she has goodreason, for I know she is marked with a great ugly rat on her bosom, sonaturally, that it even appears to be running. " Hatred, as well as love, renders its votaries credulous. Madam de Menthon resolved to make use ofthis discovery, and one day, while Madam de Warrens was at cards withthis lady's ungrateful favorite, she contrived, in passing behind herrival, almost to overset the chair she sat on, and at the same instant, very dexterously displaced her handkerchief; but instead of this hideousrat, the gentleman beheld a far different object, which it was not moreeasy to forget than to obtain a sight of, and which by no means answeredthe intentions of the lady. 

I was not calculated to engross the attention of Madam de Menthon, wholoved to be surrounded by brilliant company; notwithstanding she bestowedsome attention on me, not for the sake of my person, which she certainlydid not regard, but for the reputation of wit which I had acquired, andwhich might have rendered me convenient to her predominant inclination. She had a very lively passion for ridicule, and loved to write songs andlampoons on those who displeased her: had she found me possessed ofsufficient talents to aid the fabrication of her verses, and complaisanceenough to do so, we should presently have turned Chambery upside down;these libels would have been traced to their source, Madam de Menthonwould have saved herself by sacrificing me, and I should have been coopedup in prison, perhaps, for the rest of my life, as a recompense forhaving figured away as the Apollo of the ladies. Fortunately, nothing ofthis kind happened; Madam de Menthon made me stay for dinner two or threedays, to chat with me, and soon found I was too dull for her purpose. I felt this myself, and was humiliated at the discovery, envying thetalents of my friend Venture; though I should rather have been obliged tomy stupidity for keeping me out of the reach of danger. I remained, therefore, Madam de Menthon's daughter's singing-master, and nothingmore! but I lived happily, and was ever well received at Chambery, whichwas a thousand times more desirable than passing for a wit with her, andfor a serpent with everybody else. 

However this might be, Madam de Warrens conceived it necessary to guardme from the perils of youth by treating me as a man: this she immediatelyset about, but in the most extraordinary manner that any woman, insimilar circumstances, ever devised. I all at once observed that hermanner was graver, and her discourse more moral than usual. To theplayful gayety with which she used to intermingle her instructionssuddenly succeeded an uniformity of manner, neither familiar nor severe, but which seemed to prepare me for some explanation. After having vainlyracked my brain for the reason of this change, I mentioned it to her;this she had expected and immediately proposed a walk to our garden thenext day. Accordingly we went there the next morning; she had contrivedthat we should remain alone the whole day, which she employed inpreparing me for those favors she meant to bestow; not as another womanwould have done, by toying and folly, but by discourses full of sentimentand reason, rather tending to instruct than seduce, and which spoke moreto my heart than to my senses. Meantime, however excellent and to thepurpose these discourses might be, and though far enough from coldness ormelancholy, I did not listen to them with all the attention they merited, nor fix them in my memory as I should have done at any other time. Thatair of preparation which she had adopted gave me a degree of inquietude;while she spoke (in spite of myself) I was thoughtful and absent, attending less to what she said than curious to know what she aimed at;and no sooner had I comprehended her design (which I could not easily do)than the novelty of the idea, which, during all the years I had passedwith her, had never once entered my imagination, took such entirepossession of me that I was no longer capable of minding what she said!I only thought of her; I heard her no longer. 

Thinking to render young minds attentive to reason by proposing somehighly interesting object as the result of it, is an error instructorsfrequently run into, and one which I have not avoided in my Umilius. The young pupil, struck with the object presented to him, is occupiedonly with that, and leaping lightly over your preliminary discourses, lights at once on the point, to which, in his idea, you lead him tootediously. To render him attentive, he must be prevented from seeing thewhole of your design; and, in this particular, Madam de Warrens did notact with sufficient precaution. 

By a singularity which adhered to her systematic disposition, she tookthe vain precaution of proposing conditions; but the moment I knew thepurchase, I no longer even heard them, but immediately consented toeverything; and I doubt whether there is a man on the whole earth whowould have been sincere or courageous enough to dispute terms, or onesingle woman who would have pardoned such a dispute. By a continuationof the same whimsicality, she attached a number of the gravestformalities to the acquisition of her favors, and gave me eight days tothink of them, which I assured her I had no need of, though thatassurance was far from a truth: for to complete this assemblage ofsingularities, I was very glad to have this intermission; so much had thenovelty of these ideas struck me, and such disorder did I feel in mine, that it required time to arrange them. 

It will be supposed, that these eight days appeared to me as many ages;on the contrary, I should have been very glad had the time beenlengthened. I find it difficult to describe the state I found myself in;it was a strange chaos of fear and impatience, dreading what I desired, and studying some civil pretext to evade my happiness. 

Let the warmth of my constitution be remembered, my age, and my heartintoxicated with love; let my tender attachment to her be supposed, which, far from having diminished, had daily gained additional strength;let it be considered that I was only happy when with her, that my heartwas full, not only of her bounty, of her amiable disposition, but of hershape, of her person, of herself; in a word, conceive me united to her byevery affinity that could possibly render her dear; nor let it besupposed, that, being ten or twelve years older than myself, she began togrow an old woman, or was so in my opinion. From the time the firstsight of her had made such an impression on me, she had really alteredvery little, and, in my mind, not at all. To me she was ever charming, and was still thought so by everyone. She had got something jollier, but had the same fine eyes, the same clear complexion, the same features, the same beautiful light hair, the sane gayety, and even the same voice, whose youthful and silvery sound made so lively an impression on myheart, that, even to this day, I cannot hear a young woman's voice, that is at all harmonious, without emotion. It will be seen, that in amore advanced age, the bare idea of some trifling favors I had to expectfrom the person I loved, inflamed me so far, that I could not support, with any degree of patience, the time necessary to traverse the shortspace that separated us; how then, by what miracle, when in the flower ofmy youth, had I so little impatience for a happiness I had never tastedbut in idea? How could I see the moment advancing with more pain thanpleasure? Why, instead of transports that should have intoxicated mewith their deliciousness, did I experience only fears and repugnance?I have no doubt that if I could have avoided this happiness with anydegree of decency, I should have relinquished it with all my heart. I have promised a number of extravagancies in the history of myattachment to her; this certainly is one that no idea could be formed of. 

The reader (already disgusted) supposes, that being in the situation Ihave before described with Claude Anet, she was already degraded in myopinion by this participation of her favors, and that a sentiment ofdisesteem weakened those she had before inspired me with; but he ismistaken. 'Tis true that this participation gave me a cruel uneasiness, as well from a very natural sentiment of delicacy, as because it appearedunworthy both of her and myself; but as to my sentiments for her, theywere still the same, and I can solemnly aver, that I never loved her moretenderly than when I felt so little propensity to avail myself of hercondescension. I was too well acquainted with the chastity of her heartand the iciness of her constitution, to suppose a moment that thegratification of the senses had any influence over her; I was wellconvinced that her only motive was to guard me from dangers, whichappeared otherwise inevitable, by this extraordinary favor, which she didnot consider in the same light that women usually do; as will presentlybe explained. 

The habit of living a long time innocently together, far from weakeningthe first sentiments I felt for her, had contributed to strengthen them, giving a more lively, a more tender, but at the same time a less sensual, turn to my affection. Having ever accustomed myself to call her Mama (asformerly observed) and enjoying the familiarity of a son, it becamenatural to consider myself as such, and I am inclined to think this wasthe true reason of that insensibility with a person I so tenderly loved;for I can perfectly recollect that my emotions on first seeing her, though not more lively, were more voluptuous: At Annecy I wasintoxicated, at Chambery I possessed my reason. I always loved her aspassionately as possible, but I now loved her more for herself and lesson my own account; or, at least, I rather sought for happiness thanpleasure in her company. She was more to me than a sister, a mother, afriend, or even than a mistress, and for this very reason she was not amistress; in a word, I loved her too much to desire her. 

This day, more dreaded than hoped for, at length arrived. I have beforeobserved, that I promised everything that was required of me, and I keptmy word: my heart confirmed my engagements without desiring the fruits, though at length I obtained them. Was I happy? No: I felt I know notwhat invincible sadness which empoisoned my happiness, it seemed that Ihad committed an incest, and two or three times, pressing her eagerly inmy arms, I deluged her bosom with my tears. On her part, as she hadnever sought pleasure, she had not the stings of remorse. 

I repeat it, all her failings were the effect of her errors, never of herpassions. She was well born, her heart was pure, her manners noble, herdesires regular and virtuous, her taste delicate; she seemed formed forthat elegant purity of manners which she ever loved, but never practised, because instead of listening to the dictates of her heart, she followedthose of her reason, which led her astray: for when once corrupted byfalse principles it will ever run counter to its natural sentiments. Unhappily, she piqued herself on philosophy, and the morals she drew fromthence clouded the genuine purity of her heart. 

M. Tavel, her first lover, was also her instructor in this philosophy, and the principles he instilled into her mind were such as tended toseduce her. Finding her cold and impregnable on the side of herpassions, and firmly attached to her husband and her duty, he attackedher by sophisms, endeavoring to prove that the list of duties she thoughtso sacred, was but a sort of catechism, fit only for children. That thekind of infidelity she thought so terrible, was, in itself, absolutelyindifferent; that all the morality of conjugal faith consisted inopinion, the contentment of husbands being the only reasonable rule ofduty in wives; consequently that concealed infidelities, doing no injury, could be no crime; in a word, he persuaded her that the sin consistedonly in the scandal, that woman being really virtuous who took care toappear so. Thus the deceiver obtained his end in the subverting thereason of a girl; whose heart he found it impossible to corrupt, andreceived his punishment in a devouring jealousy, being persuaded shewould treat him as he had prevailed on her to treat her husband. 

I don't know whether he was mistaken in this respect: the Minister Perretpassed for his successor; all I know, is, that the coldness oftemperament which it might have been supposed would have kept her fromembracing this system, in the end prevented her from renouncing it. Shecould not conceive how so much importance should be given to what seemedto have none for her; nor could she honor with the name of virtue, anabstinence which would have cost her little. 

She did not, therefore, give in to this false principle on her ownaccount, but for the sake of others; and that from another maxim almostas false as the former, but more consonant to the generosity of herdisposition. 

She was persuaded that nothing could attach a man so truly to any womanas an unbounded freedom, and though she was only susceptible offriendship, this friendship was so tender, that she made use of everymeans which depended on her to secure the objects of it, and, which isvery extraordinary, almost always succeeded: for she was so trulyamiable, that an increase of intimacy was sure to discover additionalreasons to love and respect her. Another thing worthy of remark is, that after her first folly, she only favored the unfortunate. Lovers ina more brilliant station lost their labor with her, but the man who atfirst attracted her pity, must have possessed very few good qualities ifin the end he did not obtain her affection. Even when she made anunworthy choice, far from proceeding from base inclinations (which werestrangers to her noble heart) it was the effect of a disposition toogenerous, humane, compassionate, and sensible, which she did not alwaysgovern with sufficient discernment. 

If some false principles misled her, how many admirable ones did she notpossess, which never forsook her! By how many virtues did she atone forher failings! if we can call by that name errors in which the senses hadso little share. The man who in one particular deceived her socompletely, had given her excellent instructions in a thousand others;and her passions, being far from turbulent, permitted her to follow thedictates. She ever acted wisely when her sophisms did not intervene, andher designs were laudable even in her failings. False principles mightlead her to do ill, but she never did anything which she conceived to bewrong. She abhorred lying and duplicity, was just, equitable, humane, disinterested, true to her word, her friends, and those duties which sheconceived to be such; incapable of hatred or revenge, and not evenconceiving there was a merit in pardoning; in fine (to return to thosequalities which were less excusable), though she did not properly value, she never made a vile commerce of her favors; she lavished, but neversold them, though continually reduced to expedients for a subsistence:and I dare assert, that if Socrates could esteem Aspasia, he would haverespected Madam de Warrens. 

I am well aware that ascribing sensibility of heart with coldness oftemperament to the same person, I shall generally, and with greatappearance of reason, be accused of a contradiction. Perhaps Naturesported or blundered, and this combination ought not to have existed;I only know it did exist. All those who know Madam de Warrens (a greatnumber of whom are yet living) have had opportunities of knowing this wasa fact; I dare even aver she had but one pleasure in the world, which wasserving those she loved. Let every one argue on the point as he pleases, and gravely prove that this cannot be; my business is to declare thetruth, and not to enforce a belief of it. 

I became acquainted with the particulars I have just related, in thoseconversations which succeeded our union, and alone rendered it delicious. She was right when she concluded her complaisance would be useful to me;I derived great advantages from it in point of useful instruction. Hitherto she had used me as a child, she now began to treat me as a man, and entertain me with accounts of herself. Everything she said was sointeresting, and I was so sensibly touched with it, that, reasoning withmyself, I applied these confidential relations to my own improvement andreceived more instruction from them than from her teaching. When wetruly feel that the heart speaks, our own opens to receive itsinstructions, nor can all the pompous morality of a pedagogue have halfthe effect that is produced by the tender, affectionate, and artlessconversation of a sensible woman on him who loves her. 

The intimacy in which I lived with Madam de Warrens, having placed memore advantageously in her opinion than formerly, she began to think(notwithstanding my awkward manner) that I deserved cultivation for thepolite world, and that if I could one day show myself there in aneligible situation, I should soon be able to make my way. In consequenceof this idea, she set about forming not only my judgment, but my address, endeavoring to render me amiable, as well as estimable; and if it is truethat success in this world is consistent with strict virtue (which, formy part, I do not believe), I am certain there is no other road than thatshe had taken, and wished to point out to me. For Madam de Warrens knewmankind, and understood exquisitely well the art of treating all ranks, without falsehood, and without imprudence, neither deceiving norprovoking them; but this art was rather in her disposition than herprecepts, she knew better how to practise than explain it, and I was ofall the world the least calculated to become master of such anattainment; accordingly, the means employed for this purpose were nearlylost labor, as well as the pains she took to procure me a fencing and adancing master. 

Though very well made, I could never learn to dance a minuet; for beingplagued with corns, I had acquired a habit of walking on my heels, whichRoche, the dancing master, could never break me of. It was still worseat the fencing-school, where, after three months' practice, I made butvery little progress, and could never attempt fencing with any but mymaster. My wrist was not supple enough, nor my arm sufficiently firm toretain the foil, whenever he chose to make it fly out of my hand. Add tothis, I had a mortal aversion both to the art itself and to the personwho undertook to teach it to me, nor should I ever have imagined, thatanyone could have been so proud of the science of sending men out of theworld. To bring this vast genius within the compass of my comprehension, he explained himself by comparisons drawn from music, which he understoodnothing of. He found striking analogies between a hit in 'quarte' or'tierce' with the intervals of music which bears those names: when hemade a feint he cried out, "take care of this 'diesis', " becauseanciently they called the 'diesis' a feint: and when he had made the foilfly from my hand, he would add, with a sneer, that this was a pause: in aword, I never in my life saw a more insupportable pedant. 

I made, therefore, but little progress in my exercises, which I presentlyquitted from pure disgust; but I succeeded better in an art of a thousandtimes more value, namely, that of being content with my situation, andnot desiring one more brilliant, for which I began to be persuaded thatNature had not designed me. Given up to the endeavor of rendering Madamde Warrens happy, I was ever best pleased when in her company, and, notwithstanding my fondness for music, began to grudge the time Iemployed in giving lessons to my scholars. 

I am ignorant whether Anet perceived the full extent of our union; but Iam inclined to think he was no stranger to it. He was a young man ofgreat penetration, and still greater discretion; who never belied hissentiments, but did not always speak them: without giving me the leasthint that he was acquainted with our intimacy, he appeared by his conductto be so; nor did this moderation proceed from baseness of soul, but, having entered entirely into the principles of his mistress, he could notreasonably disapprove of the natural consequences of them. Though asyoung as herself, he was so grave and thoughtful, that he looked on us astwo children who required indulgence, and we regarded him as arespectable man, whose esteem we had to preserve. It was not until aftershe was unfaithful to Anet, that I learned the strength of her attachmentto him. She was fully sensible that I only thought, felt, or lived forher; she let me see, therefore, how much she loved Anet, that I mightlove him likewise, and dwell less on her friendship, than on her esteem, for him, because this was the sentiment that I could most fully partakeof. How often has she affected our hearts and made us embrace withtears, by assuring us that we were both necessary to her happiness!Let not women read this with an ill-natured smile; with the temperamentshe possessed, this necessity was not equivocal, it was only that of theheart. 

Thus there was established, among us three, a union without example, perhaps, on the face of the earth. All our wishes, our cares, our veryhearts, were for each other, and absolutely confined to this littlecircle. The habit of living together, and living exclusively from therest of the world, became so strong, that if at our repasts one of thethree was wanting, or a fourth person came in, everything seemedderanged; and, notwithstanding our particular attachments, even ourtete-a-tete were less agreeable than our reunion. What banished everyspecies of constraint from our little community, was a lively reciprocalconfidence, and dulness or insipidity could find no place among us, because we were always fully employed. Madam de Warrens alwaysprojecting, always busy, left us no time for idleness, though, indeed, we had each sufficient employment on our own account. It is my maxim, that idleness is as much the pest of society as of solitude. Nothingmore contracts the mind, or engenders more tales, mischief, gossiping, and lies, than for people to be eternally shut up in the same apartmenttogether, and reduced, from the want of employment, to the necessity ofan incessant chat. When every one is busy (unless you have reallysomething to say), you may continue silent; but if you have nothing todo, you must absolutely speak continually, and this, in my mind, is themost burdensome and the most dangerous constraint. I will go further, and maintain, that to render company harmless, as well as agreeable, itis necessary, not only that they should have something to do, butsomething that requires a degree of attention. 

Knitting, for instance, is absolutely as bad as doing nothing; you musttake as much pains to amuse a woman whose fingers are thus employed, asif she sat with her arms crossed; but let her embroider, and it is adifferent matter; she is then so far busied, that a few intervals ofsilence may be borne with. What is most disgusting and ridiculous, during these intermissions of conversation, is to see, perhaps, a dozenover-grown fellows, get up, sit down again, walk backwards and forwards, turn on their heels, play with the chimney ornaments, and rack theirbrains to maintain an inexhaustible chain of words: what a charmingoccupation! Such people, wherever they go, must be troublesome both toothers and themselves. When I was at Motiers, I used to employ myself inmaking laces with my neighbors, and were I again to mix with the world, I would always carry a cup-and-ball in my pocket; I should sometimes playwith it the whole day, that I might not be constrained to speak when Ihad nothing to discourse about; and I am persuaded, that if every onewould do the same, mankind would be less mischievous, their company wouldbecome more rational, and, in my opinion, a vast deal more agreeable;in a word, let wits laugh if they please, but I maintain, that the onlypractical lesson of morality within the reach of the present age, is thatof the cup-and-ball. 

At Chambery they did not give us the trouble of studying expedients toavoid weariness, when by ourselves, for a troop of important visitorsgave us too much by their company, to feel any when alone. The annoyancethey formerly gave me had not diminished; all the difference was, that Inow found less opportunity to abandon myself to my dissatisfaction. Poor Madam de Warrens had not lost her old predilection for schemes andsystems; on the contrary, the more she felt the pressure of her domesticnecessities, the more she endeavored to extricate herself from them byvisionary projects; and, in proportion to the decrease of her presentresources, she contrived to enlarge, in idea, those of the future. Increase of years only strengthened this folly: as she lost her relishfor the pleasures of the world and youth, she replaced it by anadditional fondness for secrets and projects; her house was never clearof quacks, contrivers of new manufactures, alchemists, projects of allkinds and of all descriptions, whose discourses began by a distributionof millions and concluded by giving you to understand that they were inwant of a crown--piece. No one went from her empty-handed; and whatastonished me most was, how she could so long support such profusion, without exhausting the source or wearying her creditors. 

Her principal project at the time I am now speaking of was that ofestablishing a Royal Physical Garden at Chambery, with a Demonstratorattached to it; it will be unnecessary to add for whom this office wasdesigned. The situation of this city, in the midst of the Alps, wasextremely favorable to botany, and as Madam de Warrens was always forhelping out one project with another, a College of Pharmacy was to beadded, which really would have been a very useful foundation in so poor acountry, where apothecaries are almost the only medical practitioners. The retreat of the chief physician, Grossi, to Chambery, on the demise ofKing Victor, seemed to favor this idea, or perhaps, first suggest it;however this may be, by flattery and attention she set about managingGrossi, who, in fact, was not very manageable, being the most caustic andbrutal, for a man who had any pretensions to the quality of a gentleman, that ever I knew. The reader may judge for himself by two or threetraits of character, which I shall add by way of specimen. 

He assisted one day at a consultation with some other doctors, and amongthe rest, a young gentleman from Annecy, who was physician in ordinary tothe sick person. This young man, being but indifferently taught for adoctor, was bold enough to differ in opinion from M. Grossi, who onlyanswered him by asking him when he should return, which way he meant totake, and what conveyance he should make use of? The other, havingsatisfied Grossi in these particulars, asked him if there was anything hecould serve him in? "Nothing, nothing, " answered he, "only I shall placemyself at a window in your way, that I may have the pleasure of seeing anass ride on horseback. " His avarice equalled his riches and want offeeling. One of his friends wanted to borrow some money of him, on goodsecurity. "My friend, " answered he, shaking him by the arm, and grindinghis teeth, "Should St. Peter descend from heaven to borrow ten pistolesof me, and offer the Trinity as securities, I would not lend them. " Oneday, being invited to dinner with Count Picon, Governor of Savoy, who wasvery religious, he arrived before it was ready, and found his excellencybusy with his devotions, who proposed to him the same employment; notknowing how to refuse, he knelt down with a frightful grimace, but hadhardly recited two Ave-Marias, when, not being able to contain himselfany longer, he rose hastily, snatched his hat and cane, and withoutspeaking a word, was making toward the door; Count Picon ran after him, crying, "Monsieur Grossi! Monsieur Grossi! stop, there's a mostexcellent ortolan on the spit for you. " "Monsieur le Count, " replied theother, turning his head, "though you should give me a roasted angel, Iwould not stay. " Such was M. Grossi, whom Madam de Warrens undertook andsucceeded in civilizing. Though his time was very much occupied, heaccustomed himself to come frequently to her house, conceived afriendship for Anet, seemed to think him intelligent, spoke of him withesteem, and, what would not have been expected of such a brute, affectedto treat him with respect, wishing to efface the impressions of the past;for though Anet was no longer on the footing of a domestic, it was knownthat he had been one, and nothing less than the countenance and exampleof the chief physician was necessary to set an example of respect whichwould not otherwise have been paid him. Thus Claude Anet, with a blackcoat, a well-dressed wig, a grave, decent behavior, a circumspectconduct, and a tolerable knowledge in medical and botanical matters, might reasonably have hoped to fill, with universal satisfaction, the place of public demonstrator, had the proposed establishment takenplace. Grossi highly approved the plan, and only waited an opportunityto propose it to the administration, whenever a return of peace shouldpermit them to think of useful institutions, and enable them to spare thenecessary pecuniary supplies. 

But this project, whose execution would probably have plunged me intobotanical studies, for which I am inclined to think Nature designed me, failed through one of those unexpected strokes which frequently overthrowthe best concerted plans. I was destined to become an example of humanmisery; and it might be said that Providence, who called me by degrees tothese extraordinary trials, disconcerted every opportunity that couldprevent my encountering them. 

In an excursion which Anet made to the top of the mountain to seek forgenipi, a scarce plant that grows only on the Alps, and which MonsieurGrossi had occasion for, unfortunately he heated himself so much, that hewas seized with a pleurisy, which the genipi could not relieve, thoughsaid to be specific in that disorder; and, notwithstanding all the art ofGrossi (who certainly was very skillful), and all the care of his goodmistress and myself, he died the fifth day of his disorder, in the mostcruel agonies. During his illness he had no exhortations but mine, bestowed with such transports of grief and zeal, that had he been in astate to understand them, they must have been some consolation to him. Thus I lost the firmest friend I ever had; a man estimable andextraordinary; in whom Nature supplied the defects of education, and who(though in a state of servitude) possessed all the virtues necessary toform a great man, which, perhaps, he would have shown himself, and beenacknowledged, had he lived to fill the situation he seemed so perfectlyadapted to. 

The next day I spoke of him to Madam de Warrens with the most sincere andlively affection; when, suddenly, in the midst of our conversation, thevile, ungrateful thought occurred, that I should inherit his wardrobe, and particularly a handsome black coat, which I thought very becoming. As I thought this, I consequently uttered it; for when with her, to thinkand to speak was the same thing. Nothing could have made her feel moreforcibly the loss she had sustained, than this unworthy and odiousobservation; disinterestedness and greatness of soul being qualities thatpoor Anet had eminently possessed. The generous Madam de Warrens turnedfrom me, and (without any reply) burst into tears. Dear and precioustears! your reprehension was fully felt; ye ran into my very heart, washing from thence even the smallest traces of such despicable andunworthy sentiments, never to return. 

This loss caused Madam de Warrens as much inconvenience as sorrow, since from this moment her affairs were still more deranged. Anet wasextremely exact, and kept everything in order; his vigilance wasuniversally feared, and this set some bounds to that profusion they weretoo apt to run into; even Madam de Warrens, to avoid his censure, kept her dissipation within bounds; his attachment was not sufficient, she wished to preserve his esteem, and avoid the just remonstrances hesometimes took the liberty to make her, by representing that shesquandered the property of others as well as her own. I thought as hedid, nay, I even sometimes expressed myself to the same effect, but hadnot an equal ascendancy over her, and my advice did not make the sameimpression. On his decease, I was obliged to occupy his place, for whichI had as little inclination as abilities, and therefore filled it ill. I was not sufficiently careful, and so very timid, that though Ifrequently found fault to myself, I saw ill-management without takingcourage to oppose it; besides, though I acquired an equal share ofrespect, I had not the same authority. I saw the disorder thatprevailed, trembled at it, sometimes complained, but was never attendedto. I was too young and lively to have any pretensions to the exerciseof reason, and when I would have acted the reformer, Madam de Warrenscalling me her little Mentor, with two or three playful slaps on thecheek, reduced me to my natural thoughtlessness. Notwithstanding, an idea of the certain distress in which her ill-regulated expenses, sooner or later, must necessarily plunge her, made a stronger impressionon me since I had become the inspector of her household, and had a betteropportunity of calculating the inequality that subsisted between herincome and her expenses. I even date from this period the beginning ofthat inclination to avarice which I have ever since been sensible of. I was never foolishly prodigal, except by intervals; but till then I wasnever concerned whether I had much or little money. I now began to paymore attention to this circumstance, taking care of my purse, andbecoming mean from a laudable motive; for I only sought to insure Madamde Warrens some resources against that catastrophe which I dreaded theapproach of. I feared her creditors would seize her pension or that itmight be discontinued and she reduced to want, when I foolishly imaginedthat the trifle I could save might be of essential service to her; but toaccomplish this, it was necessary I should conceal what I meant to make areserve of; for it would have been an awkward circumstance, while she wasperpetually driven to expedients, to have her know that I hoarded money. Accordingly, I sought out some hiding-place, where I laid up a few louis, resolving to augment this stock from time to time, till a convenientopportunity to lay it at her feet; but I was so incautious in the choiceof my repositories, that she always discovered them, and, to convince methat she did so, changed the louis I had concealed for a larger sum indifferent pieces of coin. Ashamed of these discoveries, I brought backto the common purse my little treasure, which she never failed to lay outin clothes, or other things for my use, such as a silver hilted sword, watch, etc. Being convinced that I should never succeed in accumulatingmoney, and that what I could save would furnish but a very slenderresource against the misfortune I dreaded, made me wish to place myselfin such a situation that I might be enabled to provide for her, whenevershe might chance to be reduced to want. Unhappily, seeking theseresources on the side of my inclinations, I foolishly determined toconsider music as my principal dependence; and ideas of harmony rising inmy brain, I imagined, that if placed in a proper situation to profit bythem, I should acquire celebrity, and presently become a modern Orpheus, whose mystic sounds would attract all the riches of Peru. 

As I began to read music tolerably well, the question was, how I shouldlearn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good master, for, with the assistance of my Rameau alone, I despaired of ever beingable to accomplish it; and, since the departure of M. Le Maitre, therewas nobody in Savoy who understood anything of the principles of harmony. 

I am now about to relate another of those inconsequences, which my lifeis full of, and which have so frequently carried me directly from mydesigns, even when I thought myself immediately within reach of them. Venture had spoken to me in very high terms of the Abbe Blanchard, whohad taught him composition; a deserving man, possessed of great talents, who was music-master to the cathedral at Besancon, and is now in thatcapacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I therefore determined to go toBesancon, and take some lessons from the Abbe Blanchard, and the ideaappeared so rational to me, that I soon made Madam de Warrens of the sameopinion, who immediately set about the preparations for my journey, inthe same style of profusion with which all her plans were executed. Thusthis project for preventing a bankruptcy, and repairing in future thewaste of dissipation, began by causing her to expend eight hundredlivres; her ruin being accelerated that I might be put in a condition toprevent it. Foolish as this conduct may appear, the illusion wascomplete on my part, and even on hers, for I was persuaded I should laborfor her emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine. 

I expected to find Venture still at Annecy, and promised myself to obtaina recommendatory letter from him to the Abbe Blanchard; but he had leftthat place, and I was obliged to content myself in the room of it, with amass in four parts of his composition, which he had left with me. Withthis slender recommendation I set out for Besancon by the way of Geneva, where I saw my relations; and through Nion, where I saw my father, whoreceived me in his usual manner, and promised to forward my portmanteau, which, as I travelled on horseback, came after me. I arrived atBesancon, and was kindly received by the Abbe Blanchard, who promised mehis instruction, and offered his services in any other particular. Wehad just set about our music, when I received a letter from my father, informing me that my portmanteau had been seized and confiscated atRousses, a French barrier on the side of Switzerland. Alarmed at thenews, I employed the acquaintance I had formed at Besancon, to learn themotive of this confiscation. Being certain there was nothing contrabandamong my baggage, I could not conceive on what pretext it could have beenseized on; at length, however, I learned the rights of the story, which(as it is a very curious one) must not be omitted. 

I became acquainted at Chambery with a very worthy old man, from Lyons, named Monsieur Duvivier, who had been employed at the Visa, under theregency, and for want of other business, now assisted at the Survey. Hehad lived in the polite world, possessed talents, was good-humored, andunderstood music. As we both wrote in the same chamber, we preferredeach other's acquaintance to that of the unlicked cubs that surroundedus. He had some correspondents at Paris, who furnished him with thoselittle nothings, those daily novelties, which circulate one knows notwhy, and die one cares not when, without any one thinking of them longerthan they are heard. As I sometimes took him to dine with Madam deWarrens, he in some measure treated me with respect, and (wishing torender himself agreeable) endeavored to make me fond of these trifles, for which I naturally had such a distaste, that I never in my life readany of them. Unhappily one of these cursed papers happened to be in thewaistcoat pocket of a new suit, which I had only worn two or three timesto prevent its being seized by the commissioners of the customs. Thispaper contained an insipid Jansenist parody on that beautiful scene inRacine's Mithridates: I had not read ten lines of it, but byforgetfulness left it in my pocket, and this caused all my necessaries tobe confiscated. The commissioners at the head of the inventory of myportmanteau, set a most pompous verbal process, in which it was taken forgranted that this most terrible writing came from Geneva for the solepurpose of being printed and distributed in France, and then ran intoholy invectives against the enemies of God and the Church, and praisedthe pious vigilance of those who had prevented the execution of thesemost infernal machinations. They doubtless found also that my spiritssmelt of heresy, for on the strength of this dreadful paper, they wereall seized, and from that time I never received any account of myunfortunate portmanteau. The revenue officers whom I applied to for thispurpose required so many instructions, informations, certificates, memorials, etc. , etc. , that, lost a thousand times in the perplexinglabyrinth, I was glad to abandon them entirely. I feel a real regret fornot having preserved this verbal process from the office of Rousses, forit was a piece calculated to hold a distinguished rank in the collectionwhich is to accompany this Work. 

The loss of my necessities immediately brought me back to Chambery, without having learned anything of the Abbe Blanchard. Reasoning withmyself on the events of this journey, and seeing that misfortunesattended all my enterprises, I resolved to attach myself entirely toMadam de Warrens, to share her fortune, and distress myself no longerabout future events, which I could not regulate. She received me as if Ihad brought back treasures, replaced by degrees my little wardrobe, andthough this misfortune fell heavy enough on us both, it was forgottenalmost as suddenly as it arrived. 

Though this mischance had rather dampened my musical ardor, I did notleave off studying my Rameau, and, by repeated efforts, was at lengthable to understand it, and to make some little attempts at composition, the success of which encouraged me to proceed. The Count de Bellegrade, son of the Marquis of Antremont, had returned from Dresden after thedeath of King Augustus. Having long resided at Paris, he was fond ofmusic, and particularly that of Rameau. His brother, the Count ofNangis, played on the violin; the Countess la Tour, their sister, sungtolerably: this rendered music the fashion at Chambery, and a kind ofpublic concert was established there, the direction of which was at firstdesigned for me, but they soon discovered I was not competent to theundertaking, and it was otherwise arranged. Notwithstanding this, Icontinued writing a number of little pieces, in my own way, and, amongothers, a cantata, which gained great approbation; it could not, indeed, be called a finished piece, but the airs were written in a style ofnovelty, and produced a good effect, which was not expected from me. These gentlemen could not believe that, reading music so indifferently, it was possible I should compose any that was passable, and made no doubtthat I had taken to myself the credit of some other person's labors. Monsieur de Nangis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me onemorning with a cantata of Clerambault's which he had transposed as hesaid, to suit his voice, and to which another bass was necessary, thetransposition having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable. Ianswered, it required considerable labor, and could not be done on thespot. Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write atleast the bass to a recitative: I did so, not well, doubtless, because toattempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom, but Idid it at least according to rule, and he being present, could not doubtbut I understood the elements of composition. I did not, therefore, losemy scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should be a concert atChambery in which I was not necessary. 

About this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed theAlps. Several officers came to visit Madam de Warrens, and among othersthe Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, sincePlenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom shepresented me. On her recommendation, he appeared to interest himselfgreatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never rememberedtill the last year of his life, when I no longer stood in need of hisassistance. The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father was thenambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same time, and dinedone day at M. De Menthon's, when I happened to be among the guests. After dinner; the discourse turned on music, which the marquis understoodextremely well. The opera of 'Jephtha' was then new; he mentioned thispiece, it was brought him, and he made me tremble by proposing to executeit between us. He opened the book at that celebrated double chorus, La Terra, l'Enfer, le Ciel meme, Tout tremble devant le Seigneur!

 [The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself, tremble before the Lord!]

He said, "How many parts will you take? I will do these six. " I had notyet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and thoughacquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man couldundertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time. Nothinghas cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from one part toanother, and have the eye at once on a whole division. By the manner inwhich I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined to believe I didnot understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy himself in thisparticular that he proposed my noting a song for Mademoiselle de Menthon, in such a manner that I could not avoid it. He sang this song, and Iwrote from his voice, without giving him much trouble to repeat it. Whenfinished he read my performance, and said (which was very true) that itwas very correctly noted. He had observed my embarrassment, and nowseemed to enhance the merit of this little success. In reality, I thenunderstood music very well, and only wanted that quickness at first sightwhich I possess in no one particular, and which is only to be acquired inthis art by long and constant practice. Be that as it may, I was fullysensible of his kindness in endeavoring to efface from the minds ofothers, and even from my own, the embarrassment I had experienced on thisoccasion. Twelve or fifteen years afterwards, meeting this gentleman atseveral houses in Paris, I was tempted to make him recollect thisanecdote, and show him I still remembered it; but he had lost his sightsince that time; I feared to give him pain by recalling to his memory howuseful it formerly had been to him, and was therefore silent on thatsubject. 

I now touch on the moment that binds my past existence to the present, some friendships of that period, prolonged to the present time, beingvery dear to me, have frequently made me regret that happy obscurity, when those who called themselves my friends were really so; loved me formyself, through pure good will, and not from the vanity of beingacquainted with a conspicuous character, perhaps for the secret purposeof finding more occasions to injure him. 

From this time I date my first acquaintance with my old friendGauffecourt, who, notwithstanding every effort to disunite us, has stillremained so. --Still remained so!--No, alas! I have just lost him!--buthis affection terminated only with his life--death alone could put aperiod to our friendship. Monsieur de Gauffecourt was one of the mostamiable men that ever existed; it was impossible to see him withoutaffection, or to live with him without feeling a sincere attachment. In my life I never saw features more expressive of goodness and serenity, or that marked more feeling, more understanding, or inspired greaterconfidence. However reserved one might be, it was impossible even atfirst sight to avoid being as free with him as if he had been anacquaintance of twenty years; for myself, who find so much difficultyto be at ease among new faces, I was familiar with him in a moment. His manner, accent, and conversation, perfectly suited his features:the sound of his voice was clear, full and musical; it was an agreeableand expressive bass, which satisfied the ear, and sounded full upon theheart. It was impossible to possess a more equal and pleasing vivacity, or more real and unaffected gracefulness, more natural talents, orcultivated with greater taste; join to all these good qualities anaffectionate heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing hisfavors with too little caution; serving his friends with zeal, or rathermaking himself the friend of every one he could serve, yet contrivingvery dexterously to manage his own affairs, while warmly pursuing theinterests of others. 

Gauffecourt was the son of a clock-maker, and would have been aclock-maker himself had not his person and desert called him to a superiorsituation. He became acquainted with M. De la Closure, the FrenchResident at Geneva, who conceived a friendship for him, and procured himsome connections at Paris, which were useful, and through whose influencehe obtained the privilege of furnishing the salts of Valais, which wasworth twenty thousand livres a year. This very amply satisfied hiswishes with respect to fortune, but with regard to women he was moredifficult; he had to provide for his own happiness, and did what hesupposed most conducive to it. What renders his character mostremarkable, and does him the greatest honor, is, that though connectedwith all conditions, he was universally esteemed and sought after withoutbeing envied or hated by any one, and I really believe he passed throughlife without a single enemy. --Happy man!

He went every year to the baths of Aix, where the best company from theneighboring countries resorted, and being on terms of friendship with allthe nobility of Savoy, came from Aix to Chambery to see the young Countde Bellegarde and his father the Marquis of Antremont. It was here Madamde Warrens introduced me to him, and this acquaintance, which appeared atthat time to end in nothing, after many years had elapsed, was renewed onan occasion which I should relate, when it became a real friendship. I apprehend I am sufficiently authorized in speaking of a man to whom Iwas so firmly attached, but I had no personal interest in what concernedhim; he was so truly amiable, and born with so many natural goodqualities that, for the honor of human nature, I should think itnecessary to preserve his memory. This man, estimable as he certainlywas, had, like other mortals, some failings, as will be seen hereafter;perhaps had it not been so, he would have been less amiable, since, to render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he shouldsometimes act in such a manner as to require a small portion ofindulgence. 

Another connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished, and continues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness, which it is so difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieurde Conzie, a Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a fancyto learn music, or rather to be acquainted with the person who taught it. With great understanding and taste for polite acquirements, M. De Conziepossessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him extremelyattractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it found acounterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of literature andphilosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and only waited forculture and emulation to spring up, found in him exactly what was wantingto render them prolific. M. De Conzie had no great inclination to music, and even this was useful to me, for the hours destined for lessons werepassed anyhow rather than musically; we breakfasted, chatted, and readnew publications, but not a word of music. 

The correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of Prussia, thenmade a noise in the world, and these celebrated men were frequently thesubject of our conversation, one of whom recently seated on a throne, already indicated what he would prove himself hereafter, while the other, as much disgraced as he is now admired, made us sincerely lament themisfortunes that seemed to pursue him, and which are so frequently theappendage of superior talents. The Prince of Prussia had not been happyin his youth, and it appeared that Voltaire was formed never to be so. The interest we took in both parties extended to all that concerned them, and nothing that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The inclination I felt forthese performances inspired me with a desire to write elegantly, andcaused me to endeavor to imitate the colorings of that author, with whomI was so much enchanted. Some time after, his philosophical letters(though certainly not his best work) greatly augmented my fondness forstudy; it was a rising inclination, which, from that time, has never beenextinguished. 

But the moment was not yet arrived when I should give into it entirely;my rambling disposition (rather contracted than eradicated) being keptalive by our manner of living at Madam de Warrens, which was toounsettled for one of my solitary temper. The crowd of strangers whodaily swarmed about her from all parts, and the certainty I was in thatthese people sought only to dupe her, each in his particular mode, rendered home disagreeable. Since I had succeeded Anet in the confidenceof his mistress, I had strictly examined her circumstances, and saw theirevil tendency with horror. I had remonstrated a hundred times, prayed, argued, conjured, but all to no purpose. I had thrown myself at herfeet, and strongly represented the catastrophe that threatened her, hadearnestly entreated that she would reform her expenses, and begin withmyself, representing that it was better to suffer something while she wasyet young, than by multiplying her debts and creditors, expose her oldage to vexation and misery. 

Sensible of the sincerity of my zeal, she was frequently affected, andwould then make the finest promises in the world: but only let an artfulschemer arrive, and in an instant all her good resolutions wereforgotten. After a thousand proofs of the inefficacy of myremonstrances, what remained but to turn away my eyes from the ruinI could not prevent; and fly myself from the door I could not guard!I made therefore little journeys to Geneva and Lyons, which diverted mymind in some measure from this secret uneasiness, though it increased thecause by these additional expenses. I can truly aver that I should haveacquiesed with pleasure in every retrenchment, had Madam de Warrensreally profited by it, but being persuaded that what I might refusemyself would be distributed among a set of interested villains, I tookadvantage of her easiness to partake with them, and, like the dogreturning from the shambles, carried off a portion of that morsel which Icould not protect. 

Pretences were not wanting for all these journeys; even Madam de Warrenswould alone have supplied me with more than were necessary, having plentyof connections, negotiations, affairs, and commissions, which she wishedto have executed by some trusty hand. In these cases she usually appliedto me; I was always willing to go, and consequently found occasionsenough to furnish out a rambling kind of life. These excursions procuredme some good connections, which have since been agreeable or useful tome. Among others, I met at Lyons, with M. Perrichon, whose friendship Iaccuse myself with not having sufficiently cultivated, considering thekindness he had for me; and that of the good Parisot, which I shall speakof in its place, at Grenoble, that of Madam Deybens and Madam laPresidente de Bardonanche, a woman of great understanding, and who wouldhave entertained a friendship for me had it been in my power to have seenher oftener; at Geneva, that of M. De Closure, the French Resident, whooften spoke to me of my mother, the remembrance of whom neither death nortime had erased from his heart; likewise those of the two Barillots, thefather, who was very amiable, a good companion, and one of the mostworthy men I ever met, calling me his grandson. During the troubles ofthe republic, these two citizens took contrary sides, the son siding withthe people, the father with the magistrates. When they took up arms in1737, I was at Geneva, and saw the father and son quit the same housearmed, the one going to the townhouse, the other to his quarters, almostcertain to meet face to face in the course of two hours, and prepared togive or receive death from each other. This unnatural sight made solively an impression on me, that I solemnly vowed never to interfere inany civil war, nor assist in deciding our internal dispute by arms, either personally or by my influence, should I ever enter into my rightsas a citizen. I can bring proofs of having kept this oath on a verydelicate occasion, and it will be confessed (at least I should supposeso) that this moderation was of some worth. 

But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which thefirst sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as may beconjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my advantage, which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which ought not to beomitted. 

My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some yearsin the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan of. Mypoor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt lost, nearlyat the same period, her son and husband. These losses reanimated in somemeasure her affection for the nearest relative she had remaining, whichwas myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned her house my home, andamused myself with rummaging and turning over the books and papers myuncle had left. Among them I found some curious ones, and some letterswhich they certainly little thought of. My aunt, who set no store bythese dusty papers, would willingly have given the whole to me, but Icontented myself with two or three books, with notes written by theMinister Bernard, my grandfather, and among the rest, the posthumousworks of Rohault in quarto, the margins of which were full of excellentcommentaries, which gave me an inclination to the mathematics. This bookremained among those of Madam de Warrens, and I have since lamented thatI did not preserve it. To these I added five or six memorials inmanuscript, and a printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, aman of considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but toomuch, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly treated bythe magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the fortress of Arberg, where he had been confined many years, for being, as it was said, concerned in the conspiracy of Berne. 

This memorial was a judicious critique on the extensive but ridiculousplan of fortification, which had been adopted at Geneva, though censuredby every person of judgment in the art, who was unacquainted with thesecret motives of the council, in the execution of this magnificententerprise. Monsieur de Micheli, who had been excluded from thecommittee of fortification for having condemned this plan, thought that, as a citizen, and a member of the two hundred, he might give his advice, at large, and therefore, did so in this memorial, which he was imprudentenough to have printed, though he never published it, having only thosecopies struck off which were meant for the two hundred, and which wereall intercepted at the post-house by order of the Senate. 

 [The grand council of Geneva in December, 1728, pronounced this paper highly disrespectful to the councils, and injurious to the committee of fortification. ]

I found this memorial among my uncle's papers, with the answer he hadbeen ordered to make to it, and took both. This was soon after I hadleft my place at the survey, and I yet remained on good terms with theCounsellor de Coccelli, who had the management of it. Some time after, the director of the custom-house entreated me to stand godfather to hischild, with Madam Coccelli, who was to be godmother: proud of beingplaced on such terms of equality with the counsellor, I wished to assumeimportance, and show myself worthy of that honor. 

Full of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show himMicheli's memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove Iwas connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were intrustedwith the secrets of the state, yet by a kind of reserve which I shouldfind it difficult to account for, I did not show him my uncle's answer, perhaps, because it was manuscript, and nothing less than print wasworthy to approach the counsellor. He understood, however, so well theimportance of this paper, which I had the folly to put into his hands, that I could never after get it into my possession, and being convincedthat every effort for that purpose would be ineffectual, I made a meritof my forbearance, transforming the theft into a present. I made nodoubt that this writing (more curious, however, than useful) answered hispurpose at the court of Turin, where probably he took care to bereimbursed in some way or other for the expense which the acquisition ofit might be supposed to have cost him. Happily, of all futurecontingencies, the least probable, is, that ever the King of Sardinashould besiege Geneva, but as that event is not absolutely impossible, Ishall ever reproach my foolish vanity with having been the means ofpointing out the greatest defects of that city to its most ancient enemy. 

I passed three or four years in this manner, between music, magestry, projects, and journeys, floating incessantly from one object to another, and wishing to fix though I knew not on what, but insensibly incliningtowards study. I was acquainted with men of letters, I had heard themspeak of literature, and sometimes mingled in the conversation, yetrather adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained. In my excursions to Geneva, I frequently called on my good old friendMonsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising emulation by fresh newsfrom the republic of letters, extracted from Baillet on Colomies. Ifrequently saw too, at Chambery, a Dominican professor of physic, a goodkind of friar, whose name I have forgotten, who often made littlechemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, Iattempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose morethan half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water, theeffervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to unstop thebottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the attempt, it burstin my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of the orpiment and lime, that it nearly cost me my life. I remained blind for six weeks, and bythe event of this experiment learned to meddle no more with experimentalChemistry while the elements were unknown to me. 

This adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for sometime past, had been visibly on the decline. This was ratherextraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it havebeen expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rathercapacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was shortbreathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily, hadpalpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with alingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome. How is itpossible to fall into such a state in the flower of one's age, withoutany inward decay, or without having done anything to destroy health?

It is sometimes said, "the sword wears the scabbard, " this was truly thecase with me: the violence of my passions both kept me alive and hastenedmy dissolution. What passions? will be asked: mere nothings: the mosttrivial objects in nature, but which affected me as forcibly as if theacquisition of a Helen, or the throne of the universe were at stake. My senses, for instance, were at ease with one woman, but my heart neverwas, and the necessities of love consumed me in the very bosom ofhappiness. I had a tender, respected and lovely friend, but I sighed fora mistress; my prolific fancy painted her as such, and gave her athousand forms, for had I conceived that my endearments had been lavishedon Madam de Warrens, they would not have been less tender, thoughinfinitely more tranquil. But is it possible for man to taste, in theirutmost extent, the delights of love? I cannot tell, but I am persuadedmy frail existence would have sunk under the weight of them. 

I was, therefore, dying for love without an object, and this state, perhaps, is, of all others, the most dangerous. I was likewise uneasy, tormented at the bad state of poor Madam de Warrens' circumstances, andthe imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring them, in ashort time, to total ruin. My tortured imagination (which ever paintsmisfortunes in the extremity) continually beheld this in its utmostexcess, and in all the horror of its consequences. I already saw myselfforced by want to quit her--to whom I had consecrated my future life, andwithout whom I could not hope for happiness: thus was my soul continuallyagitated, and hopes and fears devoured me alternately. 

Music was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming, from theardor with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of theobscure books of Rameau; by an invincible resolution to charge my memorywith rules it could not contain; by continual application, and by longand immense compilations which I frequently passed whole nights incopying: but why dwell on these particularly, while every folly that tookpossession of my wandering brain, the most transient ideas of a singleday, a journey, a concert, a supper, a walk, a novel to read, a play tosee, things in the world the least premeditated in my pleasures oroccupation became for me the most violent passions, which by theirridiculous impetuosity conveyed the most serious torments; even theimaginary misfortunes of Cleveland, read with avidity and frequentinterruption, have, I am persuaded, disordered me more than my own. 

There was a Genevese, named Bagueret, who had been employed under Peterthe Great, of the court of Russia, one of the most worthless, senselessfellows I ever met with; full of projects as foolish as himself, whichwere to rain down millions on those who took part in them. This man, having come to Chambery on account of some suit depending before thesenate, immediately got acquainted with Madam de Warrens, and with greatreason on his side, since for those imaginary treasures that cost himnothing, and which he bestowed with the utmost prodigality, he gained, in exchange, the unfortunate crown pieces one by one out of her pocket. I did not like him, and he plainly perceived this, for with me it is nota very difficult discovery, nor did he spare any sort of meanness to gainmy good will, and among other things proposed teaching me to play atchess, which game he understood something of. I made an attempt, thoughalmost against my inclination, and after several efforts, having learnedthe march, my progress was so rapid, that before the end of the firstsitting I gave him the rook, which in the beginning he had given me. Nothing more was necessary; behold me fascinated with chess! I buy aboard, with the rest of the apparatus, and shutting myself up in mychamber, pass whole days and nights in studying all the varieties of thegame, being determined by playing alone, without end or relaxation, todrive them into my head, right or wrong. After incredible efforts, during two or three months passed in this curious employment, I go to thecoffee-house, thin, sallow, and almost stupid; I seat myself, and againattack M. Bagueret: he beats me, once, twice, twenty times; so manycombinations were fermenting in my head, and my imagination was sostupefied, that all appeared confusion. I tried to exercise myself withPhitidor's or Stamina's book of instructions, but I was still equallyperplexed, and, after having exhausted myself with fatigue, was furtherto seek than ever, and whether I abandoned my chess for a time, orresolved to surmount every difficulty by unremitted practice, it was thesame thing. I could never advance one step beyond the improvement of thefirst sitting, nay, I am convinced that had I studied it a thousand ages, I should have ended by being able to give Bagueret the rook and nothingmore. 

It will be said my time was well employed, and not a little of it passedin this occupation, nor did I quit my first essay till unable to persistin it, for on leaving my apartment I had the appearance of a corpse, andhad I continued this course much longer I should certainly have been one. 

Any one will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially inthe ardor of youth, that such a head should suffer the body to enjoycontinued health; the alteration of mine had an effect on my temper, moderating the ardor of my chimerical fancies, for as I grew weaker theybecame more tranquil, and I even lost, in some measure, my rage fortravelling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy; vaporssucceeded passions, languor became sorrow: I wept and sighed withoutcause, and felt my life ebbing away before I had enjoyed it. I onlytrembled to think of the situation in which I should leave my dear Madamde Warrens; and I can truly say, that quitting her, and leaving her inthese melancholy circumstances, was my only concern. At length I fellquite ill, and was nursed by her as never mother nursed a child. Thecare she took of me was of real utility to her affairs, since it divertedher mind from schemes, and kept projectors at a distance. How pleasingwould death have been at that time, when, if I had not tasted many of thepleasures of life, I had felt but few of its misfortunes. My tranquilsoul would have taken her flight, without having experienced those cruelideas of the injustice of mankind which embitters both life and death. I should have enjoyed the sweet consolation that I still survived in thedearer part of myself: in the situation I then was, it could hardly becalled death; and had I been divested of my uneasiness on her account, it would have appeared but a gentle sleep; yet even these disquietudeshad such an affectionate and tender turn, that their bitterness wastempered by a pleasing sensibility. I said to her, "You are thedepository of my whole being, act so that I may be happy. " Two or threetimes, when my disorder was most violent, I crept to her apartment togive her my advice respecting her future conduct; and I dare affirm theseadmonitions were both wise and equitable, in which the interest I took inher future concerns was strongly marked. As if tears had been bothnourishment and medicine, I found myself the better for those I shed withher, while seated on her bed-side, and holding her hands between mine. The hours crept insensibly away in these nocturnal discourses; I returnedto my chamber better than I had quitted it, being content and calmed bythe promises she made, and the hopes with which she had inspired me:I slept on them with my heart at peace, and fully resigned to thedispensations of Providence. God grant, that after having had so manyreasons to hate life, after being agitated with so many storms, after ithas even become a burden, that death, which must terminate all, may be nomore terrible than it would have been at that moment!

By inconceivable care and vigilance, she saved my life; and I amconvinced she alone could have done this. I have little faith in theskill of physicians, but depend greatly on the assistance of realfriends, and am persuaded that being easy in those particulars on whichour happiness depends, is more salutary than any other application. Ifthere is a sensation in life peculiarly delightful, we experienced it inbeing restored to each other; our mutual attachment did not increase, forthat was impossible, but it became, I know not how, more exquisitelytender, fresh softness being added to its former simplicity. I became ina manner her work; we got into the habit, though without design, of beingcontinually with each other, and enjoying, in some measure, our wholeexistence together, feeling reciprocally that we were not only necessary, but entirely sufficient for each other's happiness. Accustomed to thinkof no subject foreign to ourselves, our happiness and all our desireswere confined to that pleasing and singular union, which, perhaps, had noequal, which is not, as I have before observed, love, but a sentimentinexpressibly more intimate, neither depending on the senses, age, norfigure, but an assemblage of every endearing sensation that composes ourrational existence and which can cease only with our being. 

How was it that this delightful crisis did not secure our mutual felicityfor the remainder of her life and mine? I have the consoling convictionthat it was not my fault; nay, I am persuaded, she did not wilfullydestroy it; the invincible peculiarity of my disposition was doomed soonto regain its empire; but this fatal return was not suddenlyaccomplished, there was, thank Heaven, a short but precious interval, that did not conclude by my fault, and which I cannot reproach myselfwith having employed amiss. 

Though recovered from my dangerous illness, I did not regain my strength;my stomach was weak, some remains of the fever kept me in a languishingcondition, and the only inclination I was sensible of, was to end my daysnear one so truly dear to me; to confirm her in those good resolutionsshe had formed; to convince her in what consisted the real charms of ahappy life, and, as far as depended on me, to render hers so; but Iforesaw that in a gloomy, melancholy house, the continual solitude of ourtete-a-tetes would at length become too dull and monotonous: a remedypresented itself: Madam de Warrens had prescribed milk for me, andinsisted that I should take it in the country; I consented, provided shewould accompany me; nothing more was necessary to gain her compliance, and whither we should go was all that remained to be determined on. Ourgarden (which I have before mentioned) was not properly in the country, being surrounded by houses and other gardens, and possessing none ofthose attractions so desirable in a rural retreat; besides, after thedeath of Anet, we had given up this place from economical principles, feeling no longer a desire to rear plants, and other views making us notregret the loss of that little retreat. Improving the distaste I foundshe began to imbibe for the town, I proposed to abandon it entirely, andsettle ourselves in an agreeable solitude, in some small house, distantenough from the city to avoid the perpetual intrusion of her hangers-on. She followed my advice, and this plan, which her good angel and minesuggested, might fully have secured our happiness and tranquility tilldeath had divided us--but this was not the state we were appointed to;Madam de Warrens was destined to endure all the sorrows of indigence andpoverty, after having passed the former part of her life in abundance, that she might learn to quit it with the less regret; and myself, by anassemblage of misfortunes of all kinds, was to become a striking exampleto those who, inspired with a love of justice and the public good, andtrusting too implicitly to their own innocence, shall openly dare toassert truth to mankind, unsupported by cabals, or without havingpreviously formed parties to protect them. 

An unhappy fear furnished some objections to our plan: she did not dareto quit her ill-contrived house, for fear of displeasing the proprietor. "Your proposed retirement is charming, " said she, "and much to my taste, but we are necessitated to remain here, for, on quitting this dungeon, I hazard losing the very means of life, and when these fail us in thewoods, we must again return to seek them in the city. That we may havethe least possible cause for being reduced to this necessity, let us notleave this house entirely, but pay a small pension to the Count ofSaint-Laurent, that he may continue mine. Let us seek some littlehabitation, far enough from the town to be at peace, yet near enough toreturn when it may appear convenient. "

This mode was finally adopted; and after some small search, we fixed atCharmettes, on an estate belonging to M. De Conzie, at a very smalldistance from Chambery; but as retired and solitary as if it had been ahundred leagues off. The spot we had concluded on was a valley betweentwo tolerably high hills, which ran north and south; at the bottom, amongthe trees and pebbles, ran a rivulet, and above the declivity, on eitherside, were scattered a number of houses, forming altogether a beautifulretreat for those who love a peaceful romantic asylum. After havingexamined two or three of these houses, we chose that which we thought themost pleasing, which was the property of a gentleman of the army, calledM. Noiret. This house was in good condition, before it a garden, forminga terrace; below that on the declivity an orchard, and on the ascent, behind the house, a vineyard: a little wood of chestnut trees opposite; afountain just by, and higher up the hill, meadows for the cattle; inshort, all that could be thought necessary for the country retirement weproposed to establish. To the best of my remembrance, we took possessionof it toward the latter end of the summer Of 1736. I was delighted ongoing to sleep there--"Oh!" said I, to this dear friend, embracing herwith tears of tenderness and delight, "this is the abode of happiness andinnocence; if we do not find them here together it will be in vain toseek them elsewhere. "

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK VI. 

 Hoc erat in votis: Modus agri non ila magnus Hortus ubi, et leclo vicinus aqua fons; Et paululum sylvae superhis forel. 

I cannot add, 'auctius acque di melius fecere'; but no matter, the formeris enough for my purpose; I had no occasion to have any property there, it was sufficient that I enjoyed it; for I have long since both said andfelt, that the proprietor and possessor are two very different people, even leaving husbands and lovers out of the question. 

At this moment began the short happiness of my life, those peaceful andrapid moments, which have given me a right to say, I have lived. Precious and ever--regretted moments! Ah! recommence your delightfulcourse; pass more slowly through my memory, if possible, than youactually did in your fugitive succession. How shall I prolong, accordingto my inclination, this recital at once so pleasing and simple? Howshall I continue to relate the same occurrences, without wearying myreaders with the repetition, any more than I was satiated with theenjoyment? Again, if all this consisted of facts, actions, or words, Icould somehow or other convey an idea of it; but how shall I describewhat was neither said nor done, nor even thought, but enjoyed, felt, without being able to particularize any other object of my happiness thanthe bare idea? I rose with the sun, and was happy; I walked, and washappy; I saw Madam de Warrens, and was happy; I quitted her, and stillwas happy!--Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills, orstrolled along the valley; read, was idle, worked in the garden, orgathered fruits, happiness continually accompanied me; it was fixed on noparticular object, it was within me, nor could I depart from it a singlemoment. 

Nothing that passed during that charming epocha, nothing that I did, said, or thought, has escaped my memory. The time that preceded orfollowed it, I only recollect by intervals, unequally and confused; buthere I remember all as distinctly as if it existed at this moment. Imagination, which in my youth was perpetually anticipating the future, but now takes a retrograde course, makes some amends by these charmingrecollections for the deprivation of hope, which I have lost forever. I no longer see anything in the future that can tempt my wishes, it is arecollection of the past alone that can flatter me, and the remembranceof the period I am now describing is so true and lively, that itsometimes makes me happy, even in spite of my misfortunes. 

Of these recollections I shall relate one example, which may give someidea of their force and precision. The first day we went to sleep atCharmettes, the way being up-hill, and Madam de Warrens rather heavy, shewas carried in a chair, while I followed on foot. Fearing the chairmenwould be fatigued, she got out about half-way, designing to walk the restof it. As we passed along, she saw something blue in the hedge, andsaid, "There's some periwinkle in flower yet!" I had never seen anybefore, nor did I stop to examine this: my sight is too short todistinguish plants on the ground, and I only cast a look at this as Ipassed: an interval of near thirty years had elapsed before I saw anymore periwinkle, at least before I observed it, when being at Cressier in1764, with my friend, M. Du Peyrou, we went up a small mountain, on thesummit of which there is a level spot, called, with reason, 'Belle--vue', I was then beginning to herbalize;--walking and looking among the bushes, I exclaimed with rapture, "Ah, there's some periwinkle!" Du Peyrou, whoperceived my transport, was ignorant of the cause, but will some day beinformed: I hope, on reading this. The reader may judge by thisimpression, made by so small an incident, what an effect must have beenproduced by every occurrence of that time. 

Meantime, the air of the country did not restore my health; I waslanguishing and became more so; I could not endure milk, and was obligedto discontinue the use of it. Water was at this time the fashionableremedy for every complaint; accordingly I entered on a course of it, andso indiscreetly, that it almost released me, not only from my illness butalso from my life. The water I drank was rather hard and difficult topass, as water from mountains generally is; in short, I managed so well, that in the coarse of two months I totally ruined my stomach, which untilthat time had been very good, and no longer digesting anything properly, had no reason to expect a cure. At this time an accident happened, assingular in itself as in its subsequent consequences, which can onlyterminate with my existence. 

One morning, being no worse than usual, while putting up the leaf of asmall table, I felt a sudden and almost inconceivable revolutionthroughout my whole frame. I know not how to describe it better than asa kind of tempest, which suddenly rose in my blood, and spread in amoment over every part of my body. My arteries began beating soviolently that I not only felt their motion, but even heard it, particularly that of the carotids, attended by a loud noise in my ears, which was of three, or rather four, distinct kinds. For instance, firsta grave hollow buzzing; then a more distinct murmur, like the running ofwater; then an extremely sharp hissing, attended by the beating I beforementioned, and whose throbs I could easily count, without feeling mypulse, or putting a hand to any part of my body. This internal tumultwas so violent that it has injured my auricular organs, and rendered me, from that time, not entirely deaf, but hard of hearing. 

My surprise and fear may easily be conceived; imagining it was the strokeof death, I went to bed, and the physician being sent for, trembling withapprehension, I related my case; judging it past all cure. I believe thedoctor was of the same opinion; however he performed his office, runningover a long string of causes and effects beyond my comprehension, afterwhich, in consequence of this sublime theory, he set about, 'in animavili', the experimental part of his art, but the means he was pleased toadopt in order to effect a cure were so troublesome, disgusting, andfollowed by so little effect, that I soon discontinued it, and after someweeks, finding I was neither better nor worse, left my bed, and returnedto my usual method of living; but the beating of my arteries and thebuzzing in my ears has never quitted me a moment during the thirty years'time which has elapsed since that time. 

Till now, I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of repose, with other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it, even to thistime, persuaded me I had but a short time to live. This ideatranquillized me for a time: I became less anxious about a cure, andbeing persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ theremainder of it as usefully as possible. This was practicable by aparticular indulgence of Nature, which, in this melancholy state, exempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I shouldhave experienced. I was incommoded by the noise, but felt no pain, norwas it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnalwakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath, which is not violentenough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I attempted torun, or use any degree of exertion. 

This accident, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my body, onlykilled my passions, and I have reason to thank Heaven for the happyeffect produced by it on my soul. I can truly say, I only began to livewhen I considered myself as entering the grave; for, estimating at theirreal value those things I was quitting; I began to employ myself onnobler objects, namely by anticipating those I hoped shortly to have thecontemplation of, and which I had hitherto too much neglected. I hadoften made light of religion, but was never totally devoid of it;consequently, it cost me less pain to employ my thoughts on that subject, which is generally thought melancholy, though highly pleasing to thosewho make it an object of hope and consolation; Madam de Warrens, therefore, was more useful to me on this occasion than all thetheologians in the world would have been. 

She, who brought everything into a system, had not failed to do as muchby religion; and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinityto each other. Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous, being made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, andprejudices derived from education. Men, in general, make God likethemselves; the virtuous make Him good, and the profligate make Himwicked; ill-tempered and bilious devotees see nothing but hell, becausethey would willingly damn all mankind; while loving and gentle soulsdisbelieve it altogether; and one of the astonishments I could neverovercome, is to see the good Fenelon speak of it in his Telemachus as ifhe really gave credit to it; but I hope he lied in that particular, forhowever strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely mustlie sometimes. Madam de Warrens spoke truth with me, and that soul, madeup without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angry God, saw only clemency and forgiveness, where devotees bestowed inflexiblejustice, and eternal punishment. 

She frequently said there would be no justice in the Supreme Being shouldHe be strictly just to us; because, not having bestowed what wasnecessary to render us essentially good, it would be requiring more thanhe had given. The most whimsical idea was, that not believing in hell, she was firmly persuaded of the reality of purgatory. This arose fromher not knowing what to do with the wicked, being loathed to damn themutterly, nor yet caring to place them with the good till they had becomeso; and we must really allow, that both in this world and the next, thewicked are very troublesome company. 

It is clearly seen that the doctrine of original sin and the redemptionof mankind is destroyed by this system; consequently that the basis ofthe Christian dispensation, as generally received, is shaken, and thatthe Catholic faith cannot subsist with these principles; Madam deWarrens, notwithstanding, was a good Catholic, or at least pretended tobe one, and certainly desired to become such, but it appeared to her thatthe Scriptures were too literally and harshly explained, supposing thatall we read of everlasting torments were figurative threatenings, and thedeath of Jesus Christ an example of charity, truly divine, which shouldteach mankind to love God and each other; in a word, faithful to thereligion she had embraced, she acquiesced in all its professions offaith, but on a discussion of each particular article, it was plain shethought diametrically opposite to that church whose doctrines sheprofessed to believe. In these cases she exhibited simplicity of art, afrankness more eloquent than sophistry, which frequently embarrassed herconfessor; for she disguised nothing from him. "I am a good Catholic, "she would say, "and will ever remain so; I adopt with all the powers ofmy soul the decisions of our holy Mother Church; I am not mistress of myfaith, but I am of my will, which I submit to you without reserve; I willendeavor to believe all, --what can you require more?"

Had there been no Christian morality established, I am persuaded shewould have lived as if regulated by its principles, so perfectly did theyseem to accord with her disposition. She did everything that wasrequired; and she would have done the same had there been no suchrequisition: but all this morality was subordinate to the principles ofM. Tavel, or rather she pretended to see nothing in religion thatcontradicted them; thus she would have favored twenty lovers in a day, without any idea of a crime, her conscience being no more moved in thatparticular than her passions. I know that a number of devotees are notmore scrupulous, but the difference is, they are seduced by constitution, she was blinded by her sophisms. In the midst of conversations the mostaffecting, I might say the most edifying, she would touch on thissubject, without any change of air or manner, and without being sensibleof any contradiction in her opinions; so much was she persuaded that ourrestrictions on that head are merely political, and that any person ofsense might interpret, apply, or make exceptions to them, without anydanger of offending the Almighty. 

Though I was far enough from being of the same opinion in thisparticular, I confess I dared not combat hers; indeed, as I was situated, it would have been putting myself in rather awkward circumstances, sinceI could only have sought to establish my opinion for others, myself beingan exception. Besides, I entertained but little hopes of making heralter hers, which never had any great influence on her conduct, and atthe time I am speaking of none; but I have promised faithfully todescribe her principles, and I will perform my engagement--I now returnto myself. 

Finding in her all those ideas I had occasion for to secure me from thefears of death and its future consequences, I drew confidence andsecurity from this source; my attachment became warmer than ever, and Iwould willingly have transmitted to her my whole existence, which seemedready to abandon me. From this redoubled attachment, a persuasion that Ihad but a short time to live, and profound security on my future state, arose an habitual and even pleasing serenity, which, calming everypassion that extends our hopes and fears, made me enjoy withoutinquietude or concern the few days which I imagined remained for me. What contributed to render them still snore agreeable was an endeavor toencourage her rising taste for the country, by every amusement I couldpossibly devise, wishing to attach her to her garden, poultry, pigeons, and cows: I amused myself with them and these little occupations, whichemployed my time without injuring my tranquillity, were more serviceablethan a milk diet, or all the remedies bestowed on my poor shatteredmachine, even to effecting the utmost possible reestablishment of it. 

The vintage and gathering in our fruit employed the remainder of theyear; we became more and more attached to a rustic life, and the societyof our honest neighbors. We saw the approach of winter with regret, andreturned to the city as if going into exile. To me this return wasparticularly gloomy, who never expected to see the return of spring, andthought I took an everlasting leave of Charmettes. I did not quit itwithout kissing the very earth and trees, casting back many a wishfullook as I went towards Chambery. 

Having left my scholars for so long a time, and lost my relish for theamusements of the town, I seldom went out, conversing only with Madam deWarrens and a Monsieur Salomon, who had lately become our physician. Hewas an honest man, of good understanding, a great Cartesian, spoketolerably well on the system of the world, and his agreeable andinstructive conversations were more serviceable than his prescriptions. I could never bear that foolish trivial mode of conversation which is sogenerally adopted; but useful instructive discourse has always given megreat pleasure, nor was I ever backward to join in it. I was muchpleased with that of M. Salomon; it appeared to me, that when in hiscompany, I anticipated the acquisition of that sublime knowledge which mysoul would enjoy when freed from its mortal fetters. The inclination Ihad for him extended to the subjects which he treated on, and I began tolook after books which might better enable me to understand hisdiscourse. Those which mingled devotion with science were most agreeableto me, particularly Port Royal's Oratory, and I began to read or ratherto devour them. One fell into my hands written by Father Lami, called'Entretiens sur les Sciences', which was a kind of introduction to theknowledge of those books it treated of. I read it over a hundred times, and resolved to make this my guide; in short, I found (notwithstanding myill state of health) that I was irresistibly drawn towards study, andthough looking on each day as the last of my life, read with as muchavidity as if certain I was to live forever. 

I was assured that reading would injure me; but on the contrary, I amrather inclined to think it was serviceable, not only to my soul, butalso to my body; for this application, which soon became delightful, diverted my thoughts from my disorders, and I soon found myself much lessaffected by them. It is certain, however, that nothing gave me absoluteease, but having no longer any acute pain, I became accustomed tolanguishment and wakefulness; to thinking instead of acting; in short, Ilooked on the gradual and slow decay of my body as inevitably progressiveand only to be terminated by death. 

This opinion not only detached me from all the vain cares of life, butdelivered me from the importunity of medicine, to which hitherto, I hadbeen forced to submit, though contrary to my inclination. Salomon, convinced that his drugs were unavailing, spared me the disagreeable taskof taking them, and contented himself with amusing the grief of my poorMadam de Warrens by some of those harmless preparations, which serve toflatter the hopes of the patient and keep up the credit of the doctor. I discontinued the strict regimen I had latterly observed, resumed theuse of wine, and lived in every respect like a man in perfect health, as far as my strength would permit, only being careful to run into noexcess; I even began to go out and visit my acquaintance, particularlyM. De Conzie, whose conversation was extremely pleasing to me. Whetherit struck me as heroic to study to my last hour, or that some hopes oflife yet lingered in the bottom of my heart, I cannot tell, but theapparent certainty of death, far from relaxing my inclination forimprovement, seemed to animate it, and I hastened to acquire knowledgefor the other world, as if convinced I should only possess that portion Icould carry with me. I took a liking to the shop of a bookseller, whosename was Bouchard, which was frequented by some men of letters, and asthe spring (whose return I had never expected to see again) wasapproaching, furnished myself with some books for Charmettes, in case Ishould have the happiness to return there. 

I had that happiness, and enjoyed it to the utmost extent. The rapturewith which I saw the trees put out their first bud, is inexpressible!The return of spring seemed to me like rising from the grave intoparadise. The snow was hardly off the ground when we left our dungeonand returned to Charmettes, to enjoy the first warblings of thenightingale. I now thought no more of dying, and it is really singular, that from this time I never experienced any dangerous illness in thecountry. I have suffered greatly, but never kept my bed, and have oftensaid to those about me, on finding myself worse than ordinary, "Shouldyou see me at the point of death, carry me under the shade of an oak, andI promise you I shall recover. "

Though weak, I resumed my country occupations, as far as my strengthwould permit, and conceived a real grief at not being able to manage ourgarden without help; for I could not take five or six strokes with thespade without being out of breath and overcome with perspiration; when Istooped the beating redoubled, and the blood flew with such violence tomy head, that I was instantly obliged to stand upright. Being thereforeconfined to less fatiguing employments, I busied myself about the dove--house, and was so pleased with it that I sometimes passed several hoursthere without feeling a moment's weariness. The pigeon is very timid anddifficult to tame, yet I inspired mine with so much confidence that theyfollowed me everywhere, letting me catch them at pleasure, nor could Iappear in the garden without having two or three on my arms or head in aninstant, and notwithstanding the pleasure I took in them, their companybecame so troublesome that I was obliged to lessen the familiarity. Ihave ever taken great pleasure in taming animals, particularly those thatare wild and fearful. It appeared delightful to me, to inspire them witha confidence which I took care never to abuse, wishing them to love mefreely. 

I have already mentioned that I purchased some books: I did not forget toread them, but in a manner more proper to fatigue than instruct me. I imagined that to read a book profitably, it was necessary to beacquainted with every branch of knowledge it even mentioned; far fromthinking that the author did not do this himself, but drew assistancefrom other books, as he might see occasion. Full of this silly idea, Iwas stopped every moment, obliged to run from one book to another, andsometimes, before I could reach the tenth page of what I was studying, found it necessary to turn over a whole library. I was so attached tothis ridiculous method, that I lost a prodigious deal of time and hadbewildered my head to such a degree, that I was hardly capable of doing, seeing or comprehending anything. I fortunately perceived, at length, that I was in the wrong road, which would entangle me in an inextricablelabyrinth, and quitted it before I was irrevocably lost. 

When a person has any real taste for the sciences, the first thing heperceives in the pursuit of them is that connection by which theymutually attract, assist, and enlighten each other, and that it isimpossible to attain one without the assistance of the rest. Though thehuman understanding cannot grasp all, and one must ever be regarded asthe principal object, yet if the rest are totally neglected, the favoritestudy is generally obscure; I was convinced that my resolution to improvewas good and useful in itself, but that it was necessary I should changemy method; I, therefore, had recourse to the encyclopaedia. I began by adistribution of the general mass of human knowledge into its variousbranches, but soon discovered that I must pursue a contrary course, thatI must take each separately, and trace it to that point where it unitedwith the rest: thus I returned to the general synthetical method, butreturned thither with a conviction that I was going right. Meditationsupplied the want of knowledge, and a very natural reflection gavestrength to my resolutions, which was, that whether I lived or died, Ihad no time to lose; for having learned but little before the age offive-and-twenty, and then resolving to learn everything, was engaging toemploy the future time profitably. I was ignorant at what point accidentor death might put a period to my endeavors, and resolved at all eventsto acquire with the utmost expedition some idea of every species ofknowledge, as well to try my natural disposition, as to judge for myselfwhat most deserved cultivation. 

In the execution of my plan, I experienced another advantage which I hadnever thought of; this was, spending a great deal of time profitably. Nature certainly never meant me for study, since attentive applicationfatigues me so much, that I find it impossible to employ myself half anhour together intently on any one subject; particularly while followinganother person's ideas, for it has frequently happened that I havepursued my own for a much longer period with success. After reading afew pages of an author with close application, my understanding isbewildered, and should I obstinately continue, I tire myself to nopurpose, a stupefaction seizes me, and I am no longer conscious of what Iread; but in a succession of various subjects, one relieves me from thefatigue of the other, and without finding respite necessary, I can followthem with pleasure. 

I took advantage of this observation in the plan of my studies, takingcare to intermingle them in such a manner that I was never weary: it istrue that domestic and rural concerns furnished many pleasingrelaxations; but as my eagerness for improvement increased, I contrivedto find opportunities for my studies, frequently employing myself abouttwo things at the same time, without reflecting that both wereconsequently neglected. 

In relating so many trifling details, which delight me, but frequentlytire my reader, I make use of the caution to suppress a great number, though, perhaps, he would have no idea of this, if I did not take care toinform him of it: for example, I recollect with pleasure all thedifferent methods I adopted for the distribution of my time, in such amanner as to produce the utmost profit and pleasure. I may say, that theportion of my life which I passed in this retirement, though in continualill-health, was that in which I was least idle and least wearied. Two orthree months were thus employed in discovering the bent of my genius;meantime, I enjoyed, in the finest season of the year, and in a spot itrendered delightful, the charms of a life whose worth I was so highlysensible of, in such a society, as free as it was charming; if a union soperfect, and the extensive knowledge I purposed to acquire, can be calledsociety. It seemed to me as if I already possessed the improvements Iwas only in pursuit of: or rather better, since the pleasure of learningconstituted a great part of my happiness. 

I must pass over these particulars, which were to me the height ofenjoyment, but are too trivial to bear repeating: indeed, true happinessis indescribable, it is only to be felt, and this consciousness offelicity is proportionately more, the less able we are to describe it;because it does not absolutely result from a concourse of favorableincidents, but is an affection of the mind itself. I am frequentlyguilty of repetitions, but should be infinitely more so, did I repeat thesame thing as often as it recurs with pleasure to my mind. When atlength my variable mode of life was reduced to a more uniform course, thefollowing was nearly the distribution of time which I adopted: I roseevery morning before the sun, and passed through a neighboring orchardinto a pleasant path, which, running by a vineyard, led towards Chambery. While walking, I offered up my prayers, not by a vain motion of the lips, but a sincere elevation of my heart, to the Great Author of delightfulnature, whose beauties were so charmingly spread out before me! I neverlove to pray in a chamber; it seems to me that the walls and all thelittle workmanship of man interposed between God and myself: I love tocontemplate Him in his works, which elevate my soul, and raise mythoughts to Him. My prayers were pure, I can affirm it, and thereforeworthy to be heard:--I asked for myself and her from whom my thoughtswere never divided, only an innocent and quiet life, exempt from vice, sorrow and want; I prayed that we might die the death of the just, andpartake of their lot hereafter: for the rest, it was rather admirationand contemplation than request, being satisfied that the best means toobtain what is necessary from the Giver of every perfect good, is ratherto deserve than to solicit. Returning from my walk, I lengthened the wayby taking a roundabout path, still contemplating with earnestness anddelight the beautiful scenes with which I was surrounded, those onlyobjects that never fatigue either the eye or the heart. As I approachedour habitation, I looked forward to see if Madam de Warrens was stirring, and when I perceived her shutters open, I even ran with joy towards thehouse: if they were yet shut I went into the garden to wait theiropening, amusing myself, meantime, by a retrospection of what I had readthe preceding evening, or in gardening. The moment the shutter drew backI hastened to embrace her, frequently half asleep; and this salute, pureas it was affectionate, even from its innocence, possessed a charm whichthe senses can never bestow. We usually breakfasted on milk-coffee; thiswas the time of day when we had most leisure, and when we chatted withthe greatest freedom. These sittings, which were usually pretty long, have given me a fondness for breakfasts, and I infinitely prefer those ofEngland, or Switzerland, which are considered as a meal, at which all thefamily assemble, than those of France, where they breakfast alone intheir several apartments, or more frequently have none at all. After anhour or two passed in discourse, I went to my study till dinner;beginning with some philosophical work, such as the logic of Port-Royal, Locke's Essays, Mallebranche, Leibtnitz, Descartes, etc. I soon foundthat these authors perpetually contradict each other, and formed thechimerical project of reconciling them, which cost me much labor and lossof time, bewildering my head without any profit. At length (renouncingthis idea) I adopted one infinitely more profitable, to which I attributeall the progress I have since made, notwithstanding the defects of mycapacity; for 'tis certain I had very little for study. On reading eachauthor, I acquired a habit of following all his ideas, without sufferingmy own or those of any other writer to interfere with them, or enteringinto any dispute on their utility. I said to myself, "I will begin bylaying up a stock of ideas, true or false, but clearly conceived, till myunderstanding shall be sufficiently furnished to enable me to compare andmake choice of those that are most estimable. " I am sensible this methodis not without its inconveniences, but it succeeded in furnishing me witha fund of instruction. Having passed some years in thinking afterothers, without reflection, and almost without reasoning, I found myselfpossessed of sufficient materials to set about thinking on my ownaccount, and when journeys of business deprived me of the opportunitiesof consulting books, I amused myself with recollecting and comparing whatI had read, weighing every opinion on the balance of reason, andfrequently judging my masters. Though it was late before I began toexercise my judicial faculties, I have not discovered that they had losttheir vigor, and on publishing my own ideas, have never been accused ofbeing a servile disciple or of swearing 'in verba magistri'. 

From these studies I passed to the elements of geometry, for I never wentfurther, forcing my weak memory to retain them by going the same ground ahundred and a hundred times over. I did not admire Euclid, who ratherseeks a chain of demonstration than a connection of ideas: I preferredthe geometry of Father Lama, who from that time became one of my favoriteauthors, and whose works I yet read with pleasure. Algebra followed, andFather Lama was still my guide: when I made some progress, I perusedFather Reynaud's Science of Calculation, and then his AnalysisDemonstrated; but I never went far enough thoroughly to understand theapplication of algebra to geometry. I was not pleased with this methodof performing operations by rule without knowing what I was about:resolving geometrical problems by the help of equations seemed likeplaying a tune by turning round a handle. The first time I found bycalculation that the square of a binocular figure was composed of thesquare of each of its parts, and double the product of one by the other;though convinced that my multiplication was right, I could not besatisfied till I had made and examined the figure: not but I admirealgebra when applied to abstract quantities, but when used to demonstratedimensions, I wished to see the operation, and unless explained by lines, could not rightly comprehend it. 

After this came Latin: it was my most painful study, and in which I nevermade great progress. I began by Port-Royal's Rudiments, but withoutsuccess; I lost myself in a crowd of rules; and in studying the lastforgot all that preceded it. A study of words is not calculated for aman without memory, and it was principally an endeavor to make my memorymore retentive, that urged me obstinately to persist in this study, whichat length I was obliged to relinquish. As I understood enough to read aneasy author by the aid of a dictionary, I followed that method, and foundit succeed tolerably well. I likewise applied myself to translation, notby writing, but mentally, and by exercise and perseverance attained toread Latin authors easily, but have never been able to speak or writethat language, which has frequently embarrassed me when I have foundmyself (I know not by what means) enrolled among men of letters. 

Another inconvenience that arose from this manner of learning is, that Inever understood prosody, much less the rules of versification; yet, anxious to understand the harmony of the language, both in prose andverse, I have made many efforts to obtain it, but am convinced, thatwithout a master it is almost impossible. Having learned the compositionof the hexameter, which is the easiest of all verses, I had the patienceto measure out the greater part of Virgil into feet and quantity, andwhenever I was dubious whether a syllable was long or short, immediatelyconsulted my Virgil. It may easily be conceived that I ran into manyerrors in consequence of those licenses permitted by the rules ofversification; and it is certain, that if there is an advantage instudying alone, there are also great inconveniences and inconceivablelabor, as I have experienced more than any one. 

At twelve I quitted my books, and if dinner was not ready, paid myfriends, the pigeons, a visit, or worked in the garden till it was, andwhen I heard myself called, ran very willingly, and with a good appetiteto partake of it, for it is very remarkable, that let me be ever soindisposed my appetite never fails. We dined very agreeably, chattingtill Madam de Warrens could eat. Two or three times a week, when it wasfine, we drank our coffee in a cool shady arbor behind the house, that Ihad decorated with hops, and which was very refreshing during the heat;we usually passed an hour in viewing our flowers and vegetables, or inconversation relative to our manner of life, which greatly increased thepleasure of it. I had another little family at the end of the garden;these were several hives of bees, which I never failed to visit once aday, and was frequently accompanied by Madam de Warrens. I was greatlyinterested in their labor, and amused myself seeing them return to thehives, their little thighs so loaded with the precious store that theycould hardly walk. At first, curiosity made me indiscreet, and theystung me several times, but afterwards, we were so well acquainted, thatlet me approach as near as I would, they never molested me, though thehives were full and the bees ready to swarm. At these times I have beensurrounded, having them on my hands and face without apprehending anydanger. All animals are distrustful of man, and with reason, but whenonce assured he does not mean to injure them, their confidence becomes sogreat that he must be worse than a barbarian who abuses it. 

After this I returned to my books; but my afternoon employment oughtrather to bear the name of recreation and amusement, than labor or study. I have never been able to bear application after dinner, and in generalany kind of attention is painful to me during the heat of the day. Iemployed myself, 'tis true, but without restraint or rule, and readwithout studying. What I most attended to at these times, was historyand geography, and as these did not require intense application, made asmuch progress in them as my weak memory would permit. I had aninclination to study Father Petau, and launched into the gloom ofchronology, but was disgusted at the critical part, which I found hadneither bottom nor banks; this made me prefer the more exact measurementof time by the course of the celestial bodies. I should even havecontracted a fondness for astronomy, had I been in possession ofinstruments, but was obliged to content myself with some of the elementsof that art, learned from books, and a few rude observations made with atelescope, sufficient only to give me a general idea of the situation ofthe heavenly bodies; for my short sight is insufficient to distinguishthe stars without the help of a glass. 

I recollect an adventure on this subject, the remembrance of which hasoften diverted me. I had bought a celestial planisphere to study theconstellations by, and, having fixed it on a frame, when the nights werefine and the sky clear, I went into the garden; and fixing the frame onfour sticks, something higher than myself, which I drove into the ground, turned the planisphere downwards, and contrived to light it by means of acandle (which I put in a pail to prevent the wind from blowing it out)and then placed in the centre of the above--mentioned four supporters;this done, I examined the stars with my glass, and from time to timereferring to my planisphere, endeavored to distinguish the variousconstellations. I think I have before observed that our garden was on aterrace, and lay open to the road. One night, some country peoplepassing very late, saw me in a most grotesque habit, busily employed inthese observations: the light, which struck directly on the planisphere, proceeding from a cause they could not divine (the candle being concealedby the sides of the pail), the four stakes supporting a large paper, marked over with various uncouth figures, with the motion of thetelescope, which they saw turning backwards and forwards, gave the wholean air of conjuration that struck them with horror and amazement. Myfigure was by no means calculated to dispel their fears; a flapped hatput on over my nightcap, and a short cloak about my shoulder (which Madamde Warrens had obliged me to put on) presented in their idea the image ofa real sorcerer. Being near midnight, they made no doubt but this wasthe beginning of some diabolical assembly, and having no curiosity to pryfurther into these mysteries, they fled with all possible speed, awakenedtheir neighbors, and described this most dreadful vision. The storyspread so fast that the next day the whole neighborhood was informed thata nocturnal assembly of witches was held in the garden that belonged toMonsieur Noiret, and I am ignorant what might have been the consequenceof this rumor if one of the countrymen who had been witness to myconjurations had not the same day carried his complaint to two Jesuits, who frequently came to visit us, and who, without knowing the foundationof the story, undeceived and satisfied them. These Jesuits told us thewhole affair, and I acquainted them with the cause of it, whichaltogether furnished us with a hearty laugh. However, I resolved for thefuture to make my observations without light, and consult my planispherein the house. Those who have read Venetian magic, in the 'Letters fromthe Mountain', may find that I long since had the reputation of being aconjurer. 

Such was the life I led at Charmettes when I had no rural employments, for they ever had the preference, and in those that did not exceed mystrength, I worked like a peasant; but my extreme weakness left me littleexcept the will; besides, as I have before observed, I wished to do twothings at once, and therefore did neither well. I obstinately persistedin forcing my memory to retain a great deal by heart, and for thatpurpose, I always carried some book with me, which, while at work, I studied with inconceivable labor. I was continually repeatingsomething, and am really amazed that the fatigue of these vain andcontinual efforts did not render me entirely stupid. I must have learnedand relearned the Eclogues of Virgil twenty times over, though at thistime I cannot recollect a single line of them. I have lost or spoiled agreat number of books by a custom I had of carrying them with me into thedove-house, the garden, orchard or vineyard, when, being busy aboutsomething else, I laid my book at the foot of a tree, on the hedge, orthe first place that came to hand, and frequently left them there, finding them a fortnight after, perhaps, rotted to pieces, or eaten bythe ants or snails; and this ardor for learning became so far a madnessthat it rendered me almost stupid, and I was perpetually muttering somepassage or other to myself. 

The writings of Port-Royal, and those of the Oratory, being what I mostread, had made me half a Jansenist, and, notwithstanding all myconfidence, their harsh theology sometimes alarmed me. A dread of hell, which till then I had never much apprehended, by little and littledisturbed my security, and had not Madam de Warrens tranquillized mysoul, would at length have been too much for me. My confessor, who washers likewise, contributed all in his power to keep up my hopes. Thiswas a Jesuit, named Father Hemet; a good and wise old man, whose memoryI shall ever hold in veneration. Though a Jesuit, he had the simplicityof a child, and his manners, less relaxed than gentle, were preciselywhat was necessary to balance the melancholy impressions made on me byJansenism. This good man and his companion, Father Coppier, camefrequently to visit us at Charmette, though the road was very rough andtedious for men of their age. These visits were very comfortable to me, which may the Almighty return to their souls, for they were so old that Icannot suppose them yet living. I sometimes went to see them atChambery, became acquainted at their convent, and had free access to thelibrary. The remembrance of that happy time is so connected with theidea of those Jesuits, that I love one on account of the other, andthough I have ever thought their doctrines dangerous, could never findmyself in a disposition to hate them cordially. 

I should like to know whether there ever passed such childish notions inthe hearts of other men as sometimes do in mine. In the midst of mystudies, and of a life as innocent as man could lead, notwithstandingevery persuasion to the contrary, the dread of hell frequently tormentedme. I asked myself, "What state am I in? Should I die at this instant, must I be damned?" According to my Jansenists the matter wasindubitable, but according to my conscience it appeared quite thecontrary: terrified and floating in this cruel uncertainty, I hadrecourse to the most laughable expedient to resolve my doubts, for whichI would willingly shut up any man as a lunatic should I see him practisethe same folly. One day, meditating on this melancholy subject, I exercised myself in throwing stones at the trunks of trees, with myusual dexterity, that is to say, without hitting any of them. In theheight of this charming exercise, it entered my mind to make a kind ofprognostic, that might calm my inquietude; I said, "I will throw thisstone at the tree facing me; if I hit my mark, I will consider it as asign of salvation; if I miss, as a token of damnation. " While I saidthis, I threw the stone with a trembling hand and beating breast but sohappily that it struck the body of the tree, which truly was not adifficult matter, for I had taken care to choose one that was very largeand very near me. From that moment I never doubted my salvation: I knownot on recollecting this trait, whether I ought to laugh or shudder atmyself. Ye great geniuses, who surely laugh at my folly, congratulateyourselves on your superior wisdom, but insult not my unhappiness, for Iswear to you that I feel it most sensibly. 

These troubles, these alarms, inseparable, perhaps, from devotion, wereonly at intervals; in general, I was tranquil, and the impression made onmy soul by the idea of approaching death, was less that of melancholythan a peaceful languor, which even had its pleasures. I have foundamong my old papers a kind of congratulation and exhortation which I madeto myself on dying at an age when I had the courage to meet death withserenity, without having experienced any great evils, either of body ormind. How much justice was there in the thought! A preconception ofwhat I had to suffer made me fear to live, and it seemed that I dreadedthe fate which must attend my future days. I have never been so nearwisdom as during this period, when I felt no great remorse for the past, nor tormenting fear for the future; the reigning sentiment of my soulbeing the enjoyment of the present. Serious people usually possess alively sensuality, which makes them highly enjoy those innocent pleasuresthat are allowed them. Worldlings (I know not why) impute this to themas a crime: or rather, I well know the cause of this imputation, it isbecause they envy others the enjoyment of those simple and pure delightswhich they have lost the relish of. I had these inclinations, and foundit charming to gratify them in security of conscience. My yetinexperienced heart gave in to all with the calm happiness of a child, or rather (if I dare use the expression) with the raptures of an angel;for in reality these pure delights are as serene as those of paradise. Dinners on the grass at Montagnole, suppers in our arbor, gathering inthe fruits, the vintage, a social meeting with our neighbors; all thesewere so many holidays, in which Madam de Warrens took as much pleasure asmyself. Solitary walks afforded yet purer pleasure, because in them ourhearts expanded with greater freedom: one particularly remains in mymemory; it was on a St. Louis' day, whose name Madam de Warrens bore: weset out together early and unattended, after having heard a mass at breakof day in a chapel adjoining our house, from a Carmelite, who attendedfor that purpose. As I proposed walking over the hills opposite ourdwelling, which we had not yet visited, we sent our provisions on before;the excursion being to last the whole day. Madam de Warrens, thoughrather corpulent, did not walk ill, and we rambled from hill to hill andwood to wood, sometimes in the sun, but oftener in the shade, restingfrom time to time, and regardless how the hours stole away; speaking ofourselves, of our union, of the gentleness of our fate, and offering upprayers for its duration, which were never heard. Everything conspiredto augment our happiness: it had rained for several days previous tothis, there was no dust, the brooks were full and rapid, a gentle breezeagitated the leaves, the air was pure, the horizon free from clouds, serenity reigned in the sky as in our hearts. Our dinner was prepared ata peasant's house, and shared with him and his family, whose benedictionswe received. These poor Savoyards are the worthiest of people! Afterdinner we regained the shade, and while I was picking up bits of driedsticks, to boil our coffee, Madam de Warrens amused herself withherbalizing among the bushes, and with the flowers I had gathered for herin my way. She made me remark in their construction a thousand naturalbeauties, which greatly amused me, and which ought to have given me ataste for botany; but the time was not yet come, and my attention wasarrested by too many other studies. Besides this, an idea struck me, which diverted my thoughts from flowers and plants: the situation of mymind at that moment, all that we had said or done that day, every objectthat had struck me, brought to my remembrance the kind of waking dream Ihad at Annecy seven or eight years before, and which I have given anaccount of in its place. The similarity was so striking that it affectedme even to tears: in a transport of tenderness I embraced Madam deWarrens. "My dearest friend, " said I, "this day has long since beenpromised me: I can see nothing beyond it: my happiness, by your means, is at its height; may it never decrease; may it continue as long as I amsensible of its value-then it can only finish with my life. "

Thus happily passed my days, and the more happily as I perceived nothingthat could disturb or bring them to a conclusion; not that the cause ofmy former uneasiness had absolutely ceased, but I saw it take anothercourse, which I directed with my utmost care to useful objects, that theremedy might accompany the evil. Madam de Warrens naturally loved thecountry, and this taste did not cool while with me. By little and littleshe contracted a fondness for rustic employments, wished to make the mostof her land, and had in that particular a knowledge which she practisedwith pleasure. 

Not satisfied with what belonged to the house, she hired first a field, then a meadow, transferring her enterprising humor to the objects ofagriculture, and instead of remaining unemployed in the house, was in theway of becoming a complete farmer. I was not greatly pleased to see thispassion increase, and endeavored all I could to oppose it; for I wascertain she would be deceived, and that her liberal extravagantdisposition would infallibly carry her expenses beyond her profits;however, I consoled myself by thinking the produce could not be useless, and would at least help her to live. Of all the projects she could form, this appeared the least ruinous: without regarding it, therefore, in thelight she did, as a profitable scheme, I considered it as a perpetualemployment, which would keep her from more ruinous enterprises, and outof the reach of impostors. With this idea, I ardently wished to recovermy health and strength, that I might superintend her affairs, overlookher laborers, or, rather, be the principal one myself. The exercise thisnaturally obliged me to take, with the relaxation it procured me frombooks and study, was serviceable to my health. 

The winter following, Barillot returning from Italy, brought me somebooks; and among others, the 'Bontempi' and 'la Cartella per Musica', ofFather Banchieri; these gave me a taste for the history of music and forthe theoretical researches of that pleasing art. Barillot remained sometime with us, and as I had been of age some months, I determined to go toGeneva the following spring, and demand my mother's inheritance, or atleast that part which belonged to me, till it could be ascertained whathad become of my brother. This plan was executed as it had beenresolved: I went to Geneva; my father met me there, for he hadoccasionally visited Geneva a long time since, without its beingparticularly noticed, though the decree that had been pronounced againsthim had never been reversed; but being esteemed for his courage, andrespected for his probity, the situation of his affairs was pretended tobe forgotten; or perhaps, the magistrates, employed with the greatproject that broke out some little time after, were not willing to alarmthe citizens by recalling to their memory, at an improper time, thisinstance of their former partiality. 

I apprehended that I should meet with difficulties, on account of havingchanged my religion, but none occurred; the laws of Geneva being lessharsh in that particular than those of Berne, where, whoever changes hisreligion, not only loses his freedom, but his property. My rights, however, were not disputed: but I found my patrimony, I know not how, reduced to very little, and though it was known almost to a certaintythat my brother was dead, yet, as there was no legal proof, I could notlay claim to his share, which I left without regret to my father, whoenjoyed it as long as he lived. No sooner were the necessary formalitiesadjusted, and I had received my money, some of which I expended in books, than I flew with the remainder to Madam de Warrens; my heart beat withjoy during the journey, and the moment in which I gave the money into herhands, was to me a thousand times more delightful than that which gave itinto mine. She received this with a simplicity common to great souls, who, doing similar actions without effort, see them without admiration;indeed it was almost all expended for my use, for it would have beenemployed in the same manner had it come from any other quarter. 

My health was not yet re-established; I decayed visibly, was pale asdeath, and reduced to an absolute skeleton; the beating of my arterieswas extreme, my palpitations were frequent: I was sensible of a continualoppression, and my weakness became at length so great, that I couldscarcely move or step without danger of suffocation, stoop withoutvertigoes, or lift even the smallest weight, which reduced me to the mosttormenting inaction for a man so naturally stirring as myself. It iscertain my disorder was in a great measure hypochondriacal. The vaporsis a malady common to people in fortunate situations: the tears Ifrequently shed, without reason; the lively alarms I felt on the fallingof a leaf, or the fluttering of a bird; inequality of humor in the calmof a most pleasing life; lassitude which made me weary even of happiness, and carried sensibility to extravagance, were an instance of this. Weare so little formed for felicity, that when the soul and body do notsuffer together, they must necessarily endure separate inconveniences, the good state of the one being almost always injurious to the happinessof the other. Had all the pleasure of life courted me, my weakened framewould not have permitted the enjoyment of them, without my being able toparticularize the real seat of my complaint; yet in the decline of life;after having encountered very serious and real evils, my body seemed toregain its strength, as if on purpose to encounter additionalmisfortunes; and, at the moment I write this, though infirm, near sixty, and overwhelmed with every kind of sorrow, I feel more ability to sufferthan I ever possessed for enjoyment when in the very flower of my age, and in the bosom of real happiness. 

To complete me, I had mingled a little physiology among my otherreadings: I set about studying anatomy, and considering the multitude, movement, and wonderful construction of the various parts that composedthe human machine; my apprehensions were instantly increased, I expectedto feel mine deranged twenty times a day, and far from being surprised tofind myself dying, was astonished that I yet existed! I could not readthe description of any malady without thinking it mine, and, had I notbeen already indisposed, I am certain I should have become so from thisstudy. Finding in every disease symptoms similar to mine, I fancied Ihad them all, and, at length, gained one more troublesome than any I yetsuffered, which I had thought myself delivered from; this was, a violentinclination to seek a cure; which it is very difficult to suppress, whenonce a person begins reading physical books. By searching, reflecting, and comparing, I became persuaded that the foundation of my complaint wasa polypus at the heart, and Doctor Salomon appeared to coincide with theidea. Reasonably this opinion should have confirmed my former resolutionof considering myself past cure; this, however, was not the case; on thecontrary; I exerted every power of my understanding in search of a remedyfor a polypus, resolving to undertake this marvellous cure. 

In a journey which Anet had made to Montpelier, to see the physicalgarden there, and visit Monsieur Sauvages, the demonstrator, he had beeninformed that Monsieur Fizes had cured a polypus similar to that Ifancied myself afflicted with: Madam de Warrens, recollecting thiscircumstance, mentioned it to me, and nothing more was necessary toinspire me with a desire to consult Monsieur Fizes. The hope of recoverygave me courage and strength to undertake the journey; the money fromGeneva furnished the means; Madam de Warrens, far from dissuading, entreated me to go: behold me, therefore, without further ceremony, setout for Montpelier!--but it was not necessary to go so far to find thecure I was in search of. 

Finding the motion of the horse too fatiguing, I had hired a chaise atGrenoble, and on entering Moirans, five or six other chaises arrived in arank after mine. The greater part of these were in the train of a newmarried lady called Madam du Colombier; with her was a Madam de Larnage, not so young or handsome as the former, yet not less amiable. The bridewas to stop at Romans, but the other lady was to pursue her route as faras Saint-Andiol, near the bridge du St. Esprit. With my natural timidityit will not be conjectured that I was very ready at forming anacquaintance with these fine ladies, and the company that attended them;but travelling the same road, lodging at the same inns, and being obligedto eat at the same table, the acquaintance seemed unavoidable, as anybackwardness on my part would have got me the character of a veryunsociable being: it was formed then, and even sooner than I desired, for all this bustle was by no means convenient to a person in ill health, particularly to one of my humor. Curiosity renders these vixensextremely insinuating; they accomplish their design of becomingacquainted with a man by endeavoring to turn his brain, and this wasprecisely what happened to me. Madam du Colombier was too muchsurrounded by her young gallants to have any opportunity of paying muchattention to me; besides, it was not worthwhile, as we were to separatein so short a time; but Madam de Larnage (less attended to than her youngfriend) had to provide herself for the remainder of the journey; beholdme, then, attacked by Madam de Larnage, and adieu to poor Jean Jacques, or rather farewell to fever, vapors, and polypus; all completely vanishedwhen in her presence. The ill state of my health was the first subjectof our conversation; they saw I was indisposed, knew I was going toMontpelier, but my air and manner certainly did not exhibit theappearance of a libertine, since it was clear by what followed they didnot suspect I was going there for a reason that carries many that road. 

In the morning they sent to inquire after my health and invite me to takechocolate with them, and when I made my appearance asked how I had passedthe night. Once, according to my praiseworthy custom of speaking withoutthought, I replied, "I did not know, " which answer naturally made themconclude I was a fool: but, on questioning me further; the examinationturned out so far to my advantage, that I rather rose in their opinion, and I once heard Madam du Colombier say to her friend, "He is amiable, but not sufficiently acquainted with the world. " These words were agreat encouragement, and assisted me in rendering myself agreeable. 

As we became more familiar, it was natural to give each other some littleaccount of whence we came and who we were: this embarrassed me greatly, for I was sensible that in good company and among women of spirit, thevery name of a new convert would utterly undo me. I know not by whatwhimsicallity I resolved to pass for an Englishman; however, inconsequence of that determination I gave myself out for a Jacobite, andwas readily believed. They called me Monsieur Dudding, which was thename I assumed with my new character, and a cursed Marquis Torignan, whowas one of the company, an invalid like myself, and both old and ill--tempered, took it in his head to begin a long conversation with me. Hespoke of King James, of the Pretender, and the old court ofSt. Germain's; I sat on thorns the whole time, for I was totallyunacquainted with all these except what little I had picked up in theaccount of Earl Hamilton, and from the gazettes; however, I made suchfortunate use of the little I did know as to extricate myself from thisdilemma, happy in not being questioned on the English language, which Idid not know a single word of. 

The company were all very agreeable; we looked forward to the moment ofseparation with regret, and therefore made snails' journeys. We arrivedone Sunday at St. Marcelein's; Madam de Larnage would go to mass; Iaccompanied her, and had nearly ruined all my affairs, for by my modestreserved countenance during the service, she concluded me a bigot, andconceived a very indifferent opinion of me, as I learned from her ownaccount two days after. It required a great deal of gallantry on my partto efface this ill impression, or rather Madam de Larnage (who was noteasily disheartened) determined to risk the first advances, and see how Ishould behave. She made several, but far from being presuming on myfigure, I thought she was making sport of me: full of this ridiculousidea there was no folly I was not guilty of. 

Madam de Larnage persisted in such caressing behavior, that a much wiserman than myself could hardly have taken it seriously. The more obviousher advances were, the more I was confirmed in my mistake, and whatincreased my torment, I found I was really in love with her. I frequently said to myself, and sometimes to her, sighing, "Ah! why isnot all this real? then should I be the most fortunate of men. " I aminclined to think my stupidity did but increase her resolution, and makeher determined to get the better of it. 

We left Madam du Colombier at Romans; after which Madam de Larnage, theMarquis de Torignan, and myself continued our route slowly, and in themost agreeable manner. The marquis, though indisposed, and ratherill-humored, was an agreeable companion, but was not best pleased atseeing the lady bestow all her attentions on me, while he passedunregarded; for Madam de Larnage took so little care to conceal herinclination, that he perceived it sooner than I did, and his sarcasmsmust have given me that confidence I could not presume to take from thekindness of the lady, if by a surmise, which no one but myself couldhave blundered on, I had not imagined they perfectly understood eachother, and were agreed to turn my passion into ridicule. This foolishidea completed my stupidity, making me act the most ridiculous part, while, had I listened to the feelings of my heart, I might have beenperforming one far more brilliant. I am astonished that Madam deLarnage was not disgusted at my folly, and did not discard me withdisdain; but she plainly perceived there was more bashfulness thanindifference in my composition. 

We arrived at Valence to dinner, and according to our usual custom passedthe remainder of the day there. We lodged out of the city, at the St. James, an inn I shall never forget. After dinner, Madam de Larnageproposed a walk; she knew the marquis was no walker, consequently, thiswas an excellent plan for a tete-a-tete, which she was predetermined tomake the most of. While we were walking round the city by the side ofthe moats, I entered on a long history of my complaint, to which sheanswered in so tender an accent, frequently pressing my arm, which sheheld to her heart, that it required all my stupidity not to be convincedof the sincerity of her attachment. I have already observed that she wasamiable; love rendered her charming, adding all the loveliness of youth:and she managed her advances with so much art, that they were sufficientto have seduced the most insensible: I was, therefore, in very uneasycircumstances, and frequently on the point of making a declaration; butthe dread of offending her, and the still greater of being laughed at, ridiculed, made table-talk, and complimented on my enterprise by thesatirical marquis, had such unconquerable power over me, that, thoughashamed of my ridiculous bashfulness, I could not take courage tosurmount it. I had ended the history of my complaints, which I felt theridiculousness of at this time; and not knowing how to look, or what tosay, continued silent, giving the finest opportunity in the world forthat ridicule I so much dreaded. Happily, Madam de Larnage took a morefavorable resolution, and suddenly interrupted this silence by throwingher arms round my neck, while, at the same instant, her lips spoke tooplainly on mine to be any longer misunderstood. This was reposing thatconfidence in me the want of which has almost always prevented me fromappearing myself: for once I was at ease, my heart, eyes and tongue, spoke freely what I felt; never did I make better reparation for mymistakes, and if this little conquest had cost Madam de Larnage somedifficulties, I have reason to believe she did not regret them. 

Was I to live a hundred years, I should never forget this charming woman. I say charming, for though neither young nor beautiful, she was neitherold nor ugly, having nothing in her appearance that could prevent her witand accomplishments from producing all their effects. It was possible tosee her without falling in love, but those she favored could not fail toadore her; which proves, in my opinion, that she was not generally soprodigal of her favors. It is true, her inclination for me was so suddenand lively, that it scarce appears excusable; though from the short, butcharming interval I passed with her, I have reason to think her heart wasmore influenced than her passions. 

Our good intelligence did not escape the penetration of the marquis; notthat he discontinued his usual raillery; on the contrary, he treated meas a sighing, hopeless swain, languishing under the rigors of hismistress; not a word, smile, or look escaped him by which I could imaginehe suspected my happiness; and I should have thought him completelydeceived, had not Madam de Larnage, who was more clear-sighted thanmyself, assured me of the contrary; but he was a well-bred man, and itwas impossible to behave with more attention or greater civility, than heconstantly paid me (notwithstanding his satirical sallies), especiallyafter my success, which, as he was unacquainted with my stupidity, heperhaps gave me the honor of achieving. It has already been seen that hewas mistaken in this particular; but no matter, I profited by his error, for being conscious that the laugh was on my side, I took all his salliesin good part, and sometimes parried them with tolerable success; for, proud of the reputation of wit which Madam de Larnage had thought fit todiscover in me, I no longer appeared the same man. 

We were both in a country and season of plenty, and had everywhereexcellent cheer, thanks to the good cares of the marquis; though I wouldwillingly have relinquished this advantage to have been more satisfiedwith the situation of our chambers; but he always sent his footman on toprovide them; and whether of his own accord, or by the order of hismaster, the rogue always took care that the marquis' chamber should beclose by Madam de Larnage's, while mine was at the further end of thehouse: but that made no great difference, or perhaps it rendered ourrendezvous the more charming; this happiness lasted four or five days, during which time I was intoxicated with delight, which I tasted pure andserene without any alloy; an advantage I could never boast before; and, I may add, it is owing to Madam de Larnage that I did not go out of theworld without having tasted real pleasure. 

If the sentiment I felt for her was not precisely love, it was at least avery tender return of what she testified for me; our meetings were sodelightful, that they possessed all the sweets of love; without that kindof delirium which affects the brain, and even tends to diminish ourhappiness. I never experienced true love but once in my life, and thatwas not with Madam de Larnage, neither did I feel that affection for herwhich I had been sensible of, and yet continued to possess, for Madam deWarrens; but for this very reason, our tete-a-tetes were a hundred timesmore delightful. When with Madam de Warrens, my felicity was alwaysdisturbed by a secret sadness, a compunction of heart, which I found itimpossible to surmount. Instead of being delighted at the acquisition ofso much happiness, I could not help reproaching myself for contributingto render her I loved unworthy: on the contrary, with Madam de Lamage, I was proud of my happiness, and gave in to it without repugnance, whilemy triumph redoubled every other charm. 

I do not recollect exactly where we quitted the marquis, who resided inthis country, but I know we were alone on our arrival at Montelimar, where Madam de Larnage made her chambermaid get into my chaise, andaccommodate me with a seat in hers. It will easily be believed, thattravelling in this manner was by no means displeasing to me, and that Ishould be very much puzzled to give any account of the country we passedthrough. She had some business at Montelimar, which detained her theretwo or three days; during this time she quitted me but one quarter of anhour, for a visit she could not avoid, which embarrassed her with anumber of invitations she had no inclination to accept, and thereforeexcused herself by pleading some indisposition; though she took care thisshould not prevent our walking together every day, in the most charmingcountry, and under the finest sky imaginable. Oh! these three days!what reason have I to regret them! Never did such happiness returnagain. 

The amours of a journey cannot be very durable: it was necessary weshould part, and I must confess it was almost time; not that I was wearyof my happiness, but I might as well have been. We endeavored to comforteach other for the pain of parting, by forming plans for our reunion; andit was concluded, that after staying five or six weeks at Montpelier(which would give Madam de Larnage time to prepare for my reception insuch a manner as to prevent scandal) I should return to Saint-Andiol, andspend the winter under her direction. She gave me ample instruction onwhat it was necessary I should know, on what it would be proper to say;and how I should conduct myself. She spoke much and earnestly on thecare of my health, conjured me to consult skilful physicians, and beattentive and exact in following their prescriptions whatever they mighthappen to be. I believe her concern was sincere, for she loved me, andgave proofs of her affection less equivocal than the prodigality of herfavors; for judging by my mode of travelling, that I was not in veryaffluent circumstances (though not rich herself), on our parting, shewould have had me share the contents of her purse, which she had broughtpretty well furnished from Grenoble, and it was with great difficulty Icould make her put up with a denial. In a word, we parted; my heart fullof her idea, and leaving in hers (if I am not mistaken) a firm attachmentto me. 

While pursuing the remainder of my journey, remembrance ran overeverything that had passed from the commencement of it, and I was wellsatisfied at finding myself alone in a comfortable chaise, where I couldruminate at ease on the pleasures I had enjoyed, and those which awaitedmy return. I only thought of Saint-Andiol; of the life I was to leadthere; I saw nothing but Madam de Larnage, or what related to her; thewhole universe besides was nothing to me--even Madam de Warrens wasforgotten!--I set about combining all the details by which Madam deLarnage had endeavored to give me in advance an idea of her house, of theneighborhood, of her connections, and manner of life, finding everythingcharming. 

She had a daughter, whom she had often described in the warmest terms ofmaternal affection: this daughter was fifteen lively, charming, and of anamiable disposition. Madam de Larnage promised me her friendship; I hadnot forgotten that promise, and was curious to know how Mademoiselle deLarnage would treat her mother's 'bon ami'. These were the subjects ofmy reveries from the bridge of St. Esprit to Remoulin: I had been advisedto visit the Pont-du-Gard; hitherto I had seen none of the remainingmonuments of Roman magnificence, and I expected to find this worthy thehands by which it was constructed; for once, the reality surpassed myexpectation; this was the only time in my life it ever did so, and theRomans alone could have produced that effect. The view of this noble andsublime work, struck me the more forcibly, from being in the midst of adesert, where silence and solitude render the majestic edifice morestriking, and admiration more lively, for though called a bridge it isnothing more than an aqueduct. One cannot help exclaiming, what strengthcould have transported these enormous stones so far from any quarry? Andwhat motive could have united the labors of so many millions of men, in aplace that no one inhabited? I remained here whole hours, in the mostravishing contemplation, and returned pensive and thoughtful to my inn. This reverie was by no means favorable to Madam de Larnage; she had takencare to forewarn me against the girls of Montpelier, but not against thePont-du-Gard--it is impossible to provide for every contingency. 

On my arrival at Nismes, I went to see the amphitheatre, which is a farmore magnificent work than even the Pont-du-Gard, yet it made a much lessimpression on me, perhaps, because my admiration had been alreadyexhausted on the former object; or that the situation of the latter, inthe midst of a city, was less proper to excite it. This vast and superbcircus is surrounded by small dirty houses, while yet smaller and dirtierfill up the area, in such a manner that the whole produces an unequal andconfused effect, in which regret and indignation stifle pleasure andsurprise. The amphitheatre at Verona is a vast deal smaller, and lessbeautiful than that at Nismes, but preserved with all possible care andneatness, by which means alone it made a much stronger and more agreeableimpression on me. The French pay no regard to these things, respect nomonument of antiquity; ever eager to undertake, they never finish, norpreserve anything that is already finished to their hands. 

I was so much better, and had gained such an appetite by exercise, that Istopped a whole day at Pont-du-Lunel, for the sake of good entertainmentand company, this being deservedly esteemed at that time the best inn inEurope; for those who kept it, knowing how to make its fortunatesituation turn to advantage, took care to provide both abundance andvariety. It was really curious to find in a lonely country-house, atable every day furnished with sea and fresh-water fish, excellent game, and choice wines, served up with all the attention and care, which areonly to be expected among the great or opulent, and all this for thirtyfive sous each person: but the Pont-du-Lunel did not long remain on thisfooting, for the proprietor, presuming too much on its reputation, atlength lost it entirely. 

During this journey, I really forgot my complaints, but recollected themagain on my arrival at Montpelier. My vapors were absolutely gone, butevery other complaint remained, and though custom had rendered them lesstroublesome, they were still sufficient to make any one who had beensuddenly seized with them, suppose himself attacked by some mortaldisease. In effect they were rather alarming than painful, and made themind suffer more than the body, though it apparently threatened thelatter with destruction. While my attention was called off by thevivacity of my passions, I paid no attention to my health; but as mycomplaints were not altogether imaginary, I thought of them seriouslywhen the tumult had subsided. Recollecting the salutary advice of Madamde Larnage, and the cause of my journey, I consulted the most famouspractitioners, particularly Monsieur Fizes; and through superabundance ofprecaution boarded at a doctor's who was an Irishman, and namedFitz-Morris. 

This person boarded a number of young gentlemen who were studying physic;and what rendered his house very commodious for an invalid, he contentedhimself with a moderate pension for provisions, lodging, etc. , and tooknothing of his boarders for attendance as a physician. He even undertookto execute the orders of M. Fizes, and endeavored to re-establish myhealth. He certainly acquitted himself very well in this employment; asto regimen, indigestions were not to be gained at his table; and though Iam not much hurt at privations of that kind, the objects of comparisonwere so near, that I could not help thinking with myself sometimes, thatM. De Torignan was a much better provider than M. Fitz-Morris;notwithstanding, as there was no danger of, dying with hunger, and allthe youths were gay and good-humored, I believe this manner of living wasreally serviceable, and prevented my falling into those languors I hadlatterly been so subject to. I passed the morning in taking medicines, particularly, I know not what kind of waters, but believe they were thoseof Vals, and in writing to Madam de Larnage: for the correspondence wasregularly kept up, and Rousseau kindly undertook to receive these lettersfor his good friend Dudding. At noon I took a walk to the Canourgue, with some of our young boarders, who were all very good lads; after thiswe assembled for dinner; when this was over, an affair of importanceemployed the greater part of us till night; this was going a little wayout of town to take our afternoon's collation, and make up two or threeparties at mall, or mallet. As I had neither strength nor skill, I didnot play myself but I betted on the game, and, interested for the successof my wager, followed the players and their balls over rough and stonyroads, procuring by this means both an agreeable and salutary exercise. We took our afternoon's refreshment at an inn out of the city. I neednot observe that these meetings were extremely merry, but should not omitthat they were equally innocent, though the girls of the house were verypretty. M. Fitz-Morris (who was a great mall player himself) was ourpresident; and I must observe, notwithstanding the imputation of wildnessthat is generally bestowed on students, that I found more virtuousdispositions among these youths than could easily be found among an equalnumber of men: they were rather noisy than fond of wine, and more merrythan libertine. 

I accustomed myself so much to this mode of life, and it accorded soentirely with my humor, that I should have been very well content with acontinuance of it. Several of my fellow-boarders were Irish, from whom Iendeavored to learn some English words, as a precaution for Saint-Andiol. The time now drew near for my departure; every letter Madam de Larnagewrote, she entreated me not to delay it, and at length I prepared to obeyher. 

I was convinced that the physicians (who understood nothing of mydisorder) looked on my complaint as imaginary, and treated meaccordingly, with their waters and whey. In this respect physicians andphilosophers differ widely from theologians; admitting the truth only ofwhat they can explain, and making their knowledge the measure ofpossibilities. These gentlemen understood nothing of my illness, therefore concluded I could not be ill; and who would presume to doubtthe profound skill of a physician? I plainly saw they only meant toamuse, and make me swallow my money; and judging their substitute atSaint-Andiol would do me quite as much service, and be infinitely moreagreeable, I resolved to give her the preference; full, therefore, ofthis wise resolution, I quitted Montpelier. 

I set off towards the end of November, after a stay of six weeks or twomonths in that city, where I left a dozen louis, without either my healthor understanding being the better for it, except from a short course ofanatomy begun under M. Fitz-Morris, which I was soon obliged to abandon, from the horrid stench of the bodies he dissected, which I found itimpossible to endure. 

Not thoroughly satisfied in my own mind on the rectitude of thisexpedition, as I advanced towards the Bridge of St. Esprit (which wasequally the road to Saint-Andiol and to Chambery) I began to reflect onMadam de Warrens, the remembrance of whose letters, though less frequentthan those from Madam de Larnage, awakened in my heart a remorse thatpassion had stifled in the first part of my journey, but which became solively on my return, that, setting just estimate on the love of pleasure, I found myself in such a situation of mind that I could listen wholly tothe voice of reason. Besides, in continuing to act the part of anadventurer, I might be less fortunate than I had been in the beginning;for it was only necessary that in all Saint-Andiol there should be oneperson who had been in England, or who knew the English or anything oftheir language, to prove me an impostor. The family of Madam de Larnagemight not be pleased with me, and would, perhaps, treat me unpolitely;her daughter too made me uneasy, for, spite of myself, I thought more ofher than was necessary. I trembled lest I should fall in love with thisgirl, and that very fear had already half done the business. Was Igoing, in return for the mother's kindness, to seek the ruin of thedaughter? To sow dissension, dishonor, scandal, and hell itself, in herfamily? The very idea struck me with horror, and I took the firmestresolution to combat and vanquish this unhappy attachment, should I be sounfortunate as to experience it. But why expose myself to this danger?How miserable must the situation be to live with the mother, whom Ishould be weary of, and sigh for the daughter, without daring to makeknown my affection! What necessity was there to seek this situation, andexpose myself to misfortunes, affronts and remorse, for the sake ofpleasures whose greatest charm was already exhausted? For I was sensiblethis attachment had lost its first vivacity. With these thoughts weremingled reflections relative to my situation and duty to that good andgenerous friend, who already loaded with debts, would become more so fromthe foolish expenses I was running into, and whom I was deceiving sounworthily. This reproach at length became so keen that it triumphedover every temptation, and on approaching the bridge of St. Esprit Iformed the resolution to burn my whole magazine of letters fromSaint-Andiol, and continue my journey right forward to Chambery. 

I executed this resolution courageously, with some sighs I confess, butwith the heart-felt satisfaction, which I enjoyed for the first time inmy life, of saying, "I merit my own esteem, and know how to prefer dutyto pleasure. " This was the first real obligation I owed my books, sincethese had taught me to reflect and compare. After the virtuousprinciples I had so lately adopted, after all the rules of wisdom andhonor I had proposed to myself, and felt so proud to follow, the shame ofpossessing so little stability, and contradicting so egregiously my ownmaxims, triumphed over the allurements of pleasure. Perhaps, after all, pride had as much share in my resolution as virtue; but if this pride isnot virtue itself, its effects are so similar that we are pardonable indeceiving ourselves. 

One advantage resulting from good actions is that they elevate the soulto a disposition of attempting still better; for such is human weakness, that we must place among our good deeds an abstinence from those crimeswe are tempted to commit. No sooner was my resolution confirmed than Ibecame another man, or rather, I became what I was before I had erred, and saw in its true colors what the intoxication of the moment had eitherconcealed or disguised. Full of worthy sentiments and wise resolutions, I continued my journey, intending to regulate my future conduct by thelaws of virtue, and dedicate myself without reserve to that best offriends, to whom I vowed as much fidelity in future as I felt realattachment. The sincerity of this return to virtue appeared to promise abetter destiny; but mine, alas! was fixed, and already begun: even atthe very moment when my heart, full of good and virtuous sentiments, wascontemplating only innocence and happiness through life, I touched on thefatal period that was to draw after it the long chain of my misfortunes!

My impatience to arrive at Chambery had made me use more diligence than Imeant to do. I had sent a letter from Valence, mentioning the day andhour I should arrive, but I had gained half a day on this calculation, which time I passed at Chaparillan, that I might arrive exactly at thetime I mentioned. I wished to enjoy to its full extent the pleasure ofseeing her, and preferred deferring this happiness a little, thatexpectancy might increase the value of it. This precaution had alwayssucceeded; hitherto my arrival had caused a little holiday; I expected noless this time, and these preparations, so dear to me, would have beenwell worth the trouble of contriving them. 

I arrived then exactly at the hour, and while at a considerable distance, looked forward with an expectancy of seeing her on the road to meet me. The beating of my heart increased as I drew near the house; at length Iarrived, quite out of breath; for I had left my chaise in the town. Isee no one in the garden, at the door, or at the windows; I am seizedwith terror, fearful that some accident has happened. I enter; all isquiet; the laborers are eating their luncheon in the kitchen, and farfrom observing any preparation, the servants seem surprised to see me, not knowing I was expected. I go up--stairs, at length see her!--thatdear friend! so tenderly, truly, and entirely beloved. I instantly rantowards her, and threw myself at her feet. "Ah! child!" said she, "artthou returned then!" embracing me at the same time. "Have you had agood journey? How do you do?" This reception amused me for somemoments. I then asked, whether she had received my letter? she answered"Yes. "--"I should have thought not, " replied I; and the informationconcluded there. A young man was with her at this time. I recollectedhaving seen him in the house before my departure, but at present heseemed established there; in short, he was so; I found my place alreadysupplied!

This young man came from the country of Vaud; his father, namedVintzenried, was keeper of the prison, or, as he expressed himself, Captain of the Castle of Chillon. This son of the captain was ajourneyman peruke-maker, and gained his living in that capacity when hefirst presented himself to Madam de Warrens, who received him kindly, asshe did all comers, particularly those from her own country. He was atall, fair, silly youth; well enough made, with an unmeaning face, and amind of the same description, speaking always like the beau in a comedy, and mingling the manners and customs of his former situation with a longhistory of his gallantry and success; naming, according to his account, not above half the marchionesses who had favored him and pretending neverto have dressed the head of a pretty woman, without having likewisedecorated her husband's; vain, foolish, ignorant and insolent; such wasthe worthy substitute taken in my absence, and the companion offered meon my return!

O! if souls disengaged from their terrestrial bonds, yet view from thebosom of eternal light what passes here below, pardon, dear andrespectable shade, that I show no more favor to your failings than myown, but equally unveil both. I ought and will be just to you as tomyself; but how much less will you lose by this resolution than I shall!How much do your amiable and gentle disposition, your inexhaustiblegoodness of heart, your frankness and other amiable virtues, compensatefor your foibles, if a subversion of reason alone can be called such. You had errors, but not vices; your conduct was reprehensible, but yourheart was ever pure. 

The new-comer had shown himself zealous and exact in all her littlecommissions, which were ever numerous, and he diligently overlooked thelaborers. As noisy and insolent as I was quiet and forbearing, he wasseen or rather heard at the plough, in the hay-loft, wood-house, stable, farm-yard, at the same instant. He neglected the gardening, this laborbeing too peaceful and moderate; his chief pleasure was to load or drivethe cart, to saw or cleave wood; he was never seen without a hatchet orpick-axe in his hand, running, knocking and hallooing with all his might. I know not how many men's labor he performed, but he certainly made noiseenough for ten or a dozen at least. All this bustle imposed on poorMadam de Warrens; she thought this young man a treasure, and, willing toattach him to herself, employed the means she imagined necessary for thatpurpose, not forgetting what she most depended on, the surrender of herperson. 

Those who have thus far read this work should be able to form somejudgment of my heart; its sentiments were the most constant and sincere, particularly those which had brought me back to Chambery; what a suddenand complete overthrow was this to my whole being! but to judge fully ofthis, the reader must place himself for a moment in my situation. I sawall the future felicity I had promised myself vanish in a moment; all thecharming ideas I had indulged so affectionately, disappear entirely; andI, who even from childhood had not been able to consider my existence fora moment as separate from hers, for the first time saw myself utterlyalone. This moment was dreadful, and those that succeeded it were evergloomy. I was yet young, but the pleasing sentiments of enjoyment andhope, which enliven youth, were extinguished. From that hour myexistence seemed half annihilated. I contemplated in advance themelancholy remains of an insipid life, and if at any time an image ofhappiness glanced through my mind, it was not that which appeared naturalto me, and I felt that even should I obtain it I must still be wretched. 

I was so dull of apprehension, and my confidence in her was so great, that, notwithstanding the familiar tone of the new-comer, which I lookedon as an effect of the easy disposition of Madam de Warrens, whichrendered her free with everyone, I never should have suspected his realsituation had not she herself informed me of it; but she hastened to makethis avowal with a freedom calculated to inflame me with resentment, could my heart have turned to that point. Speaking of this connection asquite immaterial with respect to herself, she reproached me withnegligence in the care of the family, and mentioned my frequent absence, as though she had been in haste to supply my place. "Ah!" said I, myheart bursting with the most poignant grief, "what do you dare to informme of? Is this the reward of an attachment like mine? Have you so manytimes preserved my life, for the sole purpose of taking from me all thatcould render it desirable? Your infidelity will bring me to the grave, but you will regret my loss!" She answered with a tranquillitysufficient to distract me, that I talked like a child; that people didnot die from such slight causes; that our friendship need be no lesssincere, nor we any less intimate, for that her tender attachment to mecould neither diminish nor end but with herself; in a word she gave me tounderstand that my happiness need not suffer any decrease from the goodfortune of this new favorite. 

Never did the purity, truth and force of my attachment to her appear moreevident; never did I feel the sincerity and honesty of my soul moreforcibly, than at that moment. I threw myself at her feet, embracing herknees with torrents of tears. "No, madam, " replied I, with the mostviolent agitation, "I love you too much to disgrace you thus far, and tootruly to share you; the regret that accompanied the first acquisition ofyour favors has continued to increase with my affection. I cannotpreserve them by so violent an augmentation of it. You shall ever havemy adoration: be worthy of it; to me that is more necessary than all youcan bestow. It is to you, O my dearest friend! that I resign my rights;it is to the union of our hearts that I sacrifice my pleasure; ratherwould I perish a thousand times than thus degrade her I love. "

I preserved this resolution with a constancy worthy, I may say, of thesentiment that gave it birth. From this moment I saw this beloved womanbut with the eyes of a real son. It should be remarked here, that thisresolve did not meet her private approbation, as I too well perceived;yet she never employed the least art to make me renounce it either byinsinuating proposals, caresses, or any of those means which women sowell know how to employ without exposing themselves to violent censure, and which seldom fail to succeed. Reduced to seek a fate independent ofhers, and not able to devise one, I passed to the other extreme, placingmy happiness so absolutely in her, that I became almost regardless ofmyself. The ardent desire to see her happy, at any rate, absorbed all myaffections; it was in vain she endeavored to separate her felicity frommine, I felt I had a part in it, spite of every impediment. 

Thus those virtues whose seeds in my heart begun to spring up with mymisfortunes: they had been cultivated by study, and only waited thefermentation of adversity to become prolific. The first-fruit of thisdisinterested disposition was to put from my heart every sentiment ofhatred and envy against him who had supplanted me. I even sincerelywished to attach myself to this young man; to form and educate him; tomake him sensible of his happiness, and, if possible, render him worthyof it; in a word, to do for him what Anet had formerly done for me. Butthe similarity of dispositions was wanting. More insinuating andenlightened than Anet, I possessed neither his coolness, fortitude, norcommanding strength of character, which I must have had in order tosucceed. Neither did the young man possess those qualities which Anetfound in me; such as gentleness, gratitude, and above all, the knowledgeof a want of his instructions, and an ardent desire to render themuseful. All these were wanting; the person I wished to improve, saw inme nothing but an importunate, chattering pedant: while on the contraryhe admired his own importance in the house, measuring the services hethought he rendered by the noise he made, and looking on his saws, hatchets, and pick-axes, as infinitely more useful than all my old books:and, perhaps, in this particular, he might not be altogether blamable;but he gave himself a number of airs sufficient to make anyone die withlaughter. With the peasants he assumed the airs of a country gentleman;presently he did as much with me, and at length with Madam de Warrensherself. His name, Vintzenried, did not appear noble enough, hetherefore changed it to that of Monsieur de Courtilles, and by the latterappellation he was known at Chambery, and in Maurienne, where he married. 

At length this illustrious personage gave himself such airs ofconsequence, that he was everything in the house, and myself nothing. When I had the misfortune to displease him, he scolded Madam de Warrens, and a fear of exposing her to his brutality rendered me subservient toall his whims, so that every time he cleaved wood (an office which heperformed with singular pride) it was necessary I should be an idlespectator and admirer of his prowess. This lad was not, however, of abad disposition; he loved Madam de Warrens, indeed it was impossible todo otherwise; nor had he any aversion even to me, and when he happened tobe out of his airs would listen to our admonitions, and frankly own hewas a fool; yet notwithstanding these acknowledgements his folliescontinued in the same proportion. His knowledge was so contracted, andhis inclinations so mean, that it was useless to reason, and almostimpossible to be pleased with him. Not content with a most charmingwoman, he amused himself with an old red-haired, toothless waiting-maid, whose unwelcome service Madam de Warrens had the patience to endure, though it was absolutely disgusting. I soon perceived this newinclination, and was exasperated at it; but I saw something else, whichaffected me yet more, and made a deeper impression on me than anythinghad hitherto done; this was a visible coldness in the behavior of Madamde Warrens towards me. 

The privation I had imposed on myself, and which she affected to approve, is one of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive. Take themost sensible; the most philosophic female, one the least attached topleasure, and slighting her favors, if within your reach, will be foundthe most unpardonable crime, even though she may care nothing for theman. This rule is certainly without exception; since a sympathy sonatural and ardent was impaired in her, by an abstinence founded only onvirtue, attachment and esteem, I no longer found with her that union ofhearts which constituted all the happiness of mine; she seldom sought mebut when we had occasion to complain of this new-comer, for when theywere agreed, I enjoyed but little of her confidence, and, at length, wasscarcely ever consulted in her affairs. She seemed pleased, indeed, withmy company, but had I passed whole days without seeing her she wouldhardly have missed me. 

Insensibly, I found myself desolate and alone in that house where I hadformerly been the very soul; where, if I may so express myself, I hadenjoyed a double life, and by degrees, I accustomed myself to disregardeverything that, passed, and even those who dwelt there. To avoidcontinual mortifications, I shut myself up with my books, or else weptand sighed unnoticed in the woods. This life soon became insupportable;I felt that the presence of a woman so dear to me, while estranged fromher heart, increased my unhappiness, and was persuaded, that, ceasing tosee her, I should feel myself less cruelly separated. 

I resolved, therefore, to quit the house, mentioned it to her, and she, far from opposing my resolution, approved it. She had an acquaintance atGrenoble, called Madam de Deybens, whose husband was on terms offriendship with Monsieur Malby, chief Provost of Lyons. M. Deybensproposed my educating M. Malby's children; I accepted this offer, anddeparted for Lyons without causing, and almost without feeling, the leastregret at a separation, the bare idea of which, a few months before, would have given us both the most excruciating torments. 

I had almost as much knowledge as was necessary for a tutor, andflattered myself that my method would be unexceptionable; but the year Ipassed at M. Malby's was sufficient to undeceive me in that particular. The natural gentleness of my disposition seemed calculated for theemployment, if hastiness had not been mingled with it. While things wentfavorably, and I saw the pains (which I did not spare) succeed, I was anangel; but a devil when they went contrary. If my pupils did notunderstand me, I was hasty, and when they showed any symptoms of anuntoward disposition, I was so provoked that I could have killed them;which behavior was not likely to render them either good or wise. I hadtwo under my care, and they were of very different tempers. St. Marie, who was between eight and nine years old, had a good person and quickapprehension, was giddy, lively, playful and mischievous; but hismischief was ever good-humored. The younger one, named Condillac, appeared stupid and fretful, was headstrong as a mule, and seemedincapable of instruction. It may be supposed that between both I did notwant employment, yet with patience and temper I might have succeeded;but wanting both, I did nothing worth mentioning, and my pupils profitedvery little. I could only make use of three means, which are very weak, and often pernicious with children; namely, sentiment, reasoning, passion. I sometimes exerted myself so much with St. Marie, that I couldnot refrain from tears, and wished to excite similar sensations in him;as if it was reasonable to suppose a child could be susceptible to suchemotions. Sometimes I exhausted myself in reasoning, as if persuaded hecould comprehend me; and as he frequently formed very subtle arguments, concluded he must be reasonable, because he bid fair to be so good alogician. 

The little Condillac was still more embarrassing; for he neitherunderstood, answered, nor was concerned at anything; he was of anobstinacy beyond belief, and was never happier than when he had succeededin putting me in a rage; then, indeed, he was the philosopher, and I thechild. I was conscious of all my faults, studied the tempers of mypupils, and became acquainted with them; but where was the use of seeingthe evil, without being able to apply a remedy? My penetration wasunavailing, since it never prevented any mischief; and everything Iundertook failed, because all I did to effect my designs was preciselywhat I ought not to have done. 

I was not more fortunate in what had only reference to myself, than inwhat concerned my pupils. Madam Deybens, in recommending me to herfriend Madam de Malby, had requested her to form my manners, and endeavorto give me an air of the world. She took some pains on this account, wishing to teach me how to do the honors of the house; but I was soawkward, bashful, and stupid, that she found it necessary to stop there. This, however, did not prevent me from falling in love with her, according to my usual custom; I even behaved in such a manner, that shecould not avoid observing it; but I never durst declare my passion; andas the lady never seemed in a humor to make advances, I soon became wearyof my sighs and ogling, being convinced they answered no manner ofpurpose. 

I had quite lost my inclination for little thieveries while with Madam deWarrens; indeed, as everything belonged to me, there was nothing tosteal; besides, the elevated notions I had imbibed ought to have renderedme in future above such meanness, and generally speaking they certainlydid so; but this rather proceeded from my having learned to conquertemptations, than having succeeded in rooting out the propensity, and Ishould even now greatly dread stealing, as in my infancy, were I yetsubject to the same inclinations. I had a proof of this at M. Malby's, when, though surrounded by a number of little things that I could easilyhave pilfered, and which appeared no temptation, I took it into my headto covert some white Arbois wine, some glasses of which I had drank attable, and thought delicious. It happened to be rather thick, and as Ifancied myself an excellent finer of wine, I mentioned my skill, and thiswas accordingly trusted to my care, but in attempting to mend, I spoiledit, though to the sight only, for it remained equally agreeable to thetaste. Profiting by this opportunity, I furnished myself from time totime with a few bottles to drink in my own apartment; but unluckily, I could never drink without eating; the difficulty lay therefore, in procuring bread. It was impossible to make a reserve of this article, and to have it brought by the footman was discovering myself, and insulting the master of the house; I could not bear to purchase itmyself; how could a fine gentleman, with a sword at his side, enter abaker's shop to buy a small loaf of bread? it was utterly impossible. At length I recollected the thoughtless saying of a great princess, who, on being informed that the country people had no bread, replied, "Thenlet them eat pastry!" Yet even this resource was attended with adifficulty. I sometimes went out alone for this very purpose, runningover the whole city, and passing thirty pastry cook's shops, withoutdaring to enter any one of them. In the first place, it was necessarythere should be only one person in the shop, and that person'sphysiognomy must be so encouraging as to give me confidence to pass thethreshold; but when once the dear little cake was procured, and I shut upin my chamber with that and a bottle of wine, taken cautiously from thebottom of a cupboard, how much did I enjoy drinking my wine, and readinga few pages of a novel; for when I have no company I always wish to readwhile eating; it seems a substitute for society, and I dispatchalternately a page and a morsel; 'tis indeed, as if my book dined withme. 

I was neither dissolute nor sottish, never in my whole life having beenintoxicated with liquor; my little thefts were not very indiscreet, yetthey were discovered; the bottles betrayed me, and though no notice wastaken of it, I had no longer the management of the cellar. In all thisMonsieur Malby conducted himself with prudence and politeness, beingreally a very deserving man, who, under a manner as harsh as hisemployment, concealed a real gentleness of disposition and uncommongoodness of heart: he was judicious, equitable, and (what would not beexpected from an officer of the Marechausse) very humane. 

Sensible of his indulgence, I became greatly attached to him, which mademy stay at Lyons longer than it would otherwise have been; but at length, disgusted with an employment which I was not calculated for, and asituation of great confinement, consequently disagreeable to me, after ayear's trial, during which time I spared no pains to fulfill myengagement, I determined to quit my pupils; being convinced I shouldnever succeed in educating them properly. Monsieur Malby saw this asclearly as myself, though I am inclined to think he would never havedismissed me had I not spared him the trouble, which was an excess ofcondescension in this particular, that I certainly cannot justify. 

What rendered my situation yet more insupportable was the comparison Iwas continually drawing between the life I now led and that which I hadquitted; the remembrance of my dear Charmettes, my garden, trees, fountain and orchard, but, above all, the company of her who was born togive life and soul to every other enjoyment. On calling to mind ourpleasures and innocent life, I was seized with such oppressions andheaviness of heart, as deprived me of the power of performing anything asit should be. A hundred times was I tempted instantly to set off on footto my dear Madam de Warrens, being persuaded that could I once more seeher, I should be content to die that moment: in fine, I could no longerresist the tender emotions which recalled me back to her, whatever itmight cost me. I accused myself of not having been sufficiently patient, complaisant and kind; concluding I might yet live happily with her on theterms of tender friendship, and by showing more for her than I hadhitherto done. I formed the finest projects in the world, burned toexecute them, left all, renounced everything, departed, fled, andarriving in all the transports of my early youth, found myself once moreat her feet. Alas! I should have died there with joy, had I found inher reception, in her embrace, or in her heart, one-quarter of what I hadformerly found there, and which I yet found the undiminished warmth of. 

Fearful illusions of transitory things, how often dost thou torment us invain! She received me with that excellence of heart which could only diewith her; but I sought the influence there which could never be recalled, and had hardly been half an hour with her before I was once moreconvinced that my former happiness had vanished forever, and that I wasin the same melancholy situation which I had been obliged to fly from;yet without being able to accuse any person with my unhappiness, forCourtilles really was not to blame, appearing to see my return with morepleasure than dissatisfaction. But how could I bear to be a secondaryperson with her to whom I had been everything, and who could never ceasebeing such to me? How could I live an alien in that house where I hadbeen the child? The sight of every object that had been witness to myformer happiness, rendered the comparison yet more distressing; I shouldhave suffered less in any other habitation, for this incessantly recalledsuch pleasing remembrances, that it was irritating the recollection of myloss. 

Consumed with vain regrets, given up to the most gloomy melancholy, Iresumed the custom of remaining alone, except at meals; shut up with mybooks, I sought to give some useful diversion to my ideas, and feelingthe imminent danger of want, which I had so long dreaded, I sought meansto prepare for and receive it, when Madam de Warrens should have no otherresource. I had placed her household on a footing not to become worse;but since my departure everything had been altered. He who now managedher affairs was a spendthrift, and wished to make a great appearance;such as keeping a good horse with elegant trappings; loved to appear gayin the eyes of the neighbors, and was perpetually undertaking somethinghe did not understand. Her pension was taken up in advance, her rent wasin arrears, debts of every kind continued to accumulate; I could plainlyforesee that her pension would be seized, and perhaps suppressed; inshort, I expected nothing but ruin and misfortune, and the momentappeared to approach so rapidly that I already felt all its horrors. 

My closet was my only amusement, and after a tedious search for remediesfor the sufferings of my mind, I determined to seek some against the evilof distressing circumstances, which I daily expected would fall upon us, and returning to my old chimeras, behold me once more building castles inthe air to relieve this dear friend from the cruel extremities into whichI saw her ready to fall. I did not believe myself wise enough to shinein the republic of letters, or to stand any chance of making a fortune bythat means; a new idea, therefore, inspired me with that confidence, which the mediocrity of my talents could not impart. 

In ceasing to teach music I had not abandoned the thoughts of it; on thecontrary, I had studied the theory sufficiently to consider myself wellinformed on the subject. When reflecting on the trouble it had cost meto read music, and the great difficulty I yet experienced in singing atsight, I began to think the fault might as well arise from the manner ofnoting as from my own dulness, being sensible it was an art which mostpeople find difficult to understand. By examining the formation of thesigns, I was convinced they were frequently very ill devised. I hadbefore thought of marking the gamut by figures, to prevent the trouble ofhaving lines to draw, on noting the plainest air; but had been stopped bythe difficulty of the octaves, and by the distinction of measure andquantity: this idea returned again to my mind, and on a careful revisionof it, I found the difficulties by no means insurmountable. I pursued itsuccessfully, and was at length able to note any music whatever byfigures, with the greatest exactitude and simplicity. From this moment Isupposed my fortune made, and in the ardor of sharing it with her to whomI owed everything, thought only of going to Paris, not doubting that onpresenting my project to the Academy, it would be adopted with rapture. I had brought some money from Lyons; I augmented this stock by the saleof my books, and in the course of a fortnight my resolution was bothformed and executed: in short, full of the magnificent ideas it hadinspired, and which were common to me on every occasion, I departed fromSavoy with my new system of music, as I had formerly done from Turin withmy heron-fountain. 

Such have been the errors and faults of my youth; I have related thehistory of them with a fidelity which my heart approves; if my riperyears were dignified with some virtues, I should have related them withthe same frankness; it was my intention to have done this, but I mustforego this pleasing task and stop here. Time, which renders justice tothe characters of most men, may withdraw the veil; and should my memoryreach posterity, they may one day discover what I had to say--they willthen understand why I am now silent. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK VII. 

After two years' silence and patience, and notwithstanding myresolutions, I again take up my pen: Reader, suspend your judgmentas to the reasons which force me to such a step: of these you can be nojudge until you shall have read my book. 

My peaceful youth has been seen to pass away calmly and agreeably withoutany great disappointments or remarkable prosperity. This mediocrity wasmostly owing to my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt in undertakingthan easy to discourage; quitting repose for violent agitations, butreturning to it from lassitude and inclinations, and which, placing me inan idle and tranquil state for which alone I felt I was born, at adistance from the paths of great virtues and still further from those ofgreat vices, never permitted me to arrive at anything great, either goodor bad. What a different account will I soon have to give of myself!Fate, which for thirty years forced my inclinations, for thirty othershas seemed to oppose them; and this continued opposition, between mysituation and inclinations, will appear to have been the source ofenormous faults, unheard of misfortunes, and every virtue except thatfortitude which alone can do honor to adversity. 

The history of the first part of my life was written from memory, and isconsequently full of errors. As I am obliged to write the second partfrom memory also, the errors in it will probably be still more numerous. The agreeable remembrance of the finest portion of my years, passed withso much tranquillity and innocence, has left in my heart a thousandcharming impressions which I love incessantly to call to my recollection. It will soon appear how different from these those of the rest of my lifehave been. To recall them to my mind would be to renew their bitterness. Far from increasing that of my situation by these sorrowful reflections, I repel them as much as possible, and in this endeavor often succeed sowell as to be unable to find them at will. This facility of forgettingmy misfortunes is a consolation which Heaven has reserved to me in themidst of those which fate has one day to accumulate upon my head. Mymemory, which presents to me no objects but such as are agreeable, is thehappy counterpoise of my terrified imagination, by which I foreseenothing but a cruel futurity. 

All the papers I had collected to aid my recollection, and guide me inthis undertaking, are no longer in my possession, nor can I ever againhope to regain them. 

I have but one faithful guide on which I can depend: this is the chain ofthe sentiments by which the succession of my existence has been marked, and by these the events which have been either the cause or the effect ofthe manner of it. I easily forget my misfortunes, but I cannot forget myfaults, and still less my virtuous sentiments. The remembrance of theseis too dear to me ever to suffer them to be effaced from my mind. I mayomit facts, transpose events, and fall into some errors of dates; but Icannot be deceived in what I have felt, nor in that which from sentimentI have done; and to relate this is the chief end of my present work. Thereal object of my confessions is to communicate an exact knowledge ofwhat I interiorly am and have been in every situation of my life. I havepromised the history of my mind, and to write it faithfully I have noneed of other memoirs: to enter into my own heart, as I have hithertodone, will alone be sufficient. 

There is, however, and very happily, an interval of six or seven years, relative to which I have exact references, in a collection of letterscopied from the originals, in the hands of M. Du Peyrou. Thiscollection, which concludes in 1760, comprehends the whole time of myresidence at the hermitage, and my great quarrel with those who calledthemselves my friends; that memorable epocha of my life, and the sourceof all my other misfortunes. With respect to more recent originalletters which may remain in my possession, and are but few in number, instead of transcribing them at the end of this collection, toovoluminous to enable me to deceive the vigilance of my Arguses, I willcopy them into the work whenever they appear to furnish any explanation, be this either for or against myself; for I am not under the leastapprehension lest the reader should forget I make my confession, and beinduced to believe I make my apology; but he cannot expect I shallconceal the truth when it testifies in my favor. 

The second part, it is likewise to be remembered, contains nothing incommon with the first, except truth; nor has any other advantage over it, but the importance of the facts; in everything else, it is inferior tothe former. I wrote the first with pleasure, with satisfaction, and atmy ease, at Wootton, or in the castle Trie: everything I had to recollectwas a new enjoyment. I returned to my closet with an increased pleasure, and, without constraint, gave that turn to my descriptions which mostflattered my imagination. 

At present my head and memory are become so weak as to render me almostincapable of every kind of application: my present undertaking is theresult of constraint, and a heart full of sorrow. I have nothing totreat of but misfortunes, treacheries, perfidies, and circumstancesequally afflicting. I would give the world, could I bury in theobscurity of time, every thing I have to say, and which, in spite ofmyself, I am obliged to relate. I am, at the same time, under thenecessity of being mysterious and subtle, of endeavoring to impose and ofdescending to things the most foreign to my nature. The ceiling underwhich I write has eyes; the walls of my chamber have ears. Surrounded byspies and by vigilant and malevolent inspectors, disturbed, and myattention diverted, I hastily commit to paper a few broken sentences, which I have scarcely time to read, and still less to correct. I knowthat, notwithstanding the barriers which are multiplied around me, myenemies are afraid truth should escape by some little opening. Whatmeans can I take to introduce it to the world? This, however, I attemptwith but few hopes of success. The reader will judge whether or not sucha situation furnishes the means of agreeable descriptions, or of givingthem a seductive coloring! I therefore inform such as may undertake toread this work, that nothing can secure them from weariness in theprosecution of their task, unless it be the desire of becoming more fullyacquainted with a man whom they already know, and a sincere love ofjustice and truth. 

In my first part I brought down my narrative to my departure withinfinite regret from Paris, leaving my heart at Charmettes, and, therebuilding my last castle in the air, intending some day to return to thefeet of mamma, restored to herself, with the treasures I should haveacquired, and depending upon my system of music as upon a certainfortune. 

I made some stay at Lyons to visit my acquaintance, procure letters ofrecommendation to Paris, and to sell my books of geometry which I hadbrought with me. I was well received by all whom I knew. M. And Madamde Malby seemed pleased to see me again, and several times invited me todinner. At their house I became acquainted with the Abbe de Malby, as Ihad already done with the Abbe de Condillac, both of whom were on a visitto their brother. The Abbe de Malby gave me letters to Paris; amongothers, one to M. De Pontenelle, and another to the Comte de Caylus. These were very agreeable acquaintances, especially the first, to whosefriendship for me his death only put a period, and from whom, in ourprivate conversations, I received advice which I ought to have moreexactly followed. 

I likewise saw M. Bordes, with whom I had been long acquainted, and whohad frequently obliged me with the greatest cordiality and the most realpleasure. He it was who enabled me to sell my books; and he also gave mefrom himself good recommendations to Paris. I again saw the intendantfor whose acquaintance I was indebted to M. Bordes, and who introduced meto the Duke de Richelieu, who was then passing through Lyons. M. Pallupresented me. The Duke received me well, and invited me to come and seehim at Paris; I did so several times; although this great acquaintance, of which I shall frequently have occasion to speak, was never of the mosttrifling utility to me. 

I visited the musician David, who, in one of my former journeys, and inmy distress, had rendered me service. He had either lent or given me acap and a pair of stockings, which I have never returned, nor has he everasked me for them, although we have since that time frequently seen eachother. I, however, made him a present, something like an equivalent. I would say more upon this subject, were what I have owned in question;but I have to speak of what I have done, which, unfortunately, is farfrom being the same thing. 

I also saw the noble and generous Perrichon, and not without feeling theeffects of his accustomed munificence; for he made me the same present hehad previously done to the elegant Bernard, by paying for my place in thediligence. I visited the surgeon Parisot, the best and most benevolentof men; as also his beloved Godefroi, who had lived with him ten years, and whose merit chiefly consisted in her gentle manners and goodness ofheart. It was impossible to see this woman without pleasure, or to leaveher without regret. Nothing better shows the inclinations of a man, thanthe nature of his attachments. 

 [Unless he be deceived in his choice, or that she, to whom he attaches himself, changes her character by an extraordinary concurrence of causes, which is not absolutely impossible. Were this consequence to be admitted without modification, Socrates must be judged of by his wife Xantippe, and Dion by his friend Calippus, which would be the most false and iniquitous judgment ever made. However, let no injurious application be here made to my wife. She is weak and more easily deceived than I at first imagined, but by her pure and excellent character she is worthy of all my esteem. ]

Those who had once seen the gentle Godefroi, immediately knew the goodand amiable Parisot. 

I was much obliged to all these good people, but I afterwards neglectedthem all; not from ingratitude, but from that invincible indolence whichso often assumes its appearance. The remembrance of their services hasnever been effaced from my mind, nor the impression they made from myheart; but I could more easily have proved my gratitude, than assiduouslyhave shown them the exterior of that sentiment. Exactitude incorrespondence is what I never could observe; the moment I began torelax, the shame and embarrassment of repairing my fault made meaggravate it, and I entirely desist from writing; I have, therefore, beensilent, and appeared to forget them. Parisot and Perrichon took not theleast notice of my negligence, and I ever found them the same. But, twenty years afterwards it will be seen, in M. Bordes, to what a degreethe self-love of a wit can make him carry his vengeance when he feelshimself neglected. 

Before I leave Lyons, I must not forget an amiable person, whom I againsaw with more pleasure than ever, and who left in my heart the mosttender remembrance. This was Mademoiselle Serre, of whom I have spokenin my first part; I renewed my acquaintance with her whilst I was at M. De Malby's. 

Being this time more at leisure, I saw her more frequently, and she madethe most sensible impressions on my heart. I had some reason to believeher own was not unfavorable to my pretensions; but she honored me withher confidence so far as to remove from me all temptation to allure herpartiality. 

She had no fortune, and in this respect exactly resembled myself; oursituations were too similar to permit us to become united; and with theviews I then had, I was far from thinking of marriage. She gave me tounderstand that a young merchant, one M. Geneve, seemed to wish to obtainher hand. I saw him once or twice at her lodgings; he appeared to me tobe an honest man, and this was his general character. Persuaded shewould be happy with him, I was desirous he should marry her, which heafterwards did; and that I might not disturb their innocent love, I hastened my departure; offering up, for the happiness of that charmingwoman, prayers, which, here below were not long heard. Alas! her timewas very short, for I afterwards heard she died in the second or thirdyear after her marriage. My mind, during the journey, was whollyabsorbed in tender regret. I felt, and since that time, when thesecircumstances have been present to my recollection, have frequently donethe same; that although the sacrifices made to virtue and our duty maysometimes be painful, we are well rewarded by the agreeable remembrancethey leave deeply engravers in our hearts. 

I this time saw Paris in as favorable a point of view as it had appearedto me in an unfavorable one at my first journey; not that my ideas of itsbrilliancy arose from the splendor of my lodgings; for in consequence ofan address given me by M. Bordes, I resided at the Hotel St. Quentin, Ruedes Cordier, near the Sorbonne; a vile street, a miserable hotel, and awretched apartment: but nevertheless a house in which several men ofmerit, such as Gresset, Bordes, Abbe Malby, Condillac, and severalothers, of whom unfortunately I found not one, had taken up theirquarters; but I there met with M. Bonnefond, a man unacquainted with theworld, lame, litigious, and who affected to be a purist. To him I owethe acquaintance of M. Roguin, at present the oldest friend I have and bywhose means I became acquainted with Diderot, of whom I shall soon haveoccasion to say a good deal. 

I arrived at Paris in the autumn of 1741, with fifteen louis in my purse, and with my comedy of Narcissus and my musical project in my pocket. These composed my whole stock; consequently I had not much time to losebefore I attempted to turn the latter to some advantage. I thereforeimmediately thought of making use of my recommendations. 

A young man who arrives at Paris, with a tolerable figure, and announceshimself by his talents, is sure to be well received. This was my goodfortune, which procured me some pleasure without leading to anythingsolid. Of all the persons to whom I was recommended, three only wereuseful to me. M. Damesin, a gentleman of Savoy, at that time equerry, and I believe favorite, of the Princess of Carignan; M. De Boze, Secretary of the Academy of Inscriptions, and keeper of the medals of theking's cabinet; and Father Castel, a Jesuit, author of the 'Clavecinoculaire'. --[ocular harpsichord. ]

All these recommendations, except that to M. Damesin, were given me bythe Abbe de Malby. 

M. Damesin provided me with that which was most needful, by means of twopersons with whom he brought me acquainted. One was M. Gase, 'presidenta mortier' of the parliament of Bordeaux, and who played very well uponthe violin; the other, the Abbe de Leon, who then lodged in the Sorbonne, a young nobleman; extremely amiable, who died in the flower of his age, after having, for a few moments, made a figure in the world under thename of the Chevalier de Rohan. Both these gentlemen had an inclinationto learn composition. In this I gave them lessons for a few months, bywhich means my decreasing purse received some little aid. The Abbe Leonconceived a friendship for me, and wished me to become his secretary; buthe was far from being rich, and all the salary he could offer me waseight hundred livres, which, with infinite regret, I refused; since itwas insufficient to defray the expenses of my lodging, food, andclothing. 

I was well received by M. De Boze. He had a thirst for knowledge, ofwhich he possessed not a little, but was somewhat pedantic. Madam deBoze much resembled him; she was lively and affected. I sometimes dinedwith them, and it is impossible to be more awkward than I was in herpresence. Her easy manner intimidated me, and rendered mine moreremarkable. When she presented me a plate, I modestly put forward myfork to take one of the least bits of what she offered me, which made hergive the plate to her servant, turning her head aside that I might notsee her laugh. She had not the least suspicion that in the head of therustic with whom she was so diverted there was some small portion of wit. M. De Boze presented me to M. De Reaumur, his friend, who came to dinewith him every Friday, the day on which the Academy of Sciences met. Hementioned to him my project, and the desire I had of having it examinedby the academy. M. De Reaumur consented to make the proposal, and hisoffer was accepted. On the day appointed I was introduced and presentedby M. De Reaumur, and on the same day, August 22d, 1742, I had the honorto read to the academy the memoir I had prepared for that purpose. Although this illustrious assembly might certainly well be expected toinspire me with awe, I was less intimidated on this occasion than I hadbeen in the presence of Madam de Boze, and I got tolerably well throughmy reading and the answers I was obliged to give. The memoir was wellreceived, and acquired me some compliments by which I was equallysurprised and flattered, imagining that before such an assembly, whoeverwas not a member of it could not have commonsense. The persons appointedto examine my system were M. Mairan, M. Hellot, and M. De Fouchy, allthree men of merit, but not one of them understood music, at least notenough of composition to enable them to judge of my project. 

During my conference with these gentlemen, I was convinced with no lesscertainty than surprise, that if men of learning have sometimes fewerprejudices than others, they more tenaciously retain those they have. However weak or false most of their objections were, and although Ianswered them with great timidity, and I confess, in bad terms, yet withdecisive reasons, I never once made myself understood, or gave them anyexplanation in the least satisfactory. I was constantly surprised at thefacility with which, by the aid of a few sonorous phrases, they refuted, without having comprehended me. They had learned, I know not where, thata monk of the name of Souhaitti had formerly invented a mode of notingthe gamut by ciphers: a sufficient proof that my system was not new. This might, perhaps, be the case; for although I had never heard ofFather Souhaitti, and notwithstanding his manner of writing the sevennotes without attending to the octaves was not, under any point of view, worthy of entering into competition with my simple and commodiousinvention for easily noting by ciphers every possible kind of music, keys, rests, octaves, measure, time, and length of note; things on whichSouhaitti had never thought it was nevertheless true, that with respectto the elementary expression of the seven notes, he was the firstinventor. 

But besides their giving to this primitive invention more importance thanwas due to it, they went still further, and, whenever they spoke of thefundamental principles of the system, talked nonsense. The greatestadvantage of my scheme was to supersede transpositions and keys, so thatthe same piece of music was noted and transposed at will by means of thechange of a single initial letter at the head of the air. Thesegentlemen had heard from the music--masters of Paris that the method ofexecuting by transposition was a bad one; and on this authority convertedthe most evident advantage of my system into an invincible objectionagainst it, and affirmed that my mode of notation was good for vocalmusic, but bad for instrumental; instead of concluding as they ought tohave done, that it was good for vocal, and still better for instrumental. On their report the academy granted me a certificate full of finecompliments, amidst which it appeared that in reality it judged my systemto be neither new nor useful. I did not think proper to ornament withsuch a paper the work entitled 'Dissertation sur la musique moderne', bywhich I appealed to the public. 

I had reason to remark on this occasion that, even with a narrowunderstanding, the sole but profound knowledge of a thing is preferablefor the purpose of judging of it, to all the lights resulting from acultivation of the sciences, when to these a particular study of that inquestion has not been joined. The only solid objection to my system wasmade by Rameau. I had scarcely explained it to him before he discoveredits weak part. "Your signs, " said he, "are very good inasmuch as theyclearly and simply determine the length of notes, exactly representintervals, and show the simple in the double note, which the commonnotation does not do; but they are objectionable on account of theirrequiring an operation of the mind, which cannot always accompany therapidity of execution. The position of our notes, " continued he, "isdescribed to the eye without the concurrence of this operation. If twonotes, one very high and the other very low, be joined by a series ofintermediate ones, I see at the first glance the progress from one to theother by conjoined degrees; but in your system, to perceive this series, I must necessarily run over your ciphers one after the other; the glanceof the eye is here useless. " The objection appeared to meinsurmountable, and I instantly assented to it. Although it be simpleand striking, nothing can suggest it but great knowledge and practice ofthe art, and it is by no means astonishing that not one of theacademicians should have thought of it. But what creates much surpriseis, that these men of great learning, and who are supposed to possess somuch knowledge, should so little know that each ought to confine hisjudgment to that which relates to the study with which he has beenconversant. 

My frequent visits to the literati appointed to examine my system and theother academicians gave me an opportunity of becoming acquainted with themost distinguished men of letters in Paris, and by this means theacquaintance that would have been the consequence of my sudden admissionamongst them, which afterwards came to pass, was already established. With respect to the present moment, absorbed in my new system of music, I obstinately adhered to my intention of effecting a revolution in theart, and by that means of acquiring a celebrity which, in the fine arts, is in Paris mostly accompanied by fortune. I shut myself in my chamberand labored three or four months with inexpressible ardor, in forminginto a work for the public eye, the memoir I had read before the academy. The difficulty was to find a bookseller to take my manuscript; and thison account of the necessary expenses for new characters, and becausebooksellers give not their money by handfuls to young authors; althoughto me it seemed but just my work should render me the bread I had eatenwhile employed in its composition. 

Bonnefond introduced me to Quillau the father, with whom I agreed todivide the profits, without reckoning the privilege, of which I paid thewhole expense. Such were the future proceedings of this Quillau that Ilost the expenses of my privilege, never having received a farthing fromthat edition; which, probably, had but very middling success, althoughthe Abbe des Fontaines promised to give it celebrity, and, notwithstanding the other journalists, had spoken of it very favorably. 

The greatest obstacle to making the experiment of my system was the fear, in case of its not being received, of losing the time necessary to learnit. To this I answered, that my notes rendered the ideas so clear, thatto learn music by means of the ordinary characters, time would be gainedby beginning with mine. To prove this by experience, I taught musicgratis to a young American lady, Mademoiselle des Roulins, with whom M. Roguin had brought me acquainted. In three months she read every kind ofmusic, by means of my notation, and sung at sight better than I didmyself, any piece that was not too difficult. This success wasconvincing, but not known; any other person would have filled thejournals with the detail, but with some talents for discovering usefulthings, I never have possessed that of setting them off to advantage. 

Thus was my airy castle again overthrown; but this time I was thirtyyears of age, and in Paris, where it is impossible to live for a trifle. The resolution I took upon this occasion will astonish none but those bywhom the first part of these memoirs has not been read with attention. I had just made great and fruitless efforts, and was in need ofrelaxation. Instead of sinking with despair I gave myself up quietly tomy indolence and to the care of Providence; and the better to wait forits assistance with patience, I lay down a frugal plan for the slowexpenditure of a few louis, which still remained in my possession, regulating the expense of my supine pleasures without retrenching it;going to the coffee-house but every other day, and to the theatre buttwice a week. With respect to the expenses of girls of easy virtue, Ihad no retrenchment to make; never having in the whole course of my lifeapplied so much as a farthing to that use except once, of which I shallsoon have occasion to speak. The security, voluptuousness, andconfidence with which I gave myself up to this indolent and solitarylife, which I had not the means of continuing for three months, is one ofthe singularities of my life, and the oddities of my disposition. Theextreme desire I had, the public should think of me was precisely whatdiscouraged me from showing myself; and the necessity of paying visitsrendered them to such a degree insupportable, that I ceased visiting theacademicians and other men of letters, with whom I had cultivated anacquaintance. Marivaux, the Abbe Malby, and Fontenelle, were almost theonly persons whom I sometimes went to see. To the first I showed mycomedy of Narcissus. He was pleased with it, and had the goodness tomake in it some improvements. Diderot, younger than these, was muchabout my own age. He was fond of music, and knew it theoretically; weconversed together, and he communicated to me some of his literaryprojects. This soon formed betwixt us a more intimate connection, whichlasted fifteen years, and which probably would still exist were not I, unfortunately, and by his own fault, of the same profession with himself. 

It would be impossible to imagine in what manner I employed this shortand precious interval which still remained to me, before circumstancesforced me to beg my bread:--in learning by memory passages from the poetswhich I had learned and forgotten a hundred times. Every morning at teno'clock, I went to walk in the Luxembourg with a Virgil and a Rousseau inmy pocket, and there, until the hour of dinner, I passed away the time inrestoring to my memory a sacred ode or a bucolic, without beingdiscouraged by forgetting, by the study of the morning, what I hadlearned the evening before. I recollected that after the defeat ofNicias at Syracuse the captive Athenians obtained a livelihood byreciting the poems of Homer. The use I made of this erudition to wardoff misery was to exercise my happy memory by learning all the poets byrote. 

I had another expedient, not less solid, in the game of chess, to which Iregularly dedicated, at Maugis, the evenings on which I did not go to thetheatre. I became acquainted with M. De Legal, M. Husson, Philidor, andall the great chess players of the day, without making the leastimprovement in the game. However, I had no doubt but, in the end, Ishould become superior to them all, and this, in my own opinion, was asufficient resource. The same manner of reasoning served me in everyfolly to which I felt myself inclined. I said to myself: whoever excelsin anything is sure to acquire a distinguished reception in society. Letus therefore excel, no matter in what, I shall certainly be sought after;opportunities will present themselves, and my own merit will do the rest. This childishness was not the sophism of my reason; it was that of myindolence. Dismayed at the great and rapid efforts which would have beennecessary to call forth my endeavors, I strove to flatter my idleness, and by arguments suitable to the purpose, veiled from my own eyes theshame of such a state. 

I thus calmly waited for the moment when I was to be without money; andhad not Father Castel, whom I sometimes went to see in my way to thecoffee-house, roused me from my lethargy, I believe I should have seenmyself reduced to my last farthing without the least emotion. FatherCastel was a madman, but a good man upon the whole; he was sorry to seeme thus impoverish myself to no purpose. "Since musicians and thelearned, " said he, "do not sing by your scale, change the string, andapply to the women. You will perhaps succeed better with them. I havespoken of you to Madam de Beuzenval; go to her from me; she is a goodwoman who will be glad to see the countryman of her son and husband. Youwill find at her house Madam de Broglie, her daughter, who is a woman ofwit. Madam Dupin is another to whom I also have mentioned you; carry heryour work; she is desirous of seeing you, and will receive you well. Nothing is done in Paris without the women. They are the curves, of whichthe wise are the asymptotes; they incessantly approach each other, butnever touch. "

After having from day to day delayed these very disagreeable steps, I atlength took courage, and called upon Madam de Beuzenval. She received mewith kindness; and Madam de Broglio entering the chamber, she said toher: "Daughter, this is M. Rousseau, of whom Father Castel has spoken tous. " Madam de Broglie complimented me upon my work, and going to herharpsichord proved to me she had already given it some attention. Perceiving it to be about one o'clock, I prepared to take my leave. Madam de Beuzenval said to me: "You are at a great distance from thequarter of the town in which you reside; stay and dine here. " I did notwant asking a second time. A quarter of an hour afterwards, I understood, by a word, that the dinner to which she had invited me wasthat of her servants' hall. Madam de Beuzenval was a very good kind ofwoman, but of a confined understanding, and too full of her illustriousPolish nobility: she had no idea of the respect due to talents. On thisoccasion, likewise, she judged me by my manner rather than by my dress, which, although very plain, was very neat, and by no means announced aman to dine with servants. I had too long forgotten the way to the placewhere they eat to be inclined to take it again. Without suffering myanger to appear, I told Madam de Beuzenval that I had an affair of atrifling nature which I had just recollected obliged me to return home, and I immediately prepared to depart. Madam de Broglie approached hermother, and whispered in her ear a few words which had their effect. Madam de Beuzenval rose to prevent me from going, and said, "I expectthat you will do us the honor to dine with us. " In this case I thoughtto show pride would be a mark of folly, and I determined to stay. Thegoodness of Madam de Broglie had besides made an impression upon me, andrendered her interesting in my eyes. I was very glad to dine with her, and hoped, that when she knew me better, she would not regret havingprocured me that honor. The President de Lamoignon, very intimate in thefamily, dined there also. He, as well as Madam de Broglie, was a masterof all the modish and fashionable small talk jargon of Paris. Poor JeanJacques was unable to make a figure in this way. I had sense enough notto pretend to it, and was silent. Happy would it have been for me, had Ialways possessed the same wisdom; I should not be in the abyss into whichI am now fallen. I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being unable tojustify to Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor. 

After dinner I thought of my ordinary resource. I had in my pocket anepistle in verse, written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons. Thisfragment was not without some fire, which I increased by my manner ofreading, and made them all three shed tears. Whether it was vanity, orreally the truth, I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say toher mother: "Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was fitterto dine with us than with your women?" Until then my heart had beenrather burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied. Madamde Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too far, thoughtI should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become a favorite withfine ladies. To guide my inexperience she gave me the confessions of theCount de -----. "This book, " said she, "is a Mentor, of which you willstand in need in the great world. You will do well by sometimesconsulting it. " I kept the book upwards of twenty years with a sentimentof gratitude to her from whose hand I had received it, although Ifrequently laughed at the opinion the lady seemed to have of my merit ingallantry. From the moment I had read the work, I was desirous ofacquiring the friendship of the author. My inclination led me right; heis the only real friend I ever possessed amongst men of letters. 

 [I have so long been of the same opinion, and so perfectly convinced of its being well founded, that since my return to Paris I confided to him the manuscript of my confessions. The suspicious J. J. Never suspected perfidy and falsehood until he had been their victim. ]

From this time I thought I might depend on the services of Madam theBaroness of Beuzenval, and the Marchioness of Broglie, and that theywould not long leave me without resource. In this I was not deceived. But I must now speak of my first visit to Madam Dupin, which producedmore lasting consequences. 

Madam Dupin was, as every one in Paris knows, the daughter of SamuelBernard and Madam Fontaine. There were three sisters, who might becalled the three graces. Madam de la Touche who played a little prank, and went to England with the Duke of Kingston. Madam Darby, the eldestof the three; the friend, the only sincere friend of the Prince of Conti;an adorable woman, as well by her sweetness and the goodness of hercharming character, as by her agreeable wit and incessant cheerfulness. Lastly, Madam Dupin, more beautiful than either of her sisters, and theonly one who has not been reproached with some levity of conduct. 

She was the reward of the hospitality of M. Dupin, to whom her mothergave her in marriage with the place of farmer general and an immensefortune, in return for the good reception he had given her in hisprovince. When I saw her for the first time, she was still one of thefinest women in Paris. She received me at her toilette, her arms wereuncovered, her hair dishevelled, and her combing-cloth ill-arranged. This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I becameconfused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by MadamDupin. 

My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. Shekindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of myplan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner, and placed me at table by her side. Less than this would have turned mybrain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and I abused thepermission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twiceor thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak, but never daredattempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural timidity. Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, andin my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it againstmyself. 

Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I foundnothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me. Her house, at that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented bysocieties the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composedwere chosen on account of some distinguished merit. She was fond ofseeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men ofletters, and fine women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes, ambassadors, and blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess ofForcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey, passed for her intimate friends. The Abbes de Fontenelle, de SaintPierre, and Saltier, M. De Fourmont, M. De Berms, M. De Buffon, and M. DeVoltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner didnot attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe, asit was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had noreason to flatter himself he should be able to take a distinguished partin the midst of such superior talents. I therefore had not courage tospeak; but no longer able to contain myself, I took a resolution towrite. For the first two days she said not a word to me upon thesubject. On the third day, she returned me my letter, accompanying itwith a few exhortations which froze my blood. I attempted to speak, butmy words expired upon my lips; my sudden passion was extinguished with myhopes, and after a declaration in form I continued to live with her uponthe same terms as before, without so much as speaking to her even by thelanguage of the eyes. 

I thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived. M. De Francueil, son to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much the same withherself and me. He had wit, a good person, and might have pretensions. This was said to be the case, and probably proceeded from hismother-in-law's having given him an ugly wife of a mild disposition, with whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon the best ofterms. M. De Francueil was fond of talents in others, and cultivatedthose he possessed. Music, which he understood very well, was a meansof producing a connection between us. I frequently saw him, and he soongained my friendship. He, however, suddenly gave me to understand thatMadam Dupin thought my visits too frequent, and begged me to discontinuethem. Such a compliment would have been proper when she returned myletter; but eight or ten days afterwards, and without any new cause, itappeared to me ill-timed. This rendered my situation the more singular, as M. And Madam de Francueil still continued to give me the same goodreception as before. 

I however made the intervals between my visits longer, and I shouldentirely have ceased calling on them, had not Madam Dupin, by anotherunexpected caprice, sent to desire I would for a few days take care ofher son, who changing his preceptor, remained alone during that interval. I passed eight days in such torments as nothing but the pleasure ofobeying Madam Dupin could render supportable: I would not have undertakento pass eight other days like them had Madam Dupin given me herself forthe recompense. 

M. De Francueil conceived a friendship for me, and I studied with him. We began together a course of chemistry at Rouelles. That I might benearer at hand, I left my hotel at Quentin, and went to lodge at theTennis Court, Rue Verdelet, which leads into the Rue Platiere, where M. Dupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I contracted aninflammation of the lungs that had liked to have carried me off. In myyounger days I frequently suffered from inflammatory disorders, pleurisies, and especially quinsies, to which I was very subject, andwhich frequently brought me near enough to death to familiarize me to itsimage. 

During my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, andto lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding thefire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in aninactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. The eveningpreceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by Royer;the name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in favor of thetalents of others, which has ever made me distrustful of my own, I stillthought the music feeble, and devoid of animation and invention. Isometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I could do betterthan that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the composition of anopera, and the importance I heard men of the profession affix to such anundertaking, instantly discouraged me, and made me blush at having somuch as thought of it. Besides, where was I to find a person to writethe words, and one who would give himself the trouble of turning thepoetry to my liking? These ideas of music and the opera had possessionof my mind during my illness, and in the delirium of my fever I composedsongs, duets, and choruses. I am certain I composed two or three littlepieces, 'di prima infenzione', perhaps worthy of the admiration ofmasters, could they have heard them executed. Oh, could an account betaken of the dreams of a man in a fever, what great and sublime thingswould sometimes proceed from his delirium!

These subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention during myconvalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and frequentmeditations, and which were often involuntary, and made such animpression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both words and music. This was not the first time I had undertaken so difficult a task. WhilstI was at Chambery I had composed an opera entitled 'Iphis and Anaxarete', which I had the good sense to throw into the fire. At Lyons I hadcomposed another, entitled 'La Decouverte du Nouveau Monde', which, afterhaving read it to M. Bordes, the Abbes Malby, Trublet, and others, hadmet the same fate, notwithstanding I had set the prologue and the firstact to music, and although David, after examining the composition, hadtold me there were passages in it worthy of Buononcini. 

Before I began the work I took time to consider of my plan. In a heroicballet I proposed three different subjects, in three acts, detached fromeach other, set to music of a different character, taking for eachsubject the amours of a poet. I entitled this opera Les Muses Galantes. My first act, in music strongly characterized, was Tasso; the second intender harmony, Ovid; and the third, entitled Anacreon, was to partake ofthe gayety of the dithyrambus. I tried my skill on the first act, andapplied to it with an ardor which, for the first time, made me feel thedelightful sensation produced by the creative power of composition. Oneevening, as I entered the opera, feeling myself strongly incited andoverpowered by my ideas, I put my money again into my pocket, returned tomy apartment, locked the door, and, having close drawn all the curtains, that every ray of light might be excluded, I went to bed, abandoningmyself entirely to this musical and poetical 'oestrum', and in seven oreight hours rapidly composed the greatest part of an act. I can trulysay my love for the Princess of Ferrara (for I was Tasso for the moment)and my noble and lofty sentiment with respect to her unjust brother, procured me a night a hundred times more delicious than one passed in thearms of the princess would have been. In the morning but a very littleof what I had done remained in my head, but this little, almost effacedby sleep and lassitude, still sufficiently evinced the energy of thepieces of which it was the scattered remains. 

I this time did, not proceed far with my undertaking, being interruptedby other affairs. Whilst I attached myself to the family of Dupin, Madamde Beuzenval and Madam de Broglie, whom I continued to visit, had notforgotten me. The Count de Montaigu, captain in the guards, had justbeen appointed ambassador to Venice. He was an ambassador made byBarjac, to whom he assiduously paid his court. His brother, theChevalier de Montaigu, 'gentilhomme de la manche' to the dauphin, wasacquainted with these ladies, and with the Abbe Alary of the Frenchacademy, whom I sometimes visited. Madam de Broglie having heard theambassador was seeking a secretary, proposed me to him. A conference wasopened between us. I asked a salary of fifty guineas, a trifle for anemployment which required me to make some appearance. The ambassador wasunwilling to give more than a thousand livres, leaving me to make thejourney at my own expense. The proposal was ridiculous. We could notagree, and M. De Francueil, who used all his efforts to prevent mydeparture, prevailed. 

I stayed, and M. De Montaigu set out on his journey, taking with himanother secretary, one M. Follau, who had been recommended to him by theoffice of foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice than theyquarrelled. Bollau perceiving he had to do with a madman, left himthere, and M. De Montaigu having nobody with him, except a young abbe ofthe name of Binis, who wrote under the secretary, and was unfit tosucceed him, had recourse to me. The chevalier, his brother, a man ofwit, by giving me to understand there were advantages annexed to theplace of secretary, prevailed upon me to accept the thousand livres. I was paid twenty louis in advance for my journey, and immediatelydeparted. 

At Lyons I would most willingly have taken the road to Mount Cenis, tosee my poor mamma. But I went down the Rhone, and embarked at Toulon, aswell on account of the war, and from a motive of economy, as to obtain apassport from M. De Mirepoix, who then commanded in Provence, and to whomI was recommended. M. De Montaigu not being able to do without me, wroteletter after letter, desiring I would hasten my journey; this, however, an accident considerably prolonged. 

It was at the time of the plague at Messina, and the English fleet hadanchored there, and visited the Felucca, on board of which I was, andthis circumstance subjected us, on our arrival, after a long anddifficult voyage, to a quarantine of one--and--twenty days. 

The passengers had the choice of performing it on board or in theLazaretto, which we were told was not yet furnished. They all chose theFelucca. The insupportable heat, the closeness of the vessel, theimpossibility of walking in it, and the vermin with which it swarmed, made me at all risks prefer the Lazaretto. I was therefore conducted toa large building of two stories, quite empty, in which I found neitherwindow, bed, table, nor chair, not so much as even a joint-stool orbundle of straw. My night sack and my two trunks being brought me, I wasshut in by great doors with huge locks, and remained at full liberty towalk at my ease from chamber to chamber and story to story, everywherefinding the same solitude and nakedness. 

This, however, did not induce me to repent that I had preferred theLazaretto to the Felucca; and, like another Robinson Crusoe, I began toarrange myself for my one-and twenty days, just as I should have done formy whole life. In the first place, I had the amusement of destroying thevermin I had caught in the Felucca. As soon as I had got clear of these, by means of changing my clothes and linen, I proceeded to furnish thechamber I had chosen. I made a good mattress with my waistcoats andshirts; my napkins I converted, by sewing them together, into sheets; myrobe de chambre into a counterpane; and my cloak into a pillow. I mademyself a seat with one of my trunks laid flat, and a table with theother. I took out some writing paper and an inkstand, and distributed, in the manner of a library, a dozen books which I had with me. In aword, I so well arranged my few movables, that except curtains andwindows, I was almost as commodiously lodged in this Lazeretto, absolutely empty as it was, as I had been at the Tennis Court in the RueVerdelet. My dinners were served with no small degree of pomp; they wereescorted by two grenadiers with bayonets fixed; the staircase was mydining--room, the landing-place my table, and the steps served me for aseat; and as soon as my dinner was served up a little bell was rung toinform me I might sit down to table. 

Between my repasts, when I did not either read or write or work at thefurnishing of my apartment, I went to walk in the burying-ground of theProtestants, which served me as a courtyard. From this place I ascendedto a lanthorn which looked into the harbor, and from which I could seethe ships come in and go out. In this manner I passed fourteen days, andshould have thus passed the whole time of the quarantine without theleast weariness had not M. Joinville, envoy from France, to whom I foundmeans to send a letter, vinegared, perfumed, and half burnt, procuredeight days of the time to be taken off: these I went and spent at hishouse, where I confess I found myself better lodged than in theLazaretto. He was extremely civil to me. Dupont, his secretary, was agood creature: he introduced me, as well at Genoa as in the country, toseveral families, the company of which I found very entertaining andagreeable; and I formed with him an acquaintance and a correspondencewhich we kept up for a considerable length of time. I continued myjourney, very agreeably, through Lombardy. I saw Milan, Verona, Brescie, and Padua, and at length arrived at Venice, where I was impatientlyexpected by the ambassador. 

I found there piles of despatches, from the court and from otherambassadors, the ciphered part of which he had not been able to read, although he had all the ciphers necessary for that purpose, never havingbeen employed in any office, nor even seen the cipher of a minister. Iwas at first apprehensive of meeting with some embarrassment; but I foundnothing could be more easy, and in less than a week I had deciphered thewhole, which certainly was not worth the trouble; for not to mention thelittle activity required in the embassy of Venice, it was not to such aman as M. De Montaigu that government would confide a negotiation of eventhe most trifling importance. Until my arrival he had been muchembarrassed, neither knowing how to dictate nor to write legibly. I wasvery useful to him, of which he was sensible; and he treated me well. Tothis he was also induced by another motive. Since the time of M. DeFroulay, his predecessor, whose head became deranged, the consul fromFrance, M. Le Blond, had been charged with the affairs of the embassy, and after the arrival of M. De Montaigu, continued to manage them untilhe had put him into the track. M. De Montaigu, hurt at this discharge ofhis duty by another, although he himself was incapable of it, becamedisgusted with the consul, and as soon as I arrived deprived him of thefunctions of secretary to the embassy to give them to me. They wereinseparable from the title, and he told me to take it. As long as Iremained with him he never sent any person except myself under this titleto the senate, or to conference, and upon the whole it was natural enoughhe should prefer having for secretary to the embassy a man attached tohim, to a consul or a clerk of office named by the court. 

This rendered my situation very agreeable, and prevented his gentlemen, who were Italians, as well as his pages, and most of his suite fromdisputing precedence with me in his house. I made an advantageous use ofthe authority annexed to the title he had conferred upon me, bymaintaining his right of protection, that is, the freedom of hisneighborhood, against the attempts several times made to infringe it;a privilege which his Venetian officers took no care to defend. But I never permitted banditti to take refuge there, although this wouldhave produced me advantages of which his excellency would not havedisdained to partake. He thought proper, however, to claim a part ofthose of the secretaryship, which is called the chancery. It was in timeof war, and there were many passports issued. For each of thesepassports a sequin was paid to the secretary who made it out andcountersigned it. All my predecessors had been paid this sequin byFrenchmen and others without distinction. I thought this unjust, andalthough I was not a Frenchman, I abolished it in favor of the French;but I so rigorously demanded my right from persons of every other nation, that the Marquis de Scotti, brother to the favorite of the Queen ofSpain, having asked for a passport without taking notice of the sequin: Isent to demand it; a boldness which the vindictive Italian did notforget. As soon as the new regulation I had made, relative to passports, was known, none but pretended Frenchmen, who in a gibberish the mostmispronounced, called themselves Provencals, Picards, or Burgundians, came to demand them. My ear being very fine, I was not thus made a dupe, and I am almost persuaded that not a single Italian ever cheated me of mysequin, and that not one Frenchman ever paid it. I was foolish enough totell M. De Montaigu, who was ignorant of everything that passed, what Ihad done. The word sequin made him open his ears, and without giving mehis opinion of the abolition of that tax upon the French, he pretended Iought to account with him for the others, promising me at the same timeequivalent advantages. More filled with indignation at this meanness, than concern for my own interest, I rejected his proposal. He insisted, and I grew warm. "No, sir, " said I, with some heat, "your excellency maykeep what belongs to you, but do not take from me that which is mine; Iwill not suffer you to touch a penny of the perquisites arising frompassports. " Perceiving he could gain nothing by these means he hadrecourse to others, and blushed not to tell me that since I hadappropriated to myself the profits of the chancery, it was but just Ishould pay the expenses. I was unwilling to dispute upon this subject, and from that time I furnished at my own expense, ink, paper, wax, wax-candle, tape, and even a new seal, for which he never reimbursed meto the amount of a farthing. This, however, did not prevent my giving asmall part of the produce of the passports to the Abbe de Binis, a goodcreature, and who was far from pretending to have the least right to anysuch thing. If he was obliging to me my politeness to him was anequivalent, and we always lived together on the best of terms. 

On the first trial I made of his talents in my official functions, I found him less troublesome than I expected he would have been, considering he was a man without experience, in the service of anambassador who possessed no more than himself, and whose ignorance andobstinacy constantly counteracted everything with which common-sense andsome information inspired me for his service and that of the king. Thenext thing the ambassador did was to connect himself with the MarquisMari, ambassador from Spain, an ingenious and artful man, who, had hewished so to do, might have led him by the nose, yet on account of theunion of the interests of the two crowns he generally gave him goodadvice, which might have been of essential service, had not the other, byjoining his own opinion, counteracted it in the execution. The onlybusiness they had to conduct in concert with each other was to engage theVenetians to maintain their neutrality. These did not neglect to givethe strongest assurances of their fidelity to their engagement at thesame time that they publicly furnished ammunition to the Austrian troops, and even recruits under pretense of desertion. M. De Montaigu, who Ibelieve wished to render himself agreeable to the republic, failed not onhis part, notwithstanding my representation to make me assure thegovernment in all my despatches, that the Venetians would never violatean article of the neutrality. The obstinacy and stupidity of this poorwretch made me write and act extravagantly: I was obliged to be the agentof his folly, because he would have it so, but he sometimes rendered myemployment insupportable and the functions of it almost impracticable. For example, he insisted on the greatest part of his despatches to theking, and of those to the minister, being written in cipher, althoughneither of them contained anything that required that precaution. Irepresented to him that between the Friday, the day the despatches fromthe court arrived, and Saturday, on which ours were sent off, there wasnot sufficient time to write so much in cipher, and carry on theconsiderable correspondence with which I was charged for the samecourier. He found an admirable expedient, which was to prepare onThursday the answer to the despatches we were expected to receive on thenext day. This appeared to him so happily imagined, that notwithstandingall I could say on the impossibility of the thing, and the absurdity ofattempting its execution, I was obliged to comply during the whole time Iafterwards remained with him, after having made notes of the few loosewords he spoke to me in the course of the week, and of some trivialcircumstances which I collected by hurrying from place to place. Provided with these materials I never once failed carrying to him on theThursday morning a rough draft of the despatches which were to be sentoff on Saturday, excepting the few additions and corrections I hastilymade in answer to the letters which arrived on the Friday, and to whichours served for answer. He had another custom, diverting enough andwhich made his correspondence ridiculous beyond imagination. He sentback all information to its respective source, instead of making itfollow its course. To M. Amelot he transmitted the news of the court; toM. Maurepas, that of Paris; to M. D' Havrincourt, the news from Sweden;to M. De Chetardie, that from Petersbourg; and sometimes to each of thosethe news they had respectively sent to him, and which I was employed todress up in terms different from those in which it was conveyed to us. As he read nothing of what I laid before him, except the despatches forthe court, and signed those to other ambassadors without reading them, this left me more at liberty to give what turn I thought proper to thelatter, and in these therefore I made the articles of information crosseach other. But it was impossible for-me to do the same by despatches ofimportance; and I thought myself happy when M. De Montaigu did not takeit into his head to cram into them an impromptu of a few lines after hismanner. This obliged me to return, and hastily transcribe the wholedespatch decorated with his new nonsense, and honor it with the cipher, without which he would have refused his signature. I was frequentlyalmost tempted, for the sake of his reputation, to cipher somethingdifferent from what he had written, but feeling that nothing couldauthorize such a deception, I left him to answer for his own folly, satisfying myself with having spoken to him with freedom, and dischargedat my own peril the duties of my station. This is what I always did withan uprightness, a zeal and courage, which merited on his part a verydifferent recompense from that which in the end I received from him. Itwas time I should once be what Heaven, which had endowed me with a happydisposition, what the education that had been given me by the best ofwomen, and that I had given myself, had prepared me for, and I became so. Left to my own reflections, without a friend or advice, withoutexperience, and in a foreign country, in the service of a foreign nation, surrounded by a crowd of knaves, who, for their own interest, and toavoid the scandal of good example, endeavored to prevail upon me toimitate them; far from yielding to their solicitations, I served Francewell, to which I owed nothing, and the ambassador still better, as it wasright and just I should do to the utmost of my power. Irreproachable ina post, sufficiently exposed to censure, I merited and obtained theesteem of the republic, that of all the ambassadors with whom we were incorrespondence, and the affection of the French who resided at Venice, not even excepting the consul, whom with regret I supplanted in thefunctions which I knew belonged to him, and which occasioned me moreembarrassment than they afforded me satisfaction. 

M. De Montaigu, confiding without reserve to the Marquis Mari, who didnot thoroughly understand his duty, neglected it to such a degree thatwithout me the French who were at Venice would not have perceived that anambassador from their nation resided there. Always put off without beingheard when they stood in need of his protection, they became disgustedand no longer appeared in his company or at his table, to which indeed henever invited them. I frequently did from myself what it was his duty tohave done; I rendered to the French, who applied to me, all the servicesin my power. In any other country I should have done more, but, onaccount of my employment, not being able to see persons in place, I wasoften obliged to apply to the consul, and the consul, who was settled inthe country with his family, had many persons to oblige, which preventedhim from acting as he otherwise would have done. However, perceiving himunwilling and afraid to speak, I ventured hazardous measures, whichsometimes succeeded. I recollect one which still makes me laugh. Noperson would suspect it was to me, the lovers of the theatre at Paris, owe Coralline and her sister Camille, nothing however, can be more true. Veronese, their father, had engaged himself with his children in theItalian company, and after having received two thousand livres for theexpenses of his journey, instead of setting out for France, quietlycontinued at Venice, and accepted an engagement in the theatre of SaintLuke, to which Coralline, a child as she still was, drew great numbers ofpeople. The Duke de Greves, as first gentleman of the chamber, wrote tothe ambassador to claim the father and the daughter. M. De Montaigu whenhe gave me the letter, confined his instructions to saying, 'voyez cela', examine and pay attention to this. I went to M. Blond to beg he wouldspeak to the patrician, to whom the theatre belonged, and who, I believe, was named Zustinian, that he might discharge Veronese, who had engaged inthe name of the king. Le Blond, to whom the commission was not veryagreeable, executed it badly. 

Zustinian answered vaguely, and Veronese was not discharged. I waspiqued at this. It was during the carnival, and having taken the bahuteand a mask, I set out for the palace Zustinian. Those who saw my gondolaarrive with the livery of the ambassador, were lost in astonishment. Venice had never seen such a thing. I entered, and caused myself to beannounced by the name of 'Una Siora Masehera'. As soon as I wasintroduced I took off my mask and told my name. The senator turned paleand appeared stupefied with surprise. "Sir;" said I to him in Venetian, "it is with much regret I importune your excellency with this visit; butyou have in your theatre of Saint Luke, a man of the name of Veronese, who is engaged in the service of the king, and whom you have beenrequested, but in vain, to give up: I come to claim him in the name ofhis majesty. " My short harangue was effectual. I had no sooner left thepalace than Zustinian ran to communicate the adventure to the stateinquisitors, by whom he was severely reprehended. Veronese wasdischarged the same day. I sent him word that if he did not set offwithin a week I would have him arrested. He did not wait for my givinghim this intimation a second time. 

On another occasion I relieved from difficulty solely by my own means, and almost without the assistance of any other person, the captain of amerchant-ship. This was one Captain Olivet, from Marseilles; the name ofthe vessel I have forgotten. His men had quarreled with the Sclavoniansin the service of the republic, some violence had been committed, and thevessel was under so severe an embargo that nobody except the master wassuffered to go on board or leave it without permission. He applied tothe ambassador, who would hear nothing he had to say. He afterwards wentto the consul, who told him it was not an affair of commerce, and that hecould not interfere in it. Not knowing what further steps to take heapplied to me. I told M. De Montaigu he ought to permit me to lay beforethe senate a memoir on the subject. I do not recollect whether or not heconsented, or that I presented the memoir; but I perfectly remember thatif I did it was ineffectual, and the embargo still continuing, I tookanother method, which succeeded. I inserted a relation of the affairs inone of our letters to M. De Maurepas, though I had difficulty inprevailing upon M. De Montaigne to suffer the article to pass. 

I knew that our despatches, although their contents were insignificant, were opened at Venice. Of this I had a proof by finding the articlesthey contained, verbatim in the gazette, a treachery of which I had invain attempted to prevail upon the ambassador to complain. My object inspeaking of the affair in the letter was to turn the curiosity of theministers of the republic to advantage, to inspire them with someapprehensions, and to induce the state to release the vessel: for had itbeen necessary to this effect to wait for an answer from the court, thecaptain would have been ruined before it could have arrived. I did stillmore, I went alongside the vessel to make inquiries of the ship'scompany. I took with me the Abbe Patizel, chancellor of the consulship, who would rather have been excused, so much were these poor creaturesafraid of displeasing the Senate. As I could not go on board, on accountof the order from the states, I remained in my gondola, and there tookthe depositions successively, interrogating each of the mariners, anddirecting my questions in such a manner as to produce answers which mightbe to their advantage. I wished to prevail upon Patizel to put thequestions and take depositions himself, which in fact was more hisbusiness than mine; but to this he would not consent; he never onceopened his mouth and refused to sign the depositions after me. Thisstep, somewhat bold, was however, successful, and the vessel was releasedlong before an answer came from the minister. The captain wished to makeme a present; but without being angry with him on that account, I tappedhim on the shoulder, saying, "Captain Olivet, can you imagine that he whodoes not receive from the French his perquisite for passports, which hefound his established right, is a man likely to sell them the king'sprotection?" He, however, insisted on giving me a dinner on board hisvessel, which I accepted, and took with me the secretary to the Spanishembassy, M. Carrio, a man of wit and amiable manners, to partake of it:he has since been secretary to the Spanish embassy at Paris and chargedes affaires. I had formed an intimate connection with him after theexample of our ambassadors. 

Happy should I have been, if, when in the most disinterested manner I didall the service I could, I had known how to introduce sufficient orderinto all these little details, that I might not have served others at myown expense. But in employments similar to that I held, in which themost trifling faults are of consequence, my whole attention was engagedin avoiding all such mistakes as might be detrimental to my service. Iconducted, till the last moment, everything relative to my immediateduty, with the greatest order and exactness. Excepting a few errorswhich a forced precipitation made me commit in ciphering, and of whichthe clerks of M. Amelot once complained, neither the ambassador nor anyother person had ever the least reason to reproach me with negligence inany one of my functions. This is remarkable in a man so negligent as Iam. But my memory sometimes failed me, and I was not sufficientlycareful in the private affairs with which I was charged; however, a loveof justice always made me take the loss on myself, and this voluntarily, before anybody thought of complaining. I will mention but onecircumstance of this nature; it relates to my departure from Venice, andI afterwards felt the effects of it in Paris. 

Our cook, whose name was Rousselot, had brought from France an old notefor two hundred livres, which a hairdresser, a friend of his, hadreceived from a noble Venetian of the name of Zanetto Nani, who had hadwigs of him to that amount. Rousselot brought me the note, begging Iwould endeavor to obtain payment of some part of it, by way ofaccommodation. I knew, and he knew it also, that the constant custom ofnoble Venetians was, when once returned to their country, never to paythe debts they had contracted abroad. When means are taken to force themto payment, the wretched creditor finds so many delays, and incurs suchenormous expenses, that he becomes disgusted and concludes by giving uphis debtor accepting the most trifling composition. I begged M. Le Blondto speak to Zanetto. The Venetian acknowledged the note, but did notagree to payment. After a long dispute he at length promised threesequins; but when Le Blond carried him the note even these were notready, and it was necessary to wait. In this interval happened myquarrel with the ambassador and I quitted his service. I had left thepapers of the embassy in the greatest order, but the note of Rousselotwas not to be found. M. Le Blond assured me he had given it me back. Iknew him to be too honest a man to have the least doubt of the matter;but it was impossible for me to recollect what I had done with it. AsZanetto had acknowledged the debt, I desired M. Le Blond to endeavor toobtain from him the three sequins on giving him a receipt for the amount, or to prevail upon him to renew the note by way of duplicate. Zanetto, knowing the note to be lost, would not agree to either. I offeredRousselot the three sequins from my own purse, as a discharge of thedebt. He refused them, and said I might settle the matter with thecreditor at Paris, of whom he gave me the address. The hair-dresser, having been informed of what had passed, would either have his note orthe whole sum for which it was given. What, in my indignation, would Ihave given to have found this vexatious paper! I paid the two hundredlivres, and that in my greatest distress. In this manner the loss of thenote produced to the creditor the payment of the whole sum, whereas hadit, unfortunately for him, been found, he would have had some difficultyin recovering even the ten crowns, which his excellency, Zanetto Nani, had promised to pay. 

The talents I thought I felt in myself for my employment made medischarge the functions of it with satisfaction, and except the societyof my friend de Carrio, that of the virtuous Altuna, of whom I shall soonhave an occasion to speak, the innocent recreations of the place SaintMark, of the theatre, and of a few visits which we, for the most part, made together, my only pleasure was in the duties of my station. Although these were not considerable, especially with the aid of the Abbede Binis, yet as the correspondence was very extensive and there was awar, I was a good deal employed. I applied to business the greatest partof every morning, and on the days previous to the departure of thecourier, in the evenings, and sometimes till midnight. The rest of mytime I gave to the study of the political professions I had entered upon, and in which I hoped, from my successful beginning, to be advantageouslyemployed. In fact I was in favor with every one; the ambassador himselfspoke highly of my services, and never complained of anything I did forhim; his dissatisfaction proceeded from my having insisted on quittinghim, inconsequence of the useless complaints I had frequently made onseveral occasions. The ambassadors and ministers of the king with whomwe were in correspondence complimented him on the merit of his secretary, in a manner by which he ought to have been flattered, but which in hispoor head produced quite a contrary effect. He received one inparticular relative to an affair of importance, for which he neverpardoned me. 

He was so incapable of bearing the least constraint, that on theSaturday, the day of the despatches for most of the courts he could notcontain himself, and wait till the business was done before he went out, and incessantly pressing me to hasten the despatches to the king andministers, he signed them with precipitation, and immediately went I knownot where, leaving most of the other letters without signing; thisobliged me, when these contained nothing but news, to convert them intojournals; but when affairs which related to the king were in question itwas necessary somebody should sign, and I did it. This once happenedrelative to some important advice we had just received from M. Vincent, charge des affaires from the king, at Vienna. The Prince Lobkowitz wasthen marching to Naples, and Count Gages had just made the most memorableretreat, the finest military manoeuvre of the whole century, of whichEurope has not sufficiently spoken. The despatch informed us that a man, whose person M. Vincent described, had set out from Vienna, and was topass by Venice, in his way into Abruzzo, where he was secretly to stir upthe people at the approach of the Austrians. 

In the absence of M. Le Comte de Montaigu, who did not give himself theleast concern about anything, I forwarded this advice to the Marquis del'Hopital, so apropos, that it is perhaps to the poor Jean Jacques, soabused and laughed at, that the house of Bourbon owes the preservation ofthe kingdom of Naples. 

The Marquis de l'Hopital, when he thanked his colleague, as it was properhe should do, spoke to him of his secretary, and mentioned the service hehad just rendered to the common cause. The Comte de Montaigu, who inthat affair had to reproach himself with negligence, thought he perceivedin the compliment paid him by M. De l'Hopital, something like a reproach, and spoke of it to me with signs of ill-humor. I found it necessary toact in the same manner with the Count de Castellane, ambassador atConstantinople, as I had done with the Marquis de l'Hopital, although inthings of less importance. As there was no other conveyance toConstantinople than by couriers, sent from time to time by the senate toits Bailli, advice of their departure was given to the ambassador ofFrance, that he might write by them to his colleague, if he thoughtproper so to do. This advice was commonly sent a day or two beforehand;but M. De Montaigu was held in so little respect, that merely for thesake of form he was sent to, a couple of hours before the couriers setoff. This frequently obliged me to write the despatch in his absence. M. De Castellane, in his answer made honorable mention of me; M. DeJonville, at Genoa, did the same, and these instances of their regard andesteem became new grievances. 

I acknowledge I did not neglect any opportunity of making myself known;but I never sought one improperly, and in serving well I thought I had aright to aspire to the natural return for essential services; the esteemof those capable of judging of, and rewarding them. I will not saywhether or not my exactness in discharging the duties of my employmentwas a just subject of complaint from the ambassador; but I cannot refrainfrom declaring that it was the sole grievance he ever mentioned previousto our separation. 

His house, which he had never put on a good footing, was constantlyfilled with rabble; the French were ill-treated in it, and the ascendancywas given to the Italians; of these even, the more honest part, they whohad long been in the service of the embassy, were indecently discharged, his first gentleman in particular, whom he had taken from the Comte deFroulay, and who, if I remember right, was called Comte de Peati, orsomething very like that name. The second gentleman, chosen by M. DeMontaigu, was an outlaw highwayman from Mantua, called Dominic Vitali, towhom the ambassador intrusted the care of his house, and who had by meansof flattery and sordid economy, obtained his confidence, and became hisfavorite to the great prejudice of the few honest people he still hadabout him, and of the secretary who was at their head. The countenanceof an upright man always gives inquietude to knaves. Nothing more wasnecessary to make Vitali conceive a hatred against me: but for thissentiment there was still another cause which rendered it more cruel. Ofthis I must give an account, that I may be condemned if I am found in thewrong. 

The ambassador had, according to custom, a box at each of the theaters. Every day at dinner he named the theater to which it was his intention togo: I chose after him, and the gentlemen disposed of the other boxes. When I went out I took the key of the box I had chosen. One day, Vitalinot being in the way, I ordered the footman who attended on me, to bringme the key to a house which I named to him. Vitali, instead of sendingthe key, said he had disposed of it. I was the more enraged at this asthe footman delivered his message in public. In the evening Vitaliwished to make me some apology, to which however I would not listen. "To--morrow, sir, " said I to him, "you will come at such an hour andapologize to me in the house where I received the affront, and in thepresence of the persons who were witnesses to it; or after to--morrow, whatever may be the consequences, either you or I will leave the house. "This firmness intimidated him. He came to the house at the hourappointed, and made me a public apology, with a meanness worthy ofhimself. But he afterwards took his measures at leisure, and at the sametime that he cringed to me in public, he secretly acted in so vile amanner, that although unable to prevail on the ambassador to give me mydismission, he laid me under the necessity of resolving to leave him. 

A wretch like him, certainly, could not know me, but he knew enough of mycharacter to make it serviceable to his purposes. He knew I was mild toan excess, and patient in bearing involuntary wrongs; but haughty andimpatient when insulted with premeditated offences; loving decency anddignity in things in which these were requisite, and not more exact inrequiring the respect due to myself, than attentive in rendering thatwhich I owed to others. In this he undertook to disgust me, and in thishe succeeded. He turned the house upside down, and destroyed the orderand subordination I had endeavored to establish in it. A house without awoman stands in need of rather a severe discipline to preserve thatmodesty which is inseparable from dignity. He soon converted ours into aplace of filthy debauch and scandalous licentiousness, the haunt ofknaves and debauchees. He procured for second gentleman to hisexcellency, in the place of him whom he got discharged, another pimp likehimself, who kept a house of ill--fame, at the Cross of Malta; and theindecency of these two rascals was equalled by nothing but theirinsolence. Except the bed-chamber of the ambassador, which, however, wasnot in very good order, there was not a corner in the whole housesupportable to an modest man. 

As his excellency did not sup, the gentleman and myself had a privatetable, at which the Abbe Binis and the pages also eat. In the mostpaltry ale-house people are served with more cleanliness and decency, have cleaner linen, and a table better supplied. We had but one littleand very filthy candle, pewter plates, and iron forks. 

I could have overlooked what passed in secret, but I was deprived of mygondola. I was the only secretary to an ambassador, who was obliged tohire one or go on foot, and the livery of his excellency no longeraccompanied me, except when I went to the senate. Besides, everythingwhich passed in the house was known in the city. All those who were inthe service of the other ambassadors loudly exclaimed; Dominic, the onlycause of all, exclaimed louder than anybody, well knowing the indecencywith which we were treated was more affecting to me than to any otherperson. Though I was the only one in the house who said nothing of thematter abroad, I complained loudly of it to the ambassador, as well as ofhimself, who, secretly excited by the wretch, entirely devoted to hiswill, daily made me suffer some new affront. Obliged to spend a gooddeal to keep up a footing with those in the same situation with myself, and to make are appearance proper to my employment, I could not touch afarthing of my salary, and when I asked him for money, he spoke of hisesteem for me, and his confidence, as if either of these could havefilled my purse, and provided for everything. 

These two banditti at length quite turned the head of their master, whonaturally had not a good one, and ruined him by a continual traffic, andby bargains, of which he was the dupe, whilst they persuaded him theywere greatly in his favor. They persuaded him to take upon the Brenta, aPalazzo, at twice the rent it was worth, and divided the surplus with theproprietor. The apartments were inlaid with mosaic, and ornamented withcolumns and pilasters, in the taste of the country. M. De Montaigu, hadall these superbly masked by fir wainscoting, for no other reason thanbecause at Paris apartments were thus fitted up. It was for a similarreason that he only, of all the ambassadors who were at Venice, took fromhis pages their swords, and from his footmen their canes. Such was theman, who, perhaps from the same motive took a dislike to me on account ofmy serving him faithfully. 

I patiently endured his disdain, his brutality, and ill-treatment, aslong as, perceiving them accompanied by ill-humor, I thought they had inthem no portion of hatred; but the moment I saw the design formed ofdepriving me of the honor I merited by my faithful services, I resolvedto resign my employment. The first mark I received of his ill will wasrelative to a dinner he was to give to the Duke of Modena and his family, who were at Venice, and at which he signified to me I should not bepresent. I answered, piqued, but not angry, that having the honor dailyto dine at his table, if the Duke of Modena, when he came, required Ishould not appear at it, my duty as well as the dignity of his excellencywould not suffer me to consent to such a request. "How;" said hepassionately, "my secretary, who is not a gentleman, pretends to dinewith a sovereign when my gentlemen do not!" "Yes, sir, " replied I, "thepost with which your excellency has honored me, as long as I dischargethe functions of it, so far ennobles me that my rank is superior to thatof your gentlemen or of the persons calling themselves such; and I amadmitted where they cannot appear. You cannot but know that on the dayon which you shall make your public entry, I am called to the ceremony byetiquette; and by an immemorial custom, to follow you in a dress ofceremony, and afterwards to dine with you at the palace of St. Mark; andI know not why a man who has a right and is to eat in public with thedoge and the senate of Venice should not eat in private with the Duke ofModena. " Though this argument was unanswerable, it did not convince theambassador; but we had no occasion to renew the dispute, as the Duke ofModena did not come to dine with him. 

From that moment he did everything in his power to make thingsdisagreeable to me; and endeavored unjustly to deprive me of my rights, by taking from me the pecuniary advantages annexed to my employment, togive them to his dear Vitali; and I am convinced that had he dared tosend him to the senate, in my place, he would have done it. He commonlyemployed the Abbe Binis in his closet, to write his private letters: hemade use of him to write to M. De Maurepas an account of the affair ofCaptain Olivet, in which, far from taking the least notice of me, theonly person who gave himself any concern about the matter, he deprived meof the honor of the depositions, of which he sent him a duplicate, forthe purpose of attributing them to Patizel, who had not opened his mouth. He wished to mortify me, and please his favorite; but had no desire todismiss me his service. He perceived it would be more difficult to findme a successor, than M. Follau, who had already made him known to theworld. An Italian secretary was absolutely necessary to him, on accountof the answers from the senate; one who could write all his despatches, and conduct his affairs, without his giving himself the least troubleabout anything; a person who, to the merit of serving him well, couldjoin the baseness of being the toad-eater of his gentlemen, withouthonor, merit, or principles. He wished to retain, and humble me, bykeeping me far from my country, and his own, without money to return toeither, and in which he would, perhaps, had succeeded, had he began withmore moderation: but Vitali, who had other views, and wished to force meto extremities, carried his point. The moment I perceived, I lost all mytrouble, that the ambassador imputed to me my services as so many crimes, instead of being satisfied with them; that with him I had nothing toexpect, but things disagreeable at home, and injustice abroad; and that, in the general disesteem into which he was fallen, his ill offices mightbe prejudicial to me, without the possibility of my being served by hisgood ones; I took my resolution, and asked him for my dismission, leavinghim sufficient time to provide himself with another secretary. Withoutanswering yes or no, he continued to treat me in the same manner, as ifnothing had been said. Perceiving things to remain in the same state, and that he took no measures to procure himself a new secretary, I wroteto his brother, and, explaining to him my motives, begged he would obtainmy dismission from his excellency, adding that whether I received it ornot, I could not possibly remain with him. I waited a long time withoutany answer, and began to be embarrassed: but at length the ambassadorreceived a letter from his brother, which must have remonstrated with himin very plain terms; for although he was extremely subject to ferociousrage, I never saw him so violent as on this occasion. After torrents ofunsufferable reproaches, not knowing what more to say, he accused me ofhaving sold his ciphers. I burst into a loud laughter, and asked him, ina sneering manner, if he thought there was in Venice a man who would befool enough to give half a crown for them all. He threatened to call hisservants to throw me out of the window. Until then I had been verycomposed; but on this threat, anger and indignation seized me in my turn. I sprang to the door, and after having turned a button which fastened itwithin: "No, count, " said I, returning to him with a grave step, "Yourservants shall have nothing to do with this affair; please to let it besettled between ourselves. " My action and manner instantly made himcalm; fear and surprise were marked in his countenance. The moment I sawhis fury abated, I bid him adieu in a very few words, and without waitingfor his answer, went to the door, opened it, and passed slowly across theantechamber, through the midst of his people, who rose according tocustom, and who, I am of opinion, would rather have lent their assistanceagainst him than me. Without going back to my apartment, I descended thestairs, and immediately went out of the palace never more to enter it. 

I hastened immediately to M. Le Blond and related to him what hadhappened. Knowing the man, he was but little surprised. He kept me todinner. This dinner, although without preparation, was splendid. All the French of consequence who were at Venice, partook of it. The ambassador had not a single person. The consul related my case tothe company. The cry was general, and by no means in favor of hisexcellency. He had not settled my account, nor paid me a farthing, and being reduced to the few louis I had in my pocket, I was extremelyembarrassed about my return to France. Every purse was opened to me. I took twenty sequins from that of M. Le Blond, and as many from that ofM. St. Cyr, with whom, next to M. Le Blond, I was the most intimatelyconnected. I returned thanks to the rest; and, till my departure, wentto lodge at the house of the chancellor of the consulship, to prove tothe public, the nation was not an accomplice in the injustice of theambassador. 

His excellency, furious at seeing me taken notice of in my misfortune, atthe same time that, notwithstanding his being an ambassador, nobody wentnear his house, quite lost his senses and behaved like a madman. Heforgot himself so far as to present a memoir to the senate to get mearrested. On being informed of this by the Abbe de Binis, I resolved toremain a fortnight longer, instead of setting off the next day as I hadintended. My conduct had been known and approved of by everybody; I wasuniversally esteemed. The senate did not deign to return an answer tothe extravagant memoir of the ambassador, but sent me word I might remainin Venice as long as I thought proper, without making myself uneasy aboutthe attempts of a madman. I continued to see my friends: I went to takeleave of the ambassador from Spain, who received me well, and of theComte de Finochietti, minister from Naples, whom I did not find at home. I wrote him a letter and received from his excellency the most polite andobliging answer. At length I took my departure, leaving behind me, notwithstanding my embarrassment, no other debts than the two sums I hadborrowed, and of which I have just spoken; and an account of fifty crownswith a shopkeeper, of the name of Morandi, which Carrio promised to pay, and which I have never reimbursed him, although we have frequently metsince that time; but with respect to the two sums of money, I returnedthem very exactly the moment I had it in my power. 

I cannot take leave of Venice without saying something of the celebratedamusements of that city, or at least of the little part of them of whichI partook during my residence there. It has been seen how little in myyouth I ran after the pleasures of that age, or those that are so called. My inclinations did not change at Venice, but my occupations, whichmoreover would have prevented this, rendered more agreeable to me thesimple recreations I permitted myself. The first and most pleasing ofall was the society of men of merit. M. Le Blond, de St. Cyr, CarrioAltuna, and a Forlinian gentleman, whose name I am very sorry to haveforgotten, and whom I never call to my recollection without emotion: hewas the man of all I ever knew whose heart most resembled my own. Wewere connected with two or three Englishmen of great wit and information, and, like ourselves, passionately fond of music. All these gentlemen hadtheir wives, female friends, or mistresses: the latter were most of themwomen of talents, at whose apartments there were balls and concerts. There was but little play; a lively turn, talents, and the theatresrendered this amusement incipid. Play is the resource of none but menwhose time hangs heavy on their hands. I had brought with me from Paristhe prejudice of that city against Italian music; but I had also receivedfrom nature a sensibility and niceness of distinction which prejudicecannot withstand. I soon contracted that passion for Italian music withwhich it inspires all those who are capable of feeling its excellence. In listening to barcaroles, I found I had not yet known what singing was, and I soon became so fond of the opera that, tired of babbling, eating, and playing in the boxes when I wished to listen, I frequently withdrewfrom the company to another part of the theater. There, quite alone, shut up in my box, I abandoned myself, notwithstanding the length of therepresentation, to the pleasure of enjoying it at ease unto theconclusion. One evening at the theatre of Saint Chrysostom, I fell intoa more profound sleep than I should have done in my bed. The loud andbrilliant airs did not disturb my repose. But who can explain thedelicious sensations given me by the soft harmony of the angelic music, by which I was charmed from sleep; what an awaking! what ravishment!what ecstasy, when at the same instant I opened my ears and eyes! Myfirst idea was to believe I was in paradise. The ravishing air, which Istill recollect and shall never forget, began with these words:

 Conservami la bella, Che si m'accende il cor. 

I was desirous of having it; I had and kept it for a time; but it was notthe same thing upon paper as in my head. The notes were the same but thething was different. This divine composition can never be executed butin my mind, in the same manner as it was the evening on which it woke mefrom sleep. 

A kind of music far superior, in my opinion, to that of operas, and whichin all Italy has not its equal, nor perhaps in the whole world, is thatof the 'scuole'. The 'scuole' are houses of charity, established for theeducation of young girls without fortune, to whom the republic afterwardsgives a portion either in marriage or for the cloister. Amongst talentscultivated in these young girls, music is in the first rank. EverySunday at the church of each of the four 'scuole', during vespers, motettos or anthems with full choruses, accompanied by a great orchestra, and composed and directed by the best masters in Italy, are sung in thegalleries by girls only; not one of whom is more than twenty years ofage. I have not an idea of anything so voluptuous and affecting as thismusic; the richness of the art, the exquisite taste of the vocal part, the excellence of the voices, the justness of the execution, everythingin these delightful concerts concurs to produce an impression whichcertainly is not the mode, but from which I am of opinion no heart issecure. Carrio and I never failed being present at these vespers of the'Mendicanti', and we were not alone. The church was always full of thelovers of the art, and even the actors of the opera came there to formtheir tastes after these excellent models. What vexed me was the irongrate, which suffered nothing to escape but sounds, and concealed from methe angels of which they were worthy. I talked of nothing else. One dayI spoke of it at Le Blond's; "If you are so desirous, " said he, "to seethose little girls, it will be an easy matter to satisfy your wishes. I am one of the administrators of the house, I will give you a collationwith them. " I did not let him rest until he had fulfilled his promise. In entering the saloon, which contained these beauties I so much sighedto see, I felt a trembling of love which I had never before experienced. M. Le Blond presented to me one after the other, these celebrated femalesingers, of whom the names and voices were all with which I wasacquainted. Come, Sophia, --she was horrid. Come, Cattina, --she hadbut one eye. Come, Bettina, --the small-pox had entirely disfigured her. Scarcely one of them was without some striking defect. 

Le Blond laughed at my surprise; however, two or three of them appearedtolerable; these never sung but in the choruses; I was almost in despair. During the collation we endeavored to excite them, and they soon becameenlivened; ugliness does not exclude the graces, and I found theypossessed them. I said to myself, they cannot sing in this mannerwithout intelligence and sensibility, they must have both; in fine, my manner of seeing them changed to such a degree that I left the housealmost in love with each of these ugly faces. I had scarcely courageenough to return to vespers. But after having seen the girls, the danger was lessened. I still found their singing delightful;and their voices so much embellished their persons that, in spite of myeyes, I obstinately continued to think them beautiful. 

Music in Italy is accompanied with so trifling an expense, that it is notworth while for such as have a taste for it to deny themselves thepleasure it affords. I hired a harpsichord, and, for half a crown, I hadat my apartment four or five symphonists, with whom I practised once aweek in executing such airs, etc. , as had given me most pleasure at theopera. I also had some symphonies performed from my 'Muses Galantes'. Whether these pleased the performers, or the ballet-master of St. JohnChrysostom wished to flatter me, he desired to have two of them; and Ihad afterwards the pleasure of hearing these executed by that admirableorchestra. They were danced to by a little Bettina, pretty and amiable, and kept by a Spaniard, M. Fagoaga, a friend of ours with whom we oftenwent to spend the evening. But apropos of girls of easy virtue: it isnot in Venice that a man abstains from them. Have you nothing toconfess, somebody will ask me, upon this subject? Yes: I have somethingto say upon it, and I will proceed to the confession with the sameingenuousness with which I have made my former ones. 

I always had a disinclination to girls of pleasure, but at Venice thosewere all I had within my reach; most of the houses being shut against meon account of my place. The daughters of M. Le Blond were very amiable, but difficult of access; and I had too much respect for the father andmother ever once to have the least desire for them. 

I should have had a much stronger inclination to a young lady namedMademoiselle de Cataneo, daughter to the agent from the King of Prussia, but Carrio was in love with her there was even between them some questionof marriage. He was in easy circumstances, and I had no fortune: hissalary was a hundred louis (guineas) a year, and mine amounted to no morethan a thousand livres (about forty pounds sterling) and, besides mybeing unwilling to oppose a friend, I knew that in all places, andespecially at Venice, with a purse so ill furnished as mine was, gallantry was out of the question. I had not lost the pernicious customof deceiving my wants. Too busily employed forcibly to feel thoseproceeding from the climate, I lived upwards of a year in that city aschastely as I had done in Paris, and at the end of eighteen months Iquitted it without having approached the sex, except twice by means ofthe singular opportunities of which I am going to speak. 

The first was procured me by that honest gentleman, Vitali, some timeafter the formal apology I obliged him to make me. The conversation atthe table turned on the amusements of Venice. These gentlemen reproachedme with my indifference with regard to the most delightful of them all;at the same time extolling the gracefulness and elegant manners of thewomen of easy virtue of Venice; and adding that they were superior to allothers of the same description in any other part of the world. "Dominic, " said I, "(I) must make an acquaintance with the most amiable ofthem all, " he offered to take me to her apartments, and assured me Ishould be pleased with her. I laughed at this obliging offer: and CountPiati, a man in years and venerable, observed to me, with more candorthan I should have expected from an Italian, that he thought me tooprudent to suffer myself to be taken to such a place by my enemy. Infact I had no inclination to do it: but notwithstanding this, by anincoherence I cannot myself comprehend, I at length was prevailed upon togo, contrary to my inclination, the sentiment of my heart, my reason, andeven my will; solely from weakness, and being ashamed to show anappearance to the least mistrust; and besides, as the expression of thecountry is, 'per non parer troppo cogliono'--[Not to appear too great ablockhead. ]--The 'Padoana' whom we went to visit was pretty, she waseven handsome, but her beauty was not of that kind that pleased me. Dominic left me with her, I sent for Sorbetti, and asked her to sing. In about half an hour I wished to take my leave, after having put a ducaton the table, but this by a singular scruple she refused until she haddeserved it, and I from as singular a folly consented to remove herdoubts. I returned to the palace so fully persuaded that I should feelthe consequences of this step, that the first thing I did was to send forthe king's surgeon to ask him for ptisans. Nothing can equal theuneasiness of mind I suffered for three weeks, without its beingjustified by any real inconvenience or apparent sign. I could notbelieve it was possible to withdraw with impunity from the arms of the'padoana'. The surgeon himself had the greatest difficulty in removingmy apprehensions; nor could he do this by any other means than bypersuading me I was formed in such a manner as not to be easily infected:and although in the experiment I exposed myself less than any other manwould have done, my health in that respect never having suffered theleast inconvenience, in my opinion a proof the surgeon was right. However, this has never made me imprudent, and if in fact I have receivedsuch an advantage from nature I can safely assert I have never abused it. 

My second adventure, although likewise with a common girl, was of anature very different, as well in its origin as in its effects; I havealready said that Captain Olivet gave me a dinner on board his vessel, and that I took with me the secretary of the Spanish embassy. I expecteda salute of cannon. 

The ship's company was drawn up to receive us, but not so much as apriming was burnt, at which I was mortified, on account of Carrio, whom Iperceived to be rather piqued at the neglect. A salute of cannon wasgiven on board merchant-ships to people of less consequence than we were;I besides thought I deserved some distinguished mark of respect from thecaptain. I could not conceal my thoughts, because this at all times wasimpossible to me, and although the dinner was a very good one, and Olivetdid the honors of it perfectly well, I began it in an ill humor, eatingbut little, and speaking still less. At the first health, at least, Iexpected a volley; nothing. Carrio, who read what passed within, me, laughed at hearing me grumble like a child. Before dinner was half overI saw a gondola approach the vessel. "Bless me, sir, " said the captain, "take care of yourself, the enemy approaches. " I asked him what hemeant, and he answered jocosely. The gondola made the ship's side, and Iobserved a gay young damsel come on board very lightly, and coquettishlydressed, and who at three steps was in the cabin, seated by my side, before I had time to perceive a cover was laid for her. She was equallycharming and lively, a brunette, not more than twenty years of age. Shespoke nothing but Italian, and her accent alone was sufficient to turn myhead. As she eat and chattered she cast her eyes upon me; steadfastlylooked at me for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Good Virgin! Ah, my dearBremond, what an age it is since I saw thee!" Then she threw herself intomy arms, sealed her lips to mine, and pressed me almost to strangling. Her large black eyes, like those of the beauties of the East, dartedfiery shafts into my heart, and although the surprise at first stupefiedmy senses, voluptuousness made a rapid progress within, and this to sucha degree that the beautiful seducer herself was, notwithstanding thespectators, obliged to restrain my ardor, for I was intoxicated, orrather become furious. When she perceived she had made the impressionshe desired, she became more moderate in her caresses, but not in hervivacity, and when she thought proper to explain to us the real or falsecause of all her petulance, she said I resembled M. De Bremond, directorof the customs of Tuscany, to such a degree as to be mistaken for him;that she had turned this M. De Bremond's head, and would do it again;that she had quitted him because he was a fool; that she took me in hisplace; that she would love me because it pleased her so to do, for whichreason I must love her as long as it was agreeable to her, and when shethought proper to send me about my business, I must be patient as herdear Bremond had been. What was said was done. She took possession ofme as of a man that belonged to her, gave me her gloves to keep, her fan, her cinda, and her coif, and ordered me to go here or there, to do thisor that, and I instantly obeyed her. She told me to go and send away hergondola, because she chose to make use of mine, and I immediately sent itaway; she bid me to move from my place, and pray Carrio to sit down init, because she had something to say to him; and I did as she desired. They chatted a good while together, but spoke low, and I did notinterrupt them. She called me, and I approached her. "Hark thee, Zanetto, " said she to me, "I will not be loved in the French manner; thisindeed will not be well. In the first moment of lassitude, get theegone: but stay not by the way, I caution thee. " After dinner we went tosee the glass manufactory at Murano. She bought a great number of littlecuriosities; for which she left me to pay without the least ceremony. But she everywhere gave away little trinkets to a much greater amountthan of the things we had purchased. By the indifference with which shethrew away her money, I perceived she annexed to it but little value. When she insisted upon a payment, I am of opinion it was more from amotive of vanity than avarice. She was flattered by the price heradmirers set upon her favors. 

In the evening we conducted her to her apartments. As we conversedtogether, I perceived a couple of pistols upon her toilette. "Ah! Ah!"said I, taking one of them up, "this is a patchbox of a new construction:may I ask what is its use? I know you have other arms which give morefire than those upon your table. " After a few pleasantries of the samekind, she said to us, with an ingenuousness which rendered her still morecharming, "When I am complaisant to persons whom I do not love, I makethem pay for the weariness they cause me; nothing can be more just; butif I suffer their caresses, I will not bear their insults; nor miss thefirst who shall be wanting to me in respect. "

At taking leave of her, I made another appointment for the next day. Idid not make her wait. I found her in 'vestito di conidenza', in anundress more than wanton, unknown to northern countries, and which I willnot amuse myself in describing, although I recollect it perfectly well. I shall only remark that her ruffles and collar were edged with silknetwork ornamented with rose--colored pompons. This, in my eyes, muchenlivened a beautiful complexion. I afterwards found it to be the modeat Venice, and the effect is so charming that I am surprised it has neverbeen introduced in France. I had no idea of the transports which awaitedme. I have spoken of Madam de Larnage with the transport which theremembrance of her still sometimes gives me; but how old, ugly and coldshe appeared, compared with my Zulietta! Do not attempt to form toyourself an idea of the charms and graces of this enchanting girl, youwill be far too short of truth. Young virgins in cloisters are not sofresh: the beauties of the seraglio are less animated: the houris ofparadise less engaging. Never was so sweet an enjoyment offered to theheart and senses of a mortal. Ah! had I at least been capable of fullytasting of it for a single moment! I had tasted of it, but without acharm. I enfeebled all its delights: I destroyed them as at will. No;Nature has not made me capable of enjoyment. She has infused into mywretched head the poison of that ineffable happiness, the desire of whichshe first placed in my heart. 

If there be a circumstance in my life, which describes my nature, it isthat which I am going to relate. The forcible manner in which I at thismoment recollect the object of my book, will here make me hold incontempt the false delicacy which would prevent me from fulfilling it. Whoever you may be who are desirous of knowing a man, have the courage toread the two or three following pages, and you will become fullyacquainted with J. J. Rousseau. 

I entered the chamber of a woman of easy virtue, as the sanctuary of loveand beauty: and in her person, I thought I saw the divinity. I shouldhave been inclined to think that without respect and esteem it wasimpossible to feel anything like that which she made me experience. Scarcely had I, in her first familiarities, discovered the force of hercharms and caresses, before I wished, for fear of losing the fruit ofthem, to gather it beforehand. Suddenly, instead of the flame whichconsumed me, I felt a mortal cold run through all my veins; my legsfailed me; and ready to faint away, I sat down and wept like a child. 

Who would guess the cause of my tears, and what, at this moment, passedwithin me? I said to myself: the object in my power is the masterpieceof love; her wit and person equally approach perfection; she is as goodand generous as she is amiable and beautiful. Yet she is a miserableprostitute, abandoned to the public. The captain of a merchantshipdisposed of her at will; she has thrown herself into my arms, althoughshe knows I have nothing; and my merit with which she cannot beacquainted, can be to her no inducement. In this there is somethinginconceivable. Either my heart deceives me, fascinates my senses, andmakes me the dupe of an unworthy slut, or some secret defect, of which Iam ignorant, destroys the effect of her charms, and renders her odious inthe eyes of those by whom her charms would otherwise be disputed. Iendeavored, by an extraordinary effort of mind, to discover this defect, but it did not so much as strike me that even the consequences to beapprehended, might possibly have some influence. The clearness of herskin, the brilliancy of her complexion, her white teeth, sweet breath, and the appearance of neatness about her person, so far removed from methis idea, that, still in doubt relative to my situation after the affairof the 'padoana', I rather apprehended I was not sufficiently in healthfor her: and I am firmly persuaded I was not deceived in my opinion. These reflections, so apropos, agitated me to such a degree as to make meshed tears. Zuliette, to whom the scene was quite novel, was struckspeechless for a moment. But having made a turn in her chamber, andpassing before her glass, she comprehended, and my eyes confirmed heropinion, that disgust had no part in what had happened. It was notdifficult for her to recover me and dispel this shamefacedness. 

But, at the moment in which I was ready to faint upon a bosom, which forthe first time seemed to suffer the impression of the hand and lips of aman, I perceived she had a withered 'teton'. I struck my forehead: Iexamined, and thought I perceived this teton was not formed like theother. I immediately began to consider how it was possible to have sucha defect, and persuaded of its proceeding from some great natural vice, Iwas clearly convinced, that, instead of the most charming person of whomI could form to myself an idea, I had in my arms a species of a monster, the refuse of nature, of men and of love. I carried my stupidity so faras to speak to her of the discovery I had made. She, at first, took whatI said jocosely; and in her frolicsome humor, did and said things whichmade me die of love. But perceiving an inquietude I could not conceal, she at length reddened, adjusted her dress, raised herself up, andwithout saying a word, went and placed herself at a window. I attemptedto place myself by her side: she withdrew to a sofa, rose from it thenext moment, and fanning herself as she walked about the chamber, said tome in a reserved and disdainful tone of voice, "Zanetto, 'lascia ledonne, a studia la matematica. "--[Leave women and study mathematics. ]

Before I took leave I requested her to appoint another rendezvous for thenext day, which she postponed for three days, adding, with a satiricalsmile, that I must needs be in want of repose. I was very ill at easeduring the interval; my heart was full of her charms and graces; I feltmy extravagance, and reproached myself with it, regretting the loss ofthe moments I had so ill employed, and which, had I chosen, I might haverendered more agreeable than any in my whole life; waiting with the mostburning impatience for the moment in which I might repair the loss, andyet, notwithstanding all my reasoning upon what I had discovered, anxiousto reconcile the perfections of this adorable girl with the indignity ofher situation. I ran, I flew to her apartment at the hour appointed. Iknow not whether or not her ardor would have been more satisfied withthis visit, her pride at least would have been flattered by it, and Ialready rejoiced at the idea of my convincing her, in every respect, thatI knew how to repair the wrongs I had done. She spared me thisjustification. The gondolier whom I had sent to her apartment brought mefor answer that she had set off, the evening before, for Florence. If Ihad not felt all the love I had for her person when this was in mypossession, I felt it in the most cruel manner on losing her. Amiableand charming as she was in my eyes, I could not console myself for theloss of her; but this I have never been able to do relative to thecontemptuous idea which at her departure she must have had of me. 

These are my two narratives. The eighteen months I passed at Venicefurnished me with no other of the same kind, except a simple prospect atmost. Carrio was a gallant. Tired of visiting girls engaged to others, he took a fancy to have one to himself, and, as we were inseparable, heproposed to mean arrangement common enough at Venice, which was to keepone girl for us both. To this I consented. The question was, to findone who was safe. He was so industrious in his researches that he foundout a little girl from eleven to twelve years of age, whom her infamousmother was endeavoring to sell, and I went with Carrio to see her. Thesight of the child moved me to the most lively compassion. She was fairand as gentle as a lamb. Nobody would have taken her for an Italian. Living is very cheap in Venice; we gave a little money to the mother, andprovided for the subsistence of her daughter. She had a voice, and toprocure her some resource we gave her a spinnet, and a singing--master. All these expenses did not cost each of us more than two sequins a month, and we contrived to save a much greater sum in other matters; but as wewere obliged to wait until she became of a riper age, this was sowing along time before we could possibly reap. However, satisfied with passingour evenings, chatting and innocently playing with the child, we perhapsenjoyed greater pleasure than if we had received the last favors. Sotrue is it that men are more attached to women by a certain pleasure theyhave in living with them, than by any kind of libertinism. My heartbecame insensibly attached to the little Anzoletta, but my attachment waspaternal, in which the senses had so little share, that in proportion asthe former increased, to have connected it with the latter would havebeen less possible; and I felt I should have experienced, at approachingthis little creature when become nubile, the same horror with which theabominable crime of incest would have inspired me. I perceived thesentiments of Carrio take, unobserved by himself, exactly the same turn. We thus prepared for ourselves, without intending it, pleasure not lessdelicious, but very different from that of which we first had an idea;and I am fully persuaded that however beautiful the poor child might havebecome, far from being the corrupters of her innocence we should havebeen the protectors of it. The circumstance which shortly afterwardsbefell me deprived me, of the happiness of taking a part in this goodwork, and my only merit in the affair was the inclination of my heart. 

I will now return to my journey. 

My first intentions after leaving M. De Montaigu, was to retire toGeneva, until time and more favorable circumstances should have removedthe obstacles which prevented my union with my poor mamma; but thequarrel between me and M. De Montaigu being become public, and he havinghad the folly to write about it to the court, I resolved to go there togive an account of my conduct and complain of that of a madman. Icommunicated my intention, from Venice, to M. Du Theil, charged perinterim with foreign affairs after the death of M. Amelot. I set off assoon as my letter, and took my route through Bergamo, Como, and DomoD'Oscela, and crossing Saint Plomb. At Sion, M. De Chaignon, charge desaffaires from France, showed me great civility; at Geneva M. De laClosure treated me with the same polite attention. I there renewed myacquaintance with M. De Gauffecourt, from whom I had some money toreceive. I had passed through Nion without going to see my father: notthat this was a matter of indifference to me, but because I was unwillingto appear before my mother-in-law, after the disaster which had befallenme, certain of being condemned by her without being heard. Thebookseller, Du Villard, an old friend of my father's, reproached meseverely with this neglect. I gave him my reasons for it, and to repairmy fault, without exposing myself to meet my mother-in-law, I took achaise and we went together to Nion and stopped at a public house. DuVillard went to fetch my father, who came running to embrace me. Wesupped together, and, after passing an evening very agreeable to thewishes of my heart, I returned the next morning to Geneva with DuVillard, for whom I have ever since retained a sentiment of gratitude inreturn for the service he did me on this occasion. 

Lyons was a little out of my direct road, but I was determined to passthrough that city in order to convince myself of a knavish trick playedme by M. De Montaigu. I had sent me from Paris a little box containing awaistcoat, embroidered with gold, a few pairs of ruffles, and six pairsof white silk stockings; nothing more. Upon a proposition made me by M. De Montaigu, I ordered this box to be added to his baggage. In theapothecary's bill he offered me in payment of my salary, and which hewrote out himself, he stated the weight of this box, which he called abale, at eleven hundred pounds, and charged me with the carriage of it atan enormous rate. By the cares of M. Boy de la Tour, to whom I wasrecommended by M. Roquin, his uncle, it was proved from the registers ofthe customs of Lyons and Marseilles, that the said bale weighed no morethan forty-five pounds, and had paid carriage according to that weight. I joined this authentic extract to the memoir of M, de Montaigu, andprovided with these papers and others containing stronger facts, Ireturned to Paris, very impatient to make use of them. During the wholeof this long journey I had little adventures; at Como, in Valais, andelsewhere. I there saw many curious things, amongst others the Boromaislands, which are worthy of being described. But I am pressed by time, and surrounded by spies. I am obliged to write in haste, and veryimperfectly, a work which requires the leisure and tranquility I do notenjoy. If ever providence in its goodness grants me days more calm, Ishall destine them to new modelling this work, should I be able to do it, or at least to giving a supplement, of which I perceive it stands in thegreatest need. --[I have given up this project. ]

The news of my quarrel had reached Paris before me and on my arrival Ifound the people in all the offices, and the public in general, scandalized at the follies of the ambassador. 

Notwithstanding this, the public talk at Venice, and the unanswerableproof I exhibited, I could not obtain even the shadow of justice. Farfrom obtaining satisfaction or reparation, I was left at the discretionof the ambassador for my salary, and this for no other reason thanbecause, not being a Frenchman, I had no right to national protection, and that it was a private affair between him and myself. Everybodyagreed I was insulted, injured, and unfortunate; that the ambassador wasmad, cruel, and iniquitous, and that the whole of the affair dishonoredhim forever. But what of this! He was the ambassador, and I was nothingmore than the secretary. 

Order, or that which is so called, was in opposition to my obtainingjustice, and of this the least shadow was not granted me. I supposedthat, by loudly complaining, and by publicly treating this madman in themanner he deserved, I should at length be told to hold my tongue; thiswas what I wished for, and I was fully determined not to obey until I hadobtained redress. But at that time there was no minister for foreignaffairs. I was suffered to exclaim, nay, even encouraged to do it, andjoined with; but the affair still remained in the same state, until, tired of being in the right without obtaining justice, my courage atlength failed me, and let the whole drop. 

The only person by whom I was ill received, and from whom I should haveleast expected such an injustice, was Madam de Beuzenval. Full of theprerogatives of rank and nobility, she could not conceive it was possiblean ambassador could ever be in the wrong with respect to his secretary. The reception she gave me was conformable to this prejudice. I was sopiqued at it that, immediately after leaving her, I wrote her perhaps oneof the strongest and most violent letters that ever came from my pen, andsince that time I never once returned to her house. I was betterreceived by Father Castel; but, in the midst of his Jesuitical wheedlingI perceived him faithfully to follow one of the great maxims of hissociety, which is to sacrifice the weak to the powerful. The strongconviction I felt of the justice of my cause, and my natural greatness ofmind did not suffer me patiently to endure this partiality. I ceasedvisiting Father Castel, and on that account, going to the college of theJesuits, where I knew nobody but himself. Besides the intriguing andtyrannical spirit of his brethren, so different from the cordiality ofthe good Father Hemet, gave me such a disgust for their conversation thatI have never since been acquainted with, nor seen anyone of them exceptFather Berthier, whom I saw twice or thrice at M. Dupin's, in conjunctionwith whom he labored with all his might at the refutation of Montesquieu. 

That I may not return to the subject, I will conclude what I have to sayof M. De Montaigu. I had told him in our quarrels that a secretary wasnot what he wanted, but an attorney's clerk. He took the hint, and theperson whom he procured to succeed me was a real attorney, who in lessthan a year robbed him of twenty or thirty thousand livres. Hedischarged him, and sent him to prison, dismissed his gentleman withdisgrace, and, in wretchedness, got himself everywhere into quarrels, received affronts which a footman would not have put up with, and, afternumerous follies, was recalled, and sent from the capital. It is veryprobable that among the reprimands he received at court, his affair withme was not forgotten. At least, a little time after his return he senthis maitre d' hotel, to settle my account, and give me some money. I wasin want of it at that moment; my debts at Venice, debts of honor, if everthere were any, lay heavy upon my mind. I made use of the means whichoffered to discharge them, as well as the note of Zanetto Nani. Ireceived what was offered me, paid all my debts, and remained as before, without a farthing in my pocket, but relieved from a weight which hadbecome insupportable. From that time I never heard speak of M. DeMontaigu until his death, with which I became acquainted by means of theGazette. The peace of God be with that poor man! He was as fit for thefunctions of an ambassador as in my infancy I had been for those ofGrapignan. --[I have not been able to find this word in any dictionary, nor does any Frenchman of letters of my acquaintance know what it means. --T. ]--However, it was in his power to have honorably supported himselfby my services, and rapidly to have advanced me in a career to which theComte de Gauvon had destined me in my youth, and of the functions ofwhich I had in a more advanced age rendered myself capable. 

The justice and inutility of my complaints, left in my mind seeds ofindignation against our foolish civil institutions, by which the welfareof the public and real justice are always sacrificed to I know not whatappearance of order, and which does nothing more than add the sanction ofpublic authority to the oppression of the weak, and the iniquity of thepowerful. Two things prevented these seeds from putting forth at thattime as they afterwards did: one was, myself being in question in theaffair, and private interest, whence nothing great or noble everproceeded, could not draw from my heart the divine soarings, which themost pure love, only of that which is just and sublime, can produce. Theother was the charm of friendship which tempered and calmed my wrath bythe ascendancy of a more pleasing sentiment. I had become acquainted atVenice with a Biscayan, a friend of my friend Carrio's, and worthy ofbeing that of every honest man. This amiable young man, born with everytalent and virtue, had just made the tour of Italy to gain a taste forthe fine arts, and, imagining he had nothing more to acquire, intended toreturn by the most direct road to his own country. I told him the artswere nothing more than a relaxation to a genius like his, fit tocultivate the sciences; and to give him a taste for these, I advised himto make a journey to Paris and reside there for six months. He took myadvice, and went to Paris. He was there and expected me when I arrived. His lodging was too considerable for him, and he offered me the half ofit, which I instantly accepted. I found him absorbed in the study of thesublimest sciences. Nothing was above his reach. He digested everythingwith a prodigious rapidity. How cordially did he thank me for havingprocured him this food for his mind, which was tormented by a thirstafter knowledge, without his being aware of it! What a treasure of lightand virtue I found in the vigorous mind of this young man! I felt he wasthe friend I wanted. We soon became intimate. Our tastes were not thesame, and we constantly disputed. Both opinionated, we never could agreeabout anything. Nevertheless we could not separate; and, notwithstandingour reciprocal and incessant contradiction, we neither of us wished theother to be different from what he was. 

Ignacio Emanuel de Altuna was one of those rare beings whom only Spainproduces, and of whom she produces too few for her glory. He had not theviolent national passions common in his own country. The idea ofvengeance could no more enter his head, than the desire of it couldproceed from his heart. His mind was too great to be vindictive, and Ihave frequently heard him say, with the greatest coolness, that no mortalcould offend him. He was gallant, without being tender. He played withwomen as with so many pretty children. He amused himself with themistresses of his friends, but I never knew him to have one of his own, nor the least desire for it. The emanations from the virtue with whichhis heart was stored, never permitted the fire of the passions to excitesensual desires. 

After his travels he married, died young, and left children; and, I am asconvinced as of my existence, that his wife was the first and only womanwith whom he ever tasted of the pleasures of love. 

Externally he was devout, like a Spaniard, but in his heart he had thepiety of an angel. Except myself, he is the only man I ever saw whoseprinciples were not intolerant. He never in his life asked any personhis opinion in matters of religion. It was not of the least consequenceto him whether his friend was a Jew, a Protestant, a Turk, a Bigot, or anAtheist, provided he was an honest man. Obstinate and headstrong inmatters of indifference, but the moment religion was in question, eventhe moral part, he collected himself, was silent, or simply said: "I amcharged with the care of myself, only. " It is astonishing so muchelevation of mind should be compatible with a spirit of detail carried tominuteness. He previously divided the employment of the day by hours, quarters and minutes; and so scrupulously adhered to this distribution, that had the clock struck while he was reading a phrase, he would haveshut his book without finishing it. His portions of time thus laid out, were some of them set apart to studies of one kind, and others to thoseof another: he had some for reflection, conversation, divine service, thereading of Locke, for his rosary, for visits, music and painting; andneither pleasure, temptation, nor complaisance, could interrupt thisorder: a duty he might have had to discharge was the only thing thatcould have done it. When he gave me a list of his distribution, that Imight conform myself thereto, I first laughed, and then shed tears ofadmiration. He never constrained anybody nor suffered constraint: he wasrather rough with people, who from politeness, attempted to put it uponhim. He was passionate without being sullen. I have often seen himwarm, but never saw him really angry with any person. Nothing could bemore cheerful than his temper: he knew how to pass and receive a joke;raillery was one of his distinguished talents, and with which hepossessed that of pointed wit and repartee. When he was animated, he wasnoisy and heard at a great distance; but whilst he loudly inveighed, asmile was spread over his countenance, and in the midst of his warmth heused some diverting expression which made all his hearers break out intoa loud laugh. He had no more of the Spanish complexion than of thephlegm of that country. His skin was white, his cheeks finely colored, and his hair of a light chestnut. He was tall and well made; his bodywas well formed for the residence of his mind. 

This wise--hearted as well as wise--headed man, knew mankind, and was myfriend; this was my only answer to such as are not so. We were sointimately united, that our intention was to pass our days together. Ina few years I was to go to Ascoytia to live with him at his estate; everypart of the project was arranged the eve of his departure; nothing wasleft undetermined, except that which depends not upon men in the bestconcerted plans, posterior events. My disasters, his marriage, andfinally, his death, separated us forever. Some men would be tempted tosay, that nothing succeeds except the dark conspiracies of the wicked, and that the innocent intentions of the good are seldom or neveraccomplished. I had felt the inconvenience of dependence, and took aresolution never again to expose myself to it; having seen the projectsof ambition, which circumstances had induced me to form, overturned intheir birth. Discouraged in the career I had so well begun, from which, however, I had just been expelled, I resolved never more to attach myselfto any person, but to remain in an independent state, turning my talentsto the best advantage: of these I at length began to feel the extent, andthat I had hitherto had too modest an opinion of them. I again took upmy opera, which I had laid aside to go to Venice; and that I might beless interrupted after the departure of Altuna, I returned to my oldhotel St. Quentin; which, in a solitary part of the town, and not farfrom the Luxembourg, was more proper for my purpose than noisy Rue St. Honor. 

There the only consolation which Heaven suffered me to taste in mymisery, and the only one which rendered it supportable, awaited me. Thiswas not a trancient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail relativeto the manner in which it was made. 

We had a new landlady from Orleans; she took for a needlewoman a girlfrom her own country, of between twenty--two and twenty--three years ofage, and who, as well as the hostess, ate at our table. This girl, namedTheresa le Vasseur, was of a good family; her father was an officer inthe mint of Orleans, and her mother a shopkeeper; they had many children. The function of the mint of Orleans being suppressed, the father foundhimself without employment; and the mother having suffered losses, wasreduced to narrow circumstances. She quitted her business and came toParis with her husband and daughter, who, by her industry, maintained allthe three. 

The first time I saw this girl at table, I was struck with her modesty;and still more so with her lively yet charming look, which, with respectto the impression it made upon me, was never equalled. Beside M. DeBonnefond, the company was composed of several Irish priests, Gascons andothers of much the same description. Our hostess herself had not madethe best possible use of her time, and I was the only person at the tablewho spoke and behaved with decency. Allurements were thrown out to theyoung girl. I took her part, and the joke was then turned against me. Had I had no natural inclination to the poor girl, compassion andcontradiction would have produced it in me: I was always a great friendto decency in manners and conversation, especially in the fair sex. Iopenly declared myself her champion, and perceived she was not insensibleof my attention; her looks, animated by the gratitude she dared notexpress by words, were for this reason still more penetrating. 

She was very timid, and I was as much so as herself. The connectionwhich this disposition common to both seemed to remove to a distance, washowever rapidly formed. Our landlady perceiving its progress, becamefurious, and her brutality forwarded my affair with the young girl, who, having no person in the house except myself to give her the leastsupport, was sorry to see me go from home, and sighed for the return ofher protector. The affinity our hearts bore to each other, and thesimilarity of our dispositions, had soon their ordinary effect. Shethought she saw in me an honest man, and in this she was not deceived. I thought I perceived in her a woman of great sensibility, simple in hermanners, and devoid of all coquetry:--I was no more deceived in her thanshe in me. I began by declaring to her that I would never either abandonor marry her. Love, esteem, artless sincerity were the ministers of mytriumph, and it was because her heart was tender and virtuous, that I washappy without being presuming. 

The apprehensions she was under of my not finding in her that for which Isought, retarded my happiness more than every other circumstance. Iperceived her disconcerted and confused before she yielded her consent, wishing to be understood and not daring to explain herself. Far fromsuspecting the real cause of her embarrassment, I falsely imagined it toproceed from another motive, a supposition highly insulting to hermorals, and thinking she gave me to understand my health might be exposedto danger, I fell into so perplexed a state that, although it was norestraint upon me, it poisoned my happiness during several days. As wedid not understand each other, our conversations upon this subject wereso many enigmas more than ridiculous. She was upon the point ofbelieving I was absolutely mad; and I on my part was as near not knowingwhat else to think of her. At last we came to an explanation; sheconfessed to me with tears the only fault of the kind of her whole life, immediately after she became nubile; the fruit of her ignorance and theaddress of her seducer. The moment I comprehended what she meant, I gavea shout of joy. "A Hymen!" exclaimed I; "sought for at Paris, and attwenty years of age! Ah my Theresa! I am happy in possessing thee, virtuous and healthy as thou art, and in not finding that for which Inever sought. "

At first amusement was my only object; I perceived I had gone further andhad given myself a companion. A little intimate connection with thisexcellent girl, and a few reflections upon my situation, made me discoverthat, while thinking of nothing more than my pleasures, I had done agreat deal towards my happiness. In the place of extinguished ambition, a life of sentiment, which had entire possession of my heart, wasnecessary to me. In a word, I wanted a successor to mamma: since I wasnever again to live with her, it was necessary some person should livewith her pupil, and a person, too, in whom I might find that simplicityand docility of mind and heart which she had found in me. It was, moreover, necessary that the happiness of domestic life should indemnifyme for the splendid career I had just renounced. When I was quite alonethere was a void in my heart, which wanted nothing more than anotherheart to fill it up. Fate had deprived me of this, or at least in partalienated me from that for which by nature I was formed. From thatmoment I was alone, for there never was for me the least thingintermediate between everything and nothing. I found in Theresa thesupplement of which I stood in need; by means of her I lived as happilyas I possibly could do, according to the course of events. 

I at first attempted to improve her mind. In this my pains were useless. Her mind is as nature formed it: it was not susceptible of cultivation. I do not blush in acknowledging she never knew how to read well, althoughshe writes tolerably. When I went to lodge in the Rue Neuve des PetitsChamps, opposite to my windows at the Hotel de Ponchartrain, there was asun-dial, on which for a whole month I used all my efforts to teach herto know the hours; yet, she scarcely knows them at present. She nevercould enumerate the twelve months of the year in order, and cannotdistinguish one numeral from another, notwithstanding all the trouble Itook endeavoring to teach them to her. She neither knows how to countmoney, nor to reckon the price of anything. The word which when shespeaks, presents itself to her mind, is frequently opposite to that ofwhich she means to make use. I formerly made a dictionary of herphrases, to amuse M. De Luxembourg, and her 'qui pro quos' often becamecelebrated among those with whom I was most intimate. But this person, so confined in her intellects, and, if the world pleases, so stupid, cangive excellent advice in cases of difficulty. In Switzerland, in Englandand in France, she frequently saw what I had not myself perceived; shehas often given me the best advice I could possibly follow; she hasrescued me from dangers into which I had blindly precipitated myself, andin the presence of princes and the great, her sentiments, good sense, answers, and conduct have acquired her universal esteem, and myself themost sincere congratulations on her merit. With persons whom we love, sentiment fortifies the mind as well as the heart; and they who are thusattached, have little need of searching for ideas elsewhere. 

I lived with my Theresa as agreeably as with the finest genius in theworld. Her mother, proud of having been brought up under the Marchionessof Monpipeau, attempted to be witty, wished to direct the judgment of herdaughter, and by her knavish cunning destroyed the simplicity of ourintercourse. 

The fatigue of this opportunity made me in some degree surmount thefoolish shame which prevented me from appearing with Theresa in public;and we took short country walks, tete-a-tete, and partook of littlecollations, which, to me, were delicious. I perceived she loved mesincerely, and this increased my tenderness. This charming intimacy leftme nothing to wish; futurity no longer gave me the least concern, or atmost appeared only as the present moment prolonged: I had no other desirethan that of insuring its duration. 

This attachment rendered all other dissipation superfluous and insipid tome. As I only went out for the purpose of going to the apartment ofTheresa, her place of residence almost became my own. My retirement wasso favorable to the work I had undertaken, that, in less than threemonths, my opera was entirely finished, both words and music, except afew accompaniments, and fillings up which still remained to be added. This maneuvering business was very fatiguing to me. I proposed it toPhilidor, offering him at the same time a part of the profits. He cametwice, and did something to the middle parts in the act of Ovid; but hecould not confine himself to an assiduous application by the allurementof advantages which were distant and uncertain. He did not come a thirdtime, and I finished the work myself. 

My opera completed, the next thing was to make something of it: this wasby much the more difficult task of the two. A man living in solitude inParis will never succeed in anything. I was on the point of making myway by means of M. De la Popliniere, to whom Gauffecourt, at my return toGeneva had introduced me. M. De la Popliniere was the Mecaenas ofRameau; Madam de la Popliniere his very humble scholar. Rameau was saidto govern in that house. Judging that he would with pleasure protect thework of one of his disciples, I wished to show him what I had done. Herefused to examine it; saying he could not read score, it was toofatiguing to him. M. De la Popliniere, to obviate this difficulty, saidhe might hear it; and offered me to send for musicians to execute certaindetached pieces. I wished for nothing better. Rameau consented with anill grace, incessantly repeating that the composition of a man notregularly bred to the science, and who had learned music without amaster, must certainly be very fine! I hastened to copy into parts fiveor six select passages. Ten symphonies were procured, and Albert, Berard, and Mademoiselle Bourbonois undertook the vocal part. Remeau, the moment he heard the overture, was purposely extravagant in hiseulogium, by which he intended it should be understood it could not be mycomposition. He showed signs of impatience at every passage: but after acounter tenor song, the air of which was noble and harmonious, with abrilliant accompaniment, he could no longer contain himself; heapostrophised me with a brutality at which everybody was shocked, maintaining that a part of what he had heard was by a man experienced inthe art, and the rest by some ignorant person who did not so much asunderstand music. It is true my composition, unequal and without rule, was sometimes sublime, and at others insipid, as that of a person whoforms himself in an art by the soarings of his own genius, unsupported byscience, must necessarily be. Rameau pretended to see nothing in me buta contemptible pilferer, without talents or taste. The rest of thecompany, among whom I must distinguish the master of the house, were of adifferent opinion. M. De Richelieu, who at that time frequently visitedM. And Madam de la Popliniere, heard them speak of my work, and wished tohear the whole of it, with an intention, if it pleased him, to have itperformed at court. The opera was executed with full choruses, and by agreat orchestra, at the expense of the king, at M. De Bonneval'sintendant of the Menus; Francoeur directed the band. The effect wassurprising: the duke never ceased to exclaim and applaud; and, at the endof one of the choruses, in the act of Tasso, he arose and came to me, and, pressing my hand, said: "M. Rousseau, this is transporting harmony. I never heard anything finer. I will get this performed at Versailles. "

Madam de la Poliniere, who was present, said not a word. Rameau, although invited, refused to come. The next day, Madam de la Poplinierereceived me at her toilette very ungraciously, affected to undervalue mypiece, and told me, that although a little false glitter had at firstdazzled M. De Richelieu, he had recovered from his error, and she advisedme not to place the least dependence upon my opera. The duke arrivedsoon after, and spoke to me in quite a different language. He said veryflattering things of my talents, and seemed as much disposed as ever tohave my composition performed before the king. "There is nothing, " saidhe, "but the act of Tasso which cannot pass at court: you must writeanother. " Upon this single word I shut myself up in my apartment; and inthree weeks produced, in the place of Tasso, another act, the subject ofwhich was Hesiod inspired by the muses. In this I found the secret ofintroducing a part of the history of my talents, and of the jealousy withwhich Rameau had been pleased to honor me. There was in the new act anelevation less gigantic and better supported than in the act of Tasso. The music was as noble and the composition better; and had the other twoacts been equal to this, the whole piece would have supported arepresentation to advantage. But whilst I was endeavoring to give it thelast finishing, another undertaking suspended the completion of that Ihad in my hand. In the winter which succeeded the battle of Fontenoi, there were many galas at Versailles, and several operas performed at thetheater of the little stables. Among the number of the latter was thedramatic piece of Voltaire, entitled 'La Princesse de Navarre', the musicby Rameau, the name of which has just been changed to that of 'Fetes deRamire'. This new subject required several changes to be made in thedivertissements, as well in the poetry as in the music. 

A person capable of both was now sought after. Voltaire was in Lorraine, and Rameau also; both of whom were employed on the opera of the Temple ofGlory, and could not give their attention to this. M. De Richelieuthought of me, and sent to desire I would undertake the alterations;and, that I might the better examine what there was to do, he gave meseparately the poem and the music. In the first place, I would not touchthe words without the consent of the author, to whom I wrote upon thesubject a very polite and respectful letter, such a one as was proper;and received from him the following answer:

"SIR: In you two talents, which hitherto have always been separated, areunited. These are two good reasons for me to esteem and to endeavor tolove you. I am sorry, on your account, you should employ these talents ina work which is so little worthy of them. A few months ago the Duke deRichelieu commanded me to make, absolutely in the twinkling of an eye, a little and bad sketch of a few insipid and imperfect scenes to beadapted to divertissements which are not of a nature to be joined withthem. I obeyed with the greatest exactness. I wrote very fast, and veryill. I sent this wretched production to M. De Richelieu, imagining hewould make no use of it, or that I should have it again to make thenecessary corrections. Happily it is in your hands, and you are at fullliberty to do with it whatever you please: I have entirely lost sight ofthe thing. I doubt not but you will have corrected all the faults whichcannot but abound in so hasty a composition of such a very simple sketch, and am persuaded you will have supplied whatever was wanting. 

"I remember that, among other stupid inattentions, no account is given inthe scenes which connect the divertissements of the manner in which theGrenadian prince immediately passes from a prison to a garden or palace. As it is not a magician but a Spanish nobleman who gives her the gala, Iam of opinion nothing should be effected by enchantment. 

"I beg, sir, you will examine this part, of which I have but a confusedidea. 

"You will likewise consider, whether or not it be necessary the prisonshould be opened, and the princess conveyed from it to a fine palace, gilt and varnished, and prepared for her. I know all this is wretched, and that it is beneath a thinking being to make a serious affair of suchtrifles; but, since we must displease as little as possible, it isnecessary we should conform to reason, even in a bad divertissement of anopera. 

"I depend wholly upon you and M. Ballot, and soon expect to have thehonor of returning you my thanks, and assuring you how much I am, etc. "

There is nothing surprising in the great politeness of this letter, compared with the almost crude ones which he has since written to me. He thought I was in great favor with Madam Richelieu; and the courtlysuppleness, which everyone knows to be the character of this author, obliged him to be extremely polite to a new comer, until he become betteracquainted with the measure of the favor and patronage he enjoyed. 

Authorized by M. De Voltaire, and not under the necessity of givingmyself the least concern about M. Rameau, who endeavored to injure me, I set to work, and in two months my undertaking was finished. Withrespect to the poetry, it was confined to a mere trifle; I aimed atnothing more than to prevent the difference of style from beingperceived, and had the vanity to think I had succeeded. The musical partwas longer and more laborious. Besides my having to compose severalpreparatory pieces, and, amongst others, the overture, all therecitative, with which I was charged, was extremely difficult on accountof the necessity there was of connecting, in a few verses, and by veryrapid modulations, symphonies and choruses, in keys very different fromeach other; for I was determined neither to change nor transpose any ofthe airs, that Rameau might not accuse me of having disfigured them. I succeeded in the recitative; it was well accented, full of energy andexcellent modulation. The idea of two men of superior talents, with whomI was associated, had elevated my genius, and I can assert, that in thisbarren and inglorious task, of which the public could have no knowledge, I was for the most part equal to my models. 

The piece, in the state to which I had brought it, was rehearsed in thegreat theatre of the opera. Of the three authors who had contributed tothe production, I was the only one present. Voltaire was not in Paris, and Rameau either did not come, or concealed himself. The words of thefirst monologue were very mournful; they began with:

 O Mort! viens terminer les malheurs de ma vie. 

 [O Death! hasten to terminate the misfortunes of my life. ]

To these, suitable music was necessary. It was, however, upon this thatMadam de la Popliniere founded her censure; accusing me, with muchbitterness, of having composed a funeral anthem. M. De Richelieu veryjudiciously began by informing himself who was the author of the poetryof this monologue; I presented him the manuscript he had sent me, whichproved it was by Voltaire. "In that case, " said the duke, "Voltairealone is to blame. " During the rehearsal, everything I had done wasdisapproved by Madam de la Popliniere, and approved of by M. DeRichelieu; but I had afterwards to do with too powerful an adversary. It was signified to me that several parts of my composition wantedrevising, and that on this it was necessary I should consult M. Rameau;my heart was wounded by such a conclusion, instead of the eulogium Iexpected, and which certainly I merited, and I returned to my apartmentoverwhelmed with grief, exhausted with fatigue, and consumed by chagrin. I was immediately taken ill, and confined to my chamber for upwards ofsix weeks. 

Rameau, who was charged with the alterations indicated by Madam de laPopliniere, sent to ask me for the overture of my great opera, tosubstitute it to that I had just composed. Happily I perceived the trickhe intended to play me, and refused him the overture. As the performancewas to be in five or six days, he had not time to make one, and wasobliged to leave that I had prepared. It was in the Italian taste, andin a style at that time quite new in France. It gave satisfaction, and Ilearned from M. De Valmalette, maitre d'hotel to the king, and son-in-lawto M. Mussard, my relation and friend, that the connoisseurs were highlysatisfied with my work, and that the public had not distinguished it fromthat of Rameau. However, he and Madam de la Popliniere took measures toprevent any person from knowing I had any concern in the matter. In thebooks distributed to the audience, and in which the authors are alwaysnamed, Voltaire was the only person mentioned, and Rameau preferred thesuppression of his own name to seeing it associated with mine. 

As soon as I was in a situation to leave my room, I wished to wait uponM. De Richelieu, but it was too late; he had just set off for Dunkirk, where he was to command the expedition destined to Scotland. At hisreturn, said I to myself, to authorize my idleness, it will be too latefor my purpose, not having seen him since that time. I lost the honor ofmywork and the emoluments it should have produced me, besides consideringmy time, trouble, grief, and vexation, my illness, and the money this costme, without ever receiving the least benefit, or rather, recompense. However, I always thought M. De Richelieu was disposed to serve me, andthat he had a favorable opinion of my talents; but my misfortune, andMadam de la Popliniere, prevented the effect of his good wishes. 

I could not divine the reason of the aversion this lady had to me. I hadalways endeavored to make myself agreeable to her, and regularly paid hermy court. Gauffecourt explained to me the causes of her dislike: "Thefirst, " said he, "is her friendship for Rameau, of whom she is thedeclared panegyrist, and who will not suffer a competitor; the next is anoriginal sin, which ruins you in her estimation, and which she will neverforgive; you are a Genevese. " Upon this he told me the Abbe Hubert, whowas from the same city, and the sincere friend of M. De la Popliniere, had used all his efforts to prevent him from marrying this lady, withwhose character and temper he was very well acquainted; and that afterthe marriage she had vowed him an implacable hatred, as well as all theGenevese. "Although La Popliniere has a friendship for you, do not, "said he, "depend upon his protection: he is still in love with his wife:she hates you, and is vindictive and artful; you will never do anythingin that house. " All this I took for granted. 

The same Gauffecourt rendered me much about this time, a service of whichI stood in the greatest need. I had just lost my virtuous father, whowas about sixty years of age. I felt this loss less severely than Ishould have done at any other time, when the embarrassments of mysituation had less engaged my attention. During his life-time I hadnever claimed what remained of the property of my mother, and of which hereceived the little interest. His death removed all my scruples uponthis subject. But the want of a legal proof of the death of my brothercreated a difficulty which Gauffecourt undertook to remove, and this heeffected by means of the good offices of the advocate De Lolme. As Istood in need of the little resource, and the event being doubtful, Iwaited for a definitive account with the greatest anxiety. 

One evening on entering my apartment I found a letter, which I knew tocontain the information I wanted, and I took it up with an impatienttrembling, of which I was inwardly ashamed. What? said I to myself, with disdain, shall Jean Jacques thus suffer himself to be subdued byinterest and curiosity? I immediately laid the letter again upon thechimney-piece. I undressed myself, went to bed with great composure, slept better than ordinary, and rose in the morning at a late hour, without thinking more of my letter. As I dressed myself, it caught myeye; I broke the seal very leisurely, and found under the envelope a billof exchange. I felt a variety of pleasing sensations at the same time:but I can assert, upon my honor, that the most lively of them all wasthat proceeding from having known how to be master of myself. 

I could mention twenty such circumstances in my life, but I am too muchpressed for time to say everything. I sent a small part of this money tomy poor mamma; regretting, with my eyes suffused with tears, the happytime when I should have laid it all at her feet. All her letterscontained evident marks of her distress. She sent me piles of recipes, and numerous secrets, with which she pretended I might make my fortuneand her own. The idea of her wretchedness already affected her heart andcontracted her mind. The little I sent her fell a prey to the knaves bywhom she was surrounded; she received not the least advantage fromanything. The idea of dividing what was necessary to my own subsistencewith these wretches disgusted me, especially after the vain attempt I hadmade to deliver her from them, and of which I shall have occasion tospeak. Time slipped away, and with it the little money I had; we weretwo, or indeed, four persons; or, to speak still more correctly, seven oreight. Although Theresa was disinterested to a degree of which there arebut few examples, her mother was not so. She was no sooner a littlerelieved from her necessities by my cares, than she sent for her wholefamily to partake of the fruits of them. Her sisters, sons, daughters, all except her eldest daughter, married to the director of the coaches ofAugers, came to Paris. Everything I did for Theresa, her mother divertedfrom its original destination in favor of these people who were starving. I had not to do with an avaricious person; and, not being under theinfluence of an unruly passion, I was not guilty of follies. Satisfiedwith genteelly supporting Theresa without luxury, and unexposed topressing wants, I readily consented to let all the earnings of herindustry go to the profit of her mother; and to this even I did notconfine myself; but, by a fatality by which I was pursued, whilst mammawas a prey to the rascals about her Theresa was the same to her family;and I could not do anything on either side for the benefit of her to whomthe succor I gave was destined. It was odd enough the youngest child ofM. De la Vasseur, the only one who had not received a marriage portionfrom her parents, should provide for their subsistence; and that, afterhaving along time been beaten by her brothers, sisters, and even hernieces, the poor girl should be plundered by them all, without being moreable to defend herself from their thefts than from their blows. One ofher nieces, named Gorton le Duc, was of a mild and amiable character;although spoiled by the lessons and examples of the others. As Ifrequently saw them together, I gave them names, which they afterwardsgave to each other; I called the niece my niece, and the aunt my aunt;they both called me uncle. Hence the name of aunt, by which I continuedto call Theresa, and which my friends sometimes jocosely repeated. Itwill be judged that in such a situation I had not a moment to lose, before I attempted to extricate myself. Imagining M. De Richelieu hadforgotten me, and having no more hopes from the court, I made someattempts to get my opera brought out at Paris; but I met withdifficulties which could not immediately be removed, and my situationbecame daily more painful. I presented my little comedy of Narcisse tothe Italians; it was received, and I had the freedom of the theatre, which gave much pleasure. But this was all; I could never get my pieceperformed, and, tired of paying my court to players, I gave myself nomore trouble about them. At length I had recourse to the last expedientwhich remained to me, and the only one of which I ought to have made use. While frequenting the house of M. De la Popliniere, I had neglected thefamily of Dupin. The two ladies, although related, were not on goodterms, and never saw each other. There was not the least intercoursebetween the two families, and Thieriot was the only person who visitedboth. He was desired to endeavor to bring me again to M. Dupin's. M. DeFrancueil was then studying natural history and chemistry, and collectinga cabinet. I believe he aspired to become a member of the Academy ofSciences; to this effect he intended to write a book, and judged I mightbe of use to him in the undertaking. Madam de Dupin, who, on her part, had another work in contemplation, had much the same views in respect tome. They wished to have me in common as a kind of secretary, and thiswas the reason of the invitations of Thieriot. 

I required that M. De Francueil should previously employ his interestwith that of Jelyote to get my work rehearsed at the operahouse; to thishe consented. The Muses Galantes were several times rehearsed, first atthe Magazine, and afterwards in the great theatre. The audience was verynumerous at the great rehearsal, and several parts of the compositionwere highly applauded. However, during this rehearsal, veryill-conducted by Rebel, I felt the piece would not be received; and that, before it could appear, great alterations were necessary. I thereforewithdrew it without saying a word, or exposing myself to a refusal;but I plainly perceived, by several indications, that the work, had itbeen perfect, could not have succeeded. M. De Francueil had promised meto get it rehearsed, but not that it should be received. He exactly kepthis word. I thought I perceived on this occasion, as well as manyothers, that neither Madam Dupin nor himself were willing I shouldacquire a certain reputation in the world, lest, after the publication oftheir books, it should be supposed they had grafted their talents uponmine. Yet as Madam Dupin always supposed those I had to be verymoderate, and never employed me except it was to write what she dictated, or in researches of pure erudition, the reproach, with respect to her, would have been unjust. 

This last failure of success completed my discouragement. I abandonedevery prospect of fame and advancement; and, without further troubling myhead about real or imaginary talents, with which I had so little success, I dedicated my whole time and cares to procure myself and Theresa asubsistence in the manner most pleasing to those to whom it should beagreeable to provide for it. I therefore entirely attached myself toMadam Dupin and M. De Francueil. This did not place me in a very opulentsituation; for with eight or nine hundred livres, which I had the firsttwo years, I had scarcely enough to provide for my primary wants; beingobliged to live in their neighborhood, a dear part of the town, in afurnished lodging, and having to pay for another lodging at the extremityof Paris, at the very top of the Rue Saint Jacques, to which, let theweather be as it would, I went almost every evening to supper. I soongot into the track of my new occupations, and conceived a taste for them. I attached myself to the study of chemistry, and attended several coursesof it with M. De Francueil at M. Rouelle's, and we began to scribble overpaper upon that science, of which we scarcely possessed the elements. In 1717, we went to pass the autumn in Tourraine, at the castle ofChenonceaux, a royal mansion upon the Cher, built by Henry the II, forDiana of Poitiers, of whom the ciphers are still seen, and which is nowin the possession of M. Dupin, a farmer general. We amused ourselvesvery agreeably in this beautiful place, and lived very well: I became asfat there as a monk. Music was a favorite relaxation. I composedseveral trios full of harmony, and of which I may perhaps speak in mysupplement if ever I should write one. Theatrical performances wereanother resource. I wrote a comedy in fifteen days, entitled'l'Engagement Temeraire', --[The Rash Engagement]--which will be foundamongst my papers; it has no other merit than that of being lively. I composed several other little things: amongst others a poem entitled, 'l'Aliee de Sylvie', from the name of an alley in the park upon the bankof the Cher; and this without discontinuing my chemical studies, orinterrupting what I had to do for Madam Dupin. 

Whilst I was increasing my corpulency at Chenonceaux, that of my poorTheresa was augmented at Paris in another manner, and at my return Ifound the work I had put upon the frame in greater forwardness than I hadexpected. This, on account of my situation, would have thrown me intothe greatest embarrassment, had not one of my messmates furnished me withthe only resource which could relieve me from it. This is one of thoseessential narratives which I cannot give with too much simplicity;because, in making an improper use of their names, I should either excuseor inculpate myself, both of which in this place are entirely out of thequestion. 

During the residence of Altuna at Paris, instead of going to eat at a'Traiteurs', he and I commonly eat in the neighborhood, almost oppositethe cul de sac of the opera, at the house of a Madam la Selle, the wifeof a tailor, who gave but very ordinary dinners, but whose table was muchfrequented on account of the safe company which generally resorted to it;no person was received without being introduced by one of those who usedthe house. The commander, De Graville, an old debauchee, with much witand politeness, but obscene in conversation, lodged at the house, andbrought to it a set of riotous and extravagant young men; officers in theguards and mousquetaires. The Commander de Nonant, chevalier to all thegirls of the opera, was the daily oracle, who conveyed to us the news ofthis motley crew. M. Du Plessis, a lieutenant-colonel, retired from theservice, an old man of great goodness and wisdom; and M. Ancelet, anofficer in the mousquetaires kept the young people in a certain kind oforder. 

 [It was to this M. Ancelet I gave a little comedy, after my own manner entitled 'les Prisouniers de Guerre', which I wrote after the disasters of the French in Bavaria and Bohemia: I dared not either avow this comedy or show it, and this for the singular reason that neither the King of France nor the French were ever better spoken of nor praised with more sincerity of heart than in my piece though written by a professed republican, I dared not declare myself the panegyrist of a nation, whose maxims were exactly the reverse of my own. More grieved at the misfortunes of France than the French themselves I was afraid the public would construe into flattery and mean complaisance the marks of a sincere attachment, of which in my first part I have mentioned the date and the cause, and which I was ashamed to show. ]

This table was also frequented by commercial people, financiersand contractors, but extremely polite, and such as were distinguishedamongst those of the same profession. M. De Besse, M. De Forcade, and others whose names I have forgotten, in short, well-dressedpeople of every description were seen there; except abbes and men of thelong robe, not one of whom I ever met in the house, and it was agreed notto introduce men of either of these professions. This table, sufficiently resorted to, was very cheerful without being noisy, and manyof the guests were waggish, without descending to vulgarity. The oldcommander with all his smutty stories, with respect to the substance, never lost sight of the politeness of the old court; nor did any indecentexpression, which even women would not have pardoned him, escape hislips. His manner served as a rule to every person at table; all theyoung men related their adventures of gallantry with equal grace andfreedom, and these narratives were the more complete, as the seraglio wasat the door; the entry which led to it was the same; for there was acommunication between this and the shop of Le Duchapt, a celebratedmilliner, who at that time had several very pretty girls, with whom ouryoung people went to chat before or after dinner. I should thus haveamused myself as well as the rest, had I been less modest: I had only togo in as they did, but this I never had courage enough to do. Withrespect to Madam de Selle, I often went to eat at her house after thedeparture of Altuna. I learned a great number of amusing anecdotes, andby degrees I adopted, thank God, not the morals, but the maxims I foundto be established there. Honest men injured, husbands deceived, womenseduced, were the most ordinary topics, and he who had best filled thefoundling hospital was always the most applauded. I caught the mannersI daily had before my eyes: I formed my manner of thinking upon that Iobserved to be the reigning one amongst amiable: and upon the whole, veryhonest people. I said to myself, since it is the custom of the country, they who live here may adopt it; this is the expedient for which Isought. I cheerfully determined upon it without the least scruple, andthe only one I had to overcome was that of Theresa, whom, with thegreatest imaginable difficulty, I persuaded to adopt this only means ofsaving her honor. Her mother, who was moreover apprehensive of a newembarrassment by an increase of family, came to my aid, and she at lengthsuffered herself to be prevailed upon. We made choice of a midwife, asafe and prudent woman, Mademoiselle Gouin, who lived at the Point SaintEustache, and when the time came, Theresa was conducted to her house byher mother. 

I went thither several times to see her, and gave her a cipher which Ihad made double upon two cards; one of them was put into the linen of thechild, and by the midwife deposited with the infant in the office of thefoundling hospital according to the customary form. The year following, a similar inconvenience was remedied by the same expedient, excepting thecipher, which was forgotten: no more reflection on my part, norapprobation on that of the mother; she obeyed with trembling. All thevicissitudes which this fatal conduct has produced in my manner ofthinking, as well as in my destiny, will be successively seen. For thepresent, we will confine ourselves to this first period; its cruel andunforeseen consequences will but too frequently oblige me to refer to it. 

I here mark that of my first acquaintance with Madam D'Epinay, whose namewill frequently appear in these memoirs. She was a Mademoiselle D'Esclavelles, and had lately been married to M. D'Epinay, son of M. DeLalive de Bellegarde, a farmer general. She understood music, and apassion for the art produced between these three persons the greatestintimacy. Madam Prancueil introduced me to Madam D'Epinay, and wesometimes supped together at her house. She was amiable, had wit andtalent, and was certainly a desirable acquaintance; but she had a femalefriend, a Mademoiselle d'Ette, who was said to have much malignancy inher disposition; she lived with the Chevalier de Valory, whose temper wasfar from being one of the best. I am of opinion, an acquaintance withthese two persons was prejudicial to Madam D'Epinay, to whom, with adisposition which required the greatest attention from those about her, nature had given very excellent qualities to regulate or counterbalanceher extravagant pretensions. M. De Francueil inspired her with a part ofthe friendship he had conceived for me, and told me of the connectionbetween them, of which, for that reason, I would not now speak, were itnot become so public as not to be concealed from M. D'Epinay himself. 

M. De Francueil confided to me secrets of a very singular nature relativeto this lady, of which she herself never spoke to me, nor so much assuspected my having a knowledge; for I never opened my lips to her uponthe subject, nor will I ever do it to any person. The confidence allparties had in my prudence rendered my situation very embarrassing, especially with Madam de Francueil, whose knowledge of me was sufficientto remove from her all suspicion on my account, although I was connectedwith her rival. I did everything I could to console this poor woman, whose husband certainly did not return the affection she had for him. I listened to these three persons separately; I kept all their secrets sofaithfully that not one of the three ever drew from me those of the twoothers, and this, without concealing from either of the women myattachment to each of them. Madam de Francueil, who frequently wished tomake me an agent, received refusals in form, and Madam D'Epinay, oncedesiring me to charge myself with a letter to M. De Francueil receivedthe same mortification, accompanied by a very express declaration, thatif ever she wished to drive me forever from the house, she had only asecond time to make me a like proposition. 

In justice to Madam D'Epinay, I must say, that far from being offendedwith me she spoke of my conduct to M. De Francueil in terms of thehighest approbation, and continued to receive me as well, and as politelyas ever. It was thus, amidst the heart-burnings of three persons to whomI was obliged to behave with the greatest circumspection, on whom I insome measure depended, and for whom I had conceived an attachment, thatby conducting myself with mildness and complaisance, although accompaniedwith the greatest firmness, I preserved unto the last not only theirfriendship, but their esteem and confidence. Notwithstanding myabsurdities and awkwardness, Madam D'Epinay would have me make one of theparty to the Chevrette, a country-house, near Saint Denis, belonging toM. De Bellegarde. There was a theatre, in which performances were notunfrequent. I had a part given me, which I studied for six monthswithout intermission, and in which, on the evening of the representation, I was obliged to be prompted from the beginning to the end. After thisexperiment no second proposal of the kind was ever made to me. 

My acquaintance with M. D'Epinay procured me that of her sister-in-law, Mademoiselle de Bellegarde, who soon afterwards became Countess ofHoudetot. The first time I saw her she was upon the point of marriage;when she conversed with me a long time, with that charming familiaritywhich was natural to her. I thought her very amiable, but I was far fromperceiving that this young person would lead me, although innocently, into the abyss in which I still remain. 

Although I have not spoken of Diderot since my return from Venice, nomore than of my friend M. Roguin, I did not neglect either of them, especially the former, with whom I daily became more intimate. He had aNannette, as well as I a Theresa; this was between us another conformityof circumstances. But my Theresa, as fine a woman as his Nannette, wasof a mild and amiable character, which might gain and fix the affectionsof a worthy man; whereas Nannette was a vixen, a troublesome prater, andhad no qualities in the eyes of others which in any measure compensatedfor her want of education. However he married her, which was well doneof him, if he had given a promise to that effect. I, for my part, nothaving entered into any such engagement, was not in the least haste toimitate him. 

I was also connected with the Abbe de Condillac, who had acquired no moreliterary fame than myself, but in whom there was every appearance of hisbecoming what he now is. I was perhaps the first who discovered theextent of his abilities, and esteemed them as they deserved. He on hispart seemed satisfied with me, and, whilst shut up in my chamber in theRue Jean Saint Denis, near the opera-house, I composed my act of Hesiod, he sometimes came to dine with me tete-a-tete. We sent for our dinner, and paid share and share alike. He was at that time employed on hisEssay on the Origin of Human Knowledge, which was his first work. Whenthis was finished, the difficulty was to find a bookseller who would takeit. The booksellers of Paris are shy of every author at his beginning, and metaphysics, not much then in vogue, were no very inviting subject. I spoke to Diderot of Condillac and his work, and I afterwards broughtthem acquainted with each other. They were worthy of each other'sesteem, and were presently on the most friendly terms. Diderot persuadedthe bookseller, Durand, to take the manuscript from the abbe, and thisgreat metaphysician received for his first work, and almost as a favor, a hundred crowns, which perhaps he would not have obtained without myassistance. As we lived in a quarter of the town very distant from eachother, we all assembled once a week at the Palais Royal, and went to dineat the Hotel du Panier Fleuri. These little weekly dinners must havebeen extremely pleasing to Diderot; for he who failed in almost all hisappointments never missed one of these. At our little meeting I formedthe plan of a periodical paper, entitled 'le Persifleur'--[The Jeerer]--which Diderot and I were alternately to write. I sketched out the firstsheet, and this brought me acquainted with D'Alembert, to whom Diderothad mentioned it. Unforeseen events frustrated our intention, and theproject was carried no further. 

These two authors had just undertaken the 'Dictionnaire Encyclopedique', which at first was intended to be nothing more than a kind of translationof Chambers, something like that of the Medical Dictionary of James, which Diderot had just finished. Diderot was desirous I should dosomething in this second undertaking, and proposed to me the musicalpart, which I accepted. This I executed in great haste, and consequentlyvery ill, in the three months he had given me, as well as all the authorswho were engaged in the work. But I was the only person in readiness atthe time prescribed. I gave him my manuscript, which I had copied by alaquais, belonging to M. De Francueil of the name of Dupont, who wrotevery well. I paid him ten crowns out of my own pocket, and these havenever been reimbursed me. Diderot had promised me a retribution on thepart of the booksellers, of which he has never since spoken to me nor Ito him. 

This undertaking of the 'Encyclopedie' was interrupted by hisimprisonment. The 'Pensees Philosophiquiest' drew upon him sometemporary inconvenience which had no disagreeable consequences. He didnot come off so easily on account of the 'Lettre sur les Aveugles', --[Letter concerning blind persons. ]--in which there was nothingreprehensible, but some personal attacks with which Madam du Pre St. Maur, and M. De Raumur were displeased: for this he was confined in thedungeon of Vincennes. Nothing can describe the anguish I felt on accountof the misfortunes of my friend. My wretched imagination, which alwayssees everything in the worst light, was terrified. I imagined him to beconfined for the remainder of his life. I was almost distracted with thethought. I wrote to Madam de Pompadour, beseeching her to release him orobtain an order to shut me up in the same dungeon. I received no answerto my letter: this was too reasonable to be efficacious, and I do notflatter myself that it contributed to the alleviation which, some timeafterwards, was granted to the severities of the confinement of poorDiderot. Had this continued for any length of time with the same rigor, I verily believe I should have died in despair at the foot of the hateddungeon. However, if my letter produced but little effect, I did not onaccount of it attribute to myself much merit, for I mentioned it but tovery few people, and never to Diderot himself. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK VIII. 

At the end of the preceding book a pause was necessary. With this beginsthe long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin. 

Having lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had, notwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance. Amongothers at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha, andof the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M. De la Popliniere, that of M. Seguy, friend to the Baron de Thun, and known in the literaryworld by his beautiful edition of Rousseau. The baron invited M. Seguyand myself to go and pass a day or two at Fontenai sous bois, where theprince had a house. As I passed Vincennes, at the sight of the dungeon, my feelings were acute; the effect of which the baron perceived on mycountenance. At supper the prince mentioned the confinement of Diderot. The baron, to hear what I had to say, accused the prisoner of imprudence;and I showed not a little of the same in the impetuous manner in which Idefended him. This excess of zeal, inspired by the misfortune which hadbefallen my friend, was pardoned, and the conversation immediatelychanged. There were present two Germans in the service of the prince. M. Klupssel, a man of great wit, his chaplain, and who afterwards, havingsupplanted the baron, became his governor. The other was a young mannamed M. Grimm, who served him as a reader until he could obtain someplace, and whose indifferent appearance sufficiently proved the pressingnecessity he was under of immediately finding one. From this veryevening Klupssel and I began an acquaintance which soon led tofriendship. That with the Sieur Grimm did not make quite so rapid aprogress; he made but few advances, and was far from having that haughtypresumption which prosperity afterwards gave him. The next day atdinner, the conversation turned upon music; he spoke well on the subject. I was transported with joy when I learned from him he could play anaccompaniment on the harpsichord. After dinner was over music wasintroduced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon on theharpischord of the prince. Thus began that friendship which, at first, was so agreeable to me, afterwards so fatal, and of which I shallhereafter have so much to say. 

At my return to Paris, I learned the agreeable news that Diderot wasreleased from the dungeon, and that he had on his parole the castle andpark of Vincennes for a prison, with permission to see his friends. Howpainful was it to me not to be able instantly to fly to him! But I wasdetained two or three days at Madam Dupin's by indispensable business. After ages of impatience, I flew to the arms of my friend. He was notalone: D' Alembert and the treasurer of the Sainte Chapelle were withhim. As I entered I saw nobody but himself, I made but one step, onecry; I riveted my face to his: I pressed him in my arms, without speakingto him, except by tears and sighs: I stifled him with my affection andjoy. The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was to turn himselftowards the ecclesiastic, and say: "You see, sir, how much I am belovedby my friends. " My emotion was so great, that it was then impossible forme to reflect upon this manner of turning it to advantage; but I havesince thought that, had I been in the place of Diderot, the idea hemanifested would not have been the first that would have occurred to me. 

I found him much affected by his imprisonment. The dungeon had made aterrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeablysituated in the castle, and at liberty to, walk where he pleased in thepark, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of hisfriends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy. As I was the personmost concerned for his sufferings, I imagined I should also be thefriend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which account, notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two days atfarthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the afternoonwith him. 

The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive. Vincennes is twoleagues from Paris. The state of my finances not permitting me to payfor hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on foot, when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive thesooner. The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according tothe custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and exhausted byfatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceedany further. I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate my pace. One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read, I came tothe following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for the premiumof the ensuing year, 'Has the progress of sciences and arts contributedto corrupt or purify morals?'

The moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and becamea different man. Although I have a lively remembrance of the impressionit made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since I communicated itto M. De Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him. This is one ofthe singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked. It serves mein proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed topaper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have nosooner written a thing than I had forgotten it entirely. Thissingularity is the same with respect to music. Before I learned the useof notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made asufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollectany one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be ableentirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond. All Idistinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival atVincennes, I was in an agitation which approached a delirium. Diderotperceived it; I told him the cause, and read to him the prosopopoeia ofFabricius, written with a pencil under a tree. He encouraged me topursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium. I did so, and from that moment I was ruined. 

All the rest of my misfortunes during my life were the inevitable effectof this moment of error. 

My sentiments became elevated with the most inconceivable rapidity to thelevel of my ideas. All my little passions were stifled by the enthusiasmof truth, liberty, and virtue; and, what is most astonishing, thiseffervescence continued in my mind upwards of five years, to as great adegree perhaps as it has ever done in that of any other man. I composedthe discourse in a very singular manner, and in that style which I havealways followed in my other works. I dedicated to it the hours of thenight in which sleep deserted me, I meditated in my bed with my eyesclosed, and in my mind turned over and over again my periods withincredible labor and care; the moment they were finished to mysatisfaction, I deposited them in my memory, until I had an opportunityof committing them to paper; but the time of rising and putting on myclothes made me lose everything, and when I took up my pen I recollectedbut little of what I had composed. I made Madam le Vasseur my secretary;I had lodged her with her daughter, and husband, nearer to myself; andshe, to save me the expense of a servant, came every morning to make myfire, and to do such other little things as were necessary. As soon asshe arrived I dictated to her while in bed what I had composed in thenight, and this method, which for a long time I observed, preserved memany things I should otherwise have forgotten. 

As soon as the discourse was finished, I showed it to Diderot. He wassatisfied with the production, and pointed out some corrections hethought necessary to be made. 

However, this composition, full of force and fire, absolutely wants logicand order; of all the works I ever wrote, this is the weakest inreasoning, and the most devoid of number and harmony. With whatevertalent a man may be born, the art of writing is not easily learned. 

I sent off this piece without mentioning it to anybody, except, I think, to Grimm, with whom, after his going to live with the Comte de Vriese, Ibegan to be upon the most intimate footing. His harpsichord served as arendezvous, and I passed with him at it all the moments I had to spare, in singing Italian airs, and barcaroles; sometimes without intermission, from morning till night, or rather from night until morning; and when Iwas not to be found at Madam Dupin's, everybody concluded I was withGrimm at his apartment, the public walk, or theatre. I left off going tothe Comedie Italienne, of which I was free, to go with him, and pay, tothe Comedie Francoise, of which he was passionately fond. In short, sopowerful an attraction connected me with this young man, and I became soinseparable from him, that the poor aunt herself was rather neglected, that is, I saw her less frequently; for in no moment of my life has myattachment to her been diminished. 

This impossibility of dividing, in favor of my inclinations, the littletime I had to myself, renewed more strongly than ever the desire I hadlong entertained of having but one home for Theresa and myself; but theembarrassment of her numerous family, and especially the want of money topurchase furniture, had hitherto withheld me from accomplishing it. Anopportunity to endeavor at it presented itself, and of this I tookadvantage. M. De Francueil and Madam Dupin, clearly perceiving thateight or nine hundred livres a year were unequal to my wants, increasedof their own accord, my salary to fifty guineas; and Madam Dupin, havingheard I wished to furnish myself lodgings, assisted me with some articlesfor that purpose. With this furniture and that Theresa already had, wemade one common stock, and, having an apartment in the Hotel deLanguedoc, Rue de Grevelle St, Honor, kept by very honest people, wearranged ourselves in the best manner we could, and lived there peaceablyand agreeably during seven years, at the end of which I removed to go andlive at the Hermitage. 

Theresa's father was a good old man, very mild in his disposition, andmuch afraid of his wife; for this reason he had given her the surname ofLieutenant Criminal, which Grimm, jocosely, afterwards transferred to thedaughter. Madam le Vasseur did not want sense, that is address; andpretended to the politeness and airs of the first circles; but she had amysterious wheedling, which to me was insupportable, gave bad advice toher daughter, endeavored to make her dissemble with me, and separately, cajoled my friends at my expense, and that of each other; excepting thesecircumstances; she was a tolerably good mother, because she found heraccount in being so, and concealed the faults of her daughter to turnthem to her own advantage. This woman, who had so much of my care andattention, to whom I made so many little presents, and by whom I had itextremely at heart to make myself beloved, was, from the impossibility ofmy succeeding in this wish, the only cause of the uneasiness I sufferedin my little establishment. Except the effects of this cause I enjoyed, during these six or seven, years, the most perfect domestic happiness ofwhich human weakness is capable. The heart of my Theresa was that of anangel; our attachment increased with our intimacy, and we were more andmore daily convinced how much we were made for each other. Could ourpleasures be described, their simplicity would cause laughter. Ourwalks, tete-a-tete, on the outside of the city, where I magnificentlyspent eight or ten sous in each guinguette. --[Ale-house]--Our littlesuppers at my window, seated opposite to each other upon two littlechairs, placed upon a trunk, which filled up the spare of the embrasure. In this situation the window served us as a table, we respired the freshair, enjoyed the prospect of the environs and the people who passed; and, although upon the fourth story, looked down into the street as we ate. 

Who can describe, and how few can feel, the charms of these repasts, consisting of a quartern loaf, a few cherries, a morsel of cheese, andhalf-a-pint of wine which we drank between us? Friendship, confidence, intimacy, sweetness of disposition, how delicious are your reasonings!We sometimes remained in this situation until midnight, and never thoughtof the hour, unless informed of it by the old lady. But let us quitthese details, which are either insipid or laughable; I have always saidand felt that real enjoyment was not to be described. 

Much about the same time I indulged in one not so delicate, and the lastof the kind with which I have to reproach myself. I have observed thatthe minister Klupssel was an amiable man; my connections with him werealmost as intimate as those I had with Grimm, and in the end became asfamiliar; Grimm and he sometimes eat at my apartment. These repasts, alittle more than simple, were enlivened by the witty and extravagantwantonness of expression of Klupssel, and the diverting Germanicisms ofGrimm, who was not yet become a purist. 

Sensuality did not preside at our little orgies, but joy, which waspreferable, reigned in them all, and we enjoyed ourselves so welltogether that we knew not how to separate. Klupssel had furnished alodging for a little girl, who, notwithstanding this, was at the serviceof anybody, because he could not support her entirely himself. Oneevening as we were going into the coffee-house, we met him coming out togo and sup with her. We rallied him; he revenged himself gallantly, byinviting us to the same supper, and there rallying us in our turn. Thepoor young creature appeared to be of a good disposition, mild and littlefitted to the way of life to which an old hag she had with her, preparedher in the best manner she could. Wine and conversation enlivened us tosuch a degree that we forgot ourselves. The amiable Klupssel wasunwilling to do the honors of his table by halves, and we all threesuccessively took a view of the next chamber, in company with his littlefriend, who knew not whether she should laugh or cry. Grimm has alwaysmaintained that he never touched her; it was therefore to amuse himselfwith our impatience, that he remained so long in the other chamber, andif he abstained, there is not much probability of his having done so fromscruple, because previous to his going to live with the Comte de Friese, he lodged with girls of the town in the same quarter of St. Roch. 

I left the Rue des Moineaux, where this girl lodged, as much ashamed asSaint Preux left the house in which he had become intoxicated, and when Iwrote his story I well remembered my own. Theresa perceived by somesign, and especially by my confusion, I had something with which Ireproached myself; I relieved my mind by my free and immediateconfession. I did well, for the next day Grimm came in triumph to relateto her my crime with aggravation, and since that time he has never failedmaliciously to recall it to her recollection; in this he was the moreculpable, since I had freely and voluntarily given him my confidence, andhad a right to expect he would not make me repent of it. I never had amore convincing proof than on this occasion, of the goodness of myTheresa's heart; she was more shocked at the behavior of Grimm than at myinfidelity, and I received nothing from her but tender reproaches, inwhich there was not the least appearance of anger. 

The simplicity of mind of this excellent girl was equal to her goodnessof heart; and this is saying everything: but one instance of it, which ispresent to my recollection, is worthy of being related. I had told herKlupssel was a minister, and chaplain to the prince of Saxe-Gotha. Aminister was to her so singular a man, that oddly confounding the mostdissimilar ideas, she took it into her head to take Klupssel for thepope; I thought her mad the first time she told me when I came in, thatthe pope had called to see me. I made her explain herself and lost not amoment in going to relate the story to Grimm and Klupssel, who amongstourselves never lost the name of pope. We gave to the girl in the Ruedes Moineaux the name of Pope Joan. Our laughter was incessant; italmost stifled us. They, who in a letter which it hath pleased them toattribute to me, have made me say I never laughed but twice in my life, did not know me at this period, nor in my younger days; for if they had, the idea could never have entered into their heads. 

The year following (1750), not thinking more of my discourse; I learnedit had gained the premium at Dijon. This news awakened all the ideaswhich had dictated it to me, gave them new animation, and completed thefermentation of my heart of that first leaven of heroism and virtue whichmy father, my country, and Plutarch had inspired in my infancy. Nothingnow appeared great in my eyes but to be free and virtuous, superior tofortune and opinion, and independent of all exterior circumstances;although a false shame, and the fear of disapprobation at first preventedme from conducting myself according to these principles, and fromsuddenly quarreling with the maxims of the age in which I lived, I fromthat moment took a decided resolution to do it. --[And of this I purposelydelayed the execution, that irritated by contradiction f it might berendered triumphant. ]

While I was philosophizing upon the duties of man, an event happenedwhich made me better reflect upon my own. Theresa became pregnant forthe third time. Too sincere with myself, too haughty in my mind tocontradict my principles by my actions, I began to examine thedestination of my children, and my connections with the mother, accordingto the laws of nature, justice, and reason, and those of that religion, pure, holy, and eternal, like its author, which men have polluted whilethey pretended to purify it, and which by their formularies they havereduced to a religion of words, since the difficulty of prescribingimpossibilities is but trifling to those by whom they are not practised. 

If I deceived myself in my conclusions, nothing can be more astonishingthan the security with which I depended upon them. Were I one of thosemen unfortunately born deaf to the voice of nature, in whom no sentimentof justice or humanity ever took the least root, this obduracy would benatural. But that warmth of heart, strong sensibility, and facility offorming attachments; the force with which they subdue me; my cruelsufferings when obliged to break them; the innate benevolence I cherishedtowards my fellow-creatures; the ardent love I bear to great virtues, totruth and justice, the horror in which I hold evil of every kind; theimpossibility of hating, of injuring or wishing to injure anyone; thesoft and lively emotion I feel at the sight of whatever is virtuous, generous and amiable; can these meet in the same mind with the depravitywhich without scruple treads under foot the most pleasing of all ourduties? No, I feel, and openly declare this to be impossible. Never inhis whole life could J. J. Be a man without sentiment or an unnaturalfather. I may have been deceived, but it is impossible I should havelost the least of my feelings. Were I to give my reasons, I should saytoo much; since they have seduced me, they would seduce many others. Iwill not therefore expose those young persons by whom I may be read tothe same danger. I will satisfy myself by observing that my error wassuch, that in abandoning my children to public education for want of themeans of bringing them up myself; in destining them to become workmen andpeasants, rather than adventurers and fortune-hunters, I thought I actedlike an honest citizen, and a good father, and considered myself as amember of the republic of Plato. Since that time the regrets of my hearthave more than once told me I was deceived; but my reason was so far fromgiving me the same intimation, that I have frequently returned thanks toHeaven for having by this means preserved them from the fate of theirfather, and that by which they were threatened the moment I should havebeen under the necessity of leaving them. Had I left them to Madamd'Upinay, or Madam de Luxembourg, who, from friendship, generosity, orsome other motive, offered to take care of them in due time, would theyhave been more happy, better brought up, or honester men? To this Icannot answer; but I am certain they would have been taught to hate andperhaps betray their parents: it is much better that they have neverknown them. 

My third child was therefore carried to the foundling hospital as well asthe two former, and the next two were disposed of in the same manner; forI have had five children in all. This arrangement seemed to me to be sogood, reasonable and lawful, that if I did not publicly boast of it, themotive by which I was withheld was merely my regard for their mother: butI mentioned it to all those to whom I had declared our connection, toDiderot, to Grimm, afterwards to M. D'Epinay, and after another intervalto Madam de Luxembourg; and this freely and voluntarily, without beingunder the least necessity of doing it, having it in my power to concealthe step from all the world; for La Gouin was an honest woman, verydiscreet, and a person on whom I had the greatest reliance. The only oneof my friends to whom it was in some measure my interest to open myself, was Thierry the physician, who had the care of my poor aunt in one of herlyings in, in which she was very ill. In a word, there was no mystery inmy conduct, not only on account of my never having concealed anythingfrom my friends, but because I never found any harm in it. Everythingconsidered, I chose the best destination for my children, or that which Ithought to be such. I could have wished, and still should be glad, had Ibeen brought up as they have been. 

Whilst I was thus communicating what I had done, Madam. Le Vasseur didthe same thing amongst her acquaintance, but with less disinterestedviews. I introduced her and her daughter to Madam Dupin, who, fromfriendship to me, showed them the greatest kindness. The mother confidedto her the secret of the daughter. Madam Dupin, who is generous andkind, and to whom she never told how attentive I was to her, notwithstanding my moderate resources, in providing for everything, provided on her part for what was necessary, with a liberality which, byorder of her mother, the daughter concealed from me during my residencein Paris, nor ever mentioned it until we were at the Hermitage, when sheinformed me of it, after having disclosed to me several other secrets ofher heart. I did not know Madam Dupin, who never took the least noticeto me of the matter, was so well informed: I know not yet whether Madamde Chenonceaux, her daughter-in-law, was as much in the secret: but Madamde Brancueil knew the whole and could not refrain from prattling. Shespoke of it to me the following year, after I had left her house. Thisinduced me to write her a letter upon the subject, which will be found inmy collections, and wherein I gave such of my reasons as I could makepublic, without exposing Madam le Vasseur and her family; the mostdeterminative of them came from that quarter, and these I kept profoundlysecret. 

I can rely upon the discretion of Madam Dupin, and the friendship ofMadam de Chenonceaux; I had the same dependence upon that of Madam deFrancuiel, who, however, was long dead before my secret made its way intothe world. This it could never have done except by means of the personsto whom I intrusted it, nor did it until after my rupture with them. Bythis single fact they are judged; without exculpating myself from theblame I deserve, I prefer it to that resulting from their malignity. Myfault is great, but it was an error. I have neglected my duty, but thedesire of doing an injury never entered my heart; and the feelings of afather were never more eloquent in favor of children whom he never saw. But: betraying the confidence of friendship, violating the most sacred ofall engagements, publishing secrets confided to us, and wantonlydishonoring the friend we have deceived, and who in detaching himselffrom our society still respects us, are not faults, but baseness of mind, and the last degree of heinousness. 

I have promised my confession and not my justification; on which accountI shall stop here. It is my duty faithfully to relate the truth, that ofthe reader to be just; more than this I never shall require of him. 

The marriage of M. De Chenonceaux rendered his mother's house still moreagreeable to me, by the wit and merit of the new bride, a very amiableyoung person, who seemed to distinguish me amongst the scribes of M. Dupin. She was the only daughter of the Viscountess de Rochechouart, agreat friend of the Comte de Friese, and consequently of Grimm's who wasvery attentive to her. However, it was I who introduced him to herdaughter; but their characters not suiting each other, this connectionwas not of long duration; and Grimm, who from that time aimed at what wassolid, preferred the mother, a woman of the world, to the daughter whowished for steady friends, such as were agreeable to her, withouttroubling her head about the least intrigue, or making any interestamongst the great. Madam Dupin no longer finding in Madam de Chenonceauxall the docility she expected, made her house very disagreeable to her, and Madam de Chenonceaux, having a great opinion of her own merit, and, perhaps, of her birth, chose rather to give up the pleasures of society, and remain almost alone in her apartment, than to submit to a yoke shewas not disposed to bear. This species of exile increased my attachmentto her, by that natural inclination which excites me to approach thewretched, I found her mind metaphysical and reflective, although at timesa little sophistical; her conversation, which was by no means that of ayoung woman coming from a convent, had for me the greatest attractions;yet she was not twenty years of age. Her complexion was seducingly fair;her figure would have been majestic had she held herself more upright. Her hair, which was fair, bordering upon ash color, and uncommonlybeautiful, called to my recollection that of my poor mamma in the flowerof her age, and strongly agitated my heart. But the severe principles Ihad just laid down for myself, by which at all events I was determined tobe guided, secured me from the danger of her and her charms. During thewhole summer I passed three or four hours a day in a tete-a-teteconversation with her, teaching her arithmetic, and fatiguing her with myinnumerable ciphers, without uttering a single word of gallantry, or evenonce glancing my eyes upon her. Five or six years later I should nothave had so much wisdom or folly; but it was decreed I was never to lovebut once in my life, and that another person was to have the first andlast sighs of my heart. 

Since I had lived in the house of Madam Dupin, I had always beensatisfied with my situation, without showing the least sign of a desireto improve it. The addition which, in conjunction with M. De Francueil, she had made to my salary, was entirely of their own accord. This yearM. De Francueil, whose friendship for me daily increased, had it in histhoughts to place me more at ease, and in a less precarious situation. He was receiver-general of finance. M. Dudoyer, his cash-keeper, was oldand rich, and wished to retire. M. De Francueil offered me his place, and to prepare myself for it, I went during a few weeks, to Dudoyer, totake the necessary instructions. But whether my talents were ill-suitedto the employment, or that M. Dudoyer, who I thought wished to procurehis place for another, was not in earnest in the instructions he gave me, I acquired by slow degrees, and very imperfectly, the knowledge I was inwant of, and could never understand the nature of accounts, renderedintricate, perhaps designedly. However, without having possessed myselfof the whole scope of the business, I learned enough of the method topursue it without the least difficulty; I even entered on my new office;I kept the cashbook and the cash; I paid and received money, took andgave receipts; and although this business was so ill suited to myinclinations as to my abilities, maturity of years beginning to render mesedate, I was determined to conquer my disgust, and entirely devotemyself to my new employment. 

Unfortunately for me, I had no sooner begun to proceed withoutdifficulty, than M. De Francueil took a little journey, during which Iremained intrusted with the cash, which, at that time, did not amount tomore than twenty-five to thirty thousand livres. The anxiety of mindthis sum of money occasioned me, made me perceive I was very unfit to bea cash-keeper, and I have no doubt but my uneasy situation, during hisabsence, contributed to the illness with which I was seized after hisreturn. 

I have observed in my first part that I was born in a dying state. Adefect in the bladder caused me, during my early years, to suffer analmost continual retention of urine, and my Aunt Susan, to whose care Iwas intrusted, had inconceivable difficulty in preserving me. However, she succeeded, and my robust constitution at length got the better of allmy weakness, and my health became so well established that except theillness from languor, of which I have given an account, and frequentheats in the bladder which the least heating of the blood renderedtroublesome, I arrived at the age of thirty almost without feeling myoriginal infirmity. The first time this happened was upon my arrival atVenice. The fatigue of the voyage, and the extreme heat I had suffered, renewed the burnings, and gave me a pain in the loins, which continueduntil the beginning of winter. After having seen padoana, I thoughtmyself near the end of my career, but I suffered not the leastinconvenience. After exhausting my imagination more than my body for myZulietta, I enjoyed better health than ever. It was not until after theimprisonment of Diderot that the heat of blood, brought on by my journeysto Vincennes during the terrible heat of that summer, gave me a violentnephritic colic, since which I have never recovered my primitive goodstate of health. 

At the time of which I speak, having perhaps fatigued myself too much inthe filthy work of the cursed receiver-general's office, I fell into aworse state than ever, and remained five or six weeks in my bed in themost melancholy state imaginable. Madam Dupin sent me the celebratedMorand who, notwithstanding his address and the delicacy of his touch, made me suffer the greatest torments. He advised me to have recourse toDaran, who, in fact gave me some relief: but Morand, when he gave MadamDupin an account of the state I was in, declared to her I should not bealive in six months. This afterwards came to my ear, and made me reflectseriously on my situation and the folly of sacrificing the repose of thefew days I had to live to the slavery of an employment for which I feltnothing but disgust. Besides, how was it possible to reconcile thesevere principles I had just adopted to a situation with which they hadso little relation? Should not I, the cash-keeper of a receiver-generalof finances, have preached poverty and disinterestedness with a very illgrace? These ideas fermented so powerfully in my mind with the fever, and were so strongly impressed, that from that time nothing could removethem; and, during my convalescence, I confirmed myself with the greatestcoolness in the resolutions I had taken during my delirium. I foreverabandoned all projects of fortune and advancement, resolved to pass inindependence and poverty the little time I had to exist. I made everyeffort of which my mind was capable to break the fetters of prejudice, and courageously to do everything that was right without giving myselfthe least concern about the judgment of others. The obstacles I had tocombat, and the efforts I made to triumph over them, are inconceivable. I succeeded as much as it was possible I should, and to a greater degreethan I myself had hoped for. Had I at the same time shaken off the yokeof friendship as well as that of prejudice, my design would have beenaccomplished, perhaps the greatest, at least the most useful one tovirtue, that mortal ever conceived; but whilst I despised the foolishjudgments of the vulgar tribe called great and wise, I suffered myself tobe influenced and led by persons who called themselves my friends. These, hurt at seeing me walk alone in a new path, while I seemed to takemeasures for my happiness, used all their endeavors to render meridiculous, and that they might afterwards defame me, first strove tomake me contemptible. It was less my literary fame than my personalreformation, of which I here state the period, that drew upon me theirjealousy; they perhaps might have pardoned me for having distinguishedmyself in the art of writing; but they could never forgive my settingthem, by my conduct, an example, which, in their eyes, seemed to reflecton themselves. I was born for friendship; my mind and easy dispositionnourished it without difficulty. As long as I lived unknown to thepublic I was beloved by all my private acquaintance, and I had not asingle enemy. But the moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer afriend. This, was a great misfortune; but a still greater was that ofbeing surrounded by people who called themselves my friends, and used therights attached to that sacred name to lead me on to destruction. Thesucceeding part of these memoirs will explain this odious conspiracy. Ihere speak of its origin, and the manner of the first intrigue willshortly appear. 

In the independence in which I lived, it was, however, necessary tosubsist. To this effect I thought of very simple means: which werecopying music at so much a page. If any employment more solid would havefulfilled the same end I would have taken it up; but this occupationbeing to my taste, and the only one which, without personal attendance, could procure me daily bread, I adopted it. Thinking I had no longerneed of foresight, and, stifling the vanity of cash-keeper to afinancier, I made myself a copyist of music. I thought I had made anadvantageous choice, and of this I so little repented, that I neverquitted my new profession until I was forced to do it, after taking afixed resolution to return to it as soon as possible. 

The success of my first discourse rendered the execution of thisresolution more easy. As soon as it had gained the premium, Diderotundertook to get it printed. Whilst I was in my bed, he wrote me a noteinforming me of the publication and effect: "It takes, " said he, "beyondall imagination; never was there an instance of alike success. "

This favor of the public, by no means solicited, and to an unknownauthor, gave me the first real assurance of my talents, of which, notwithstanding an internal sentiment, I had always had my doubts. Iconceived the great advantage to be drawn from it in favor of the way oflife I had determined to pursue; and was of opinion, that a copyist ofsome celebrity in the republic of letters was not likely to wantemployment. 

The moment my resolution was confirmed, I wrote a note to M, deFrancueil, communicating to him my intentions, thanking him and MadamDupin for all goodness, and offering them my services in the way of mynew profession. Francueil did not understand my note, and, thinking Iwas still in the delirium of fever, hastened to my apartment; but hefound me so determined, that all he could say to me was without the leasteffect. He went to Madam Dupin, and told her and everybody he met, thatI had become insane. I let him say what he pleased, and pursued the planI had conceived. I began the change in my dress; I quitted laced clothesand white stockings; I put on a round wig, laid aside my sword, and soldmy watch; saying to myself, with inexpressible pleasure: "Thank Heaven!I shall no longer want to know the hour!" M. De Francueil had thegoodness to wait a considerable time before he disposed of my place. Atlength perceiving me inflexibly resolved, he gave it to M. D'Alibard, formerly tutor to the young Chenonceaux, and known as a botanist by hisFlora Parisiensis. 

 [I doubt not but these circumstances are now differently related by M. Francueil and his consorts: but I appeal to what he said of them at the time and long afterwards, to everybody he knew, until the forming of the conspiracy, and of which men of common sense and honor, must have preserved a remembrance. ]

However austere my sumptuary reform might be, I did not at first extendit to my linen, which was fine and in great quantity, the remainder of mystock when at Venice, and to which I was particularly attached. I hadmade it so much an object of cleanliness, that it became one of luxury, which was rather expensive. Some persons, however, did me the favor todeliver me from this servitude. On Christmas Eve, whilst the governesseswere at vespers, and I was at the spiritual concert, the door of agarret, in which all our linen was hung up after being washed, was brokenopen. Everything was stolen; and amongst other things, forty-two of myshirts, of very fine linen, and which were the principal part of mystock. By the manner in which the neighbors described a man whom theyhad seen come out of the hotel with several parcels whilst we were allabsent, Theresa and myself suspected her brother, whom we knew to be aworthless man. The mother strongly endeavored to remove this suspicion, but so many circumstances concurred to prove it to be well founded, that, notwithstanding all she could say, our opinions remained still the same:I dared not make a strict search for fear of finding more than I wishedto do. The brother never returned to the place where I lived, and, atlength, was no more heard of by any of us. I was much grieved Theresaand myself should be connected with such a family, and I exhorted hermore than ever to shake off so dangerous a yoke. This adventure cured meof my inclination for fine linen, and since that time all I have had hasbeen very common, and more suitable to the rest of my dress. 

Having thus completed the change of that which related to my person, allmy cares tendered to render it solid and lasting, by striving to root outfrom my heart everything susceptible of receiving an impression from thejudgment of men, or which, from the fear of blame, might turn me asidefrom anything good and reasonable in itself. In consequence of thesuccess of my work, my resolution made some noise in the world also, and procured me employment; so that I began my new profession with greatappearance of success. However, several causes prevented me fromsucceeding in it to the same degree I should under any othercircumstances have done. In the first place my ill state of health. The attack I had just had, brought on consequences which prevented myever being so well as I was before; and I am of opinion, the physicians, to whose care I intrusted myself, did me as much harm as my illness. I was successively under the hands of Morand, Daran, Helvetius, Malouin, and Thyerri: men able in their profession, and all of them my friends, who treated me each according to his own manner, without giving me theleast relief, and weakened me considerably. The more I submitted totheir direction, the yellower, thinner, and weaker I became. Myimagination, which they terrified, judging of my situation by the effectof their drugs, presented to me, on this side of the tomb, nothing butcontinued sufferings from the gravel, stone, and retention of urine. Everything which gave relief to others, ptisans, baths, and bleeding, increased my tortures. Perceiving the bougees of Daran, the only onesthat had any favorable effect, and without which I thought I could nolonger exist, to give me a momentary relief, I procured a prodigiousnumber of them, that, in case of Daran's death, I might never be at aloss. During the eight or ten years in which I made such frequent use ofthese, they must, with what I had left, have cost me fifty louis. 

It will easily be judged, that such expensive and painful means did notpermit me to work without interruption; and that a dying man is notardently industrious in the business by which he gains his daily bread. 

Literary occupations caused another interruption not less prejudicial tomy daily employment. My discourse had no sooner appeared than thedefenders of letters fell upon me as if they had agreed with each to doit. My indignation was so raised at seeing so many blockheads, who didnot understand the question, attempt to decide upon it imperiously, thatin my answer I gave some of them the worst of it. One M. Gautier, ofNancy, the first who fell under the lash of my pen, was very roughlytreated in a letter to M. Grimm. The second was King Stanislaus, himself, who did not disdain to enter the lists with me. The honor hedid me, obliged me to change my manner in combating his opinions; I madeuse of a graver style, but not less nervous; and without failing inrespect to the author, I completely refuted his work. I knew a Jesuit, Father de Menou, had been concerned in it. I depended on my judgment todistinguish what was written by the prince, from the production of themonk, and falling without mercy upon all the jesuitical phrases, Iremarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I thought could come fromnobody but the priest. This composition, which, for what reason I knewnot, has been less spoken of than any of my other writings, is the onlyone of its kind. I seized the opportunity which offered of showing tothe public in what manner an individual may defend the cause of trutheven against a sovereign. It is difficult to adopt a more dignified andrespectful manner than that in which I answered him. I had the happinessto have to do with an adversary to whom, without adulation, I could showevery mark of the esteem of which my heart was full; and this I did withsuccess and a proper dignity. My friends, concerned for my safety, imagined they already saw me in the Bastile. This apprehension neveronce entered my head, and I was right in not being afraid. The goodprince, after reading my answer, said: "I have enough of at; I will notreturn to the charge. " I have, since that time received from himdifferent marks of esteem and benevolence, some of which I shall haveoccasion to speak of; and what I had written was read in France, andthroughout Europe, without meeting the least censure. 

In a little time I had another adversary whom I had not expected; thiswas the same M. Bordes, of Lyons, who ten years before had shown me muchfriendship, and from whom I had received several services. I had notforgotten him, but had neglected him from idleness, and had not sent himmy writings for want of an opportunity, without seeking for it, to getthem conveyed to his hands. I was therefore in the wrong, and heattacked me; this, however, he did politely, and I answered in the samemanner. He replied more decidedly. This produced my last answer; afterwhich I heard no more from him upon the subject; but he became my mostviolent enemy, took the advantage of the time of my misfortunes, topublish against me the most indecent libels, and made a journey to Londonon purpose to do me an injury. 

All this controversy employed me a good deal, and caused me a great lossof my time in my copying, without much contributing to the progress oftruth, or the good of my purse. Pissot, at that time my bookseller, gaveme but little for my pamphlets, frequently nothing at all, and I neverreceived a farthing for my first discourse. Diderot gave it him. I wasobliged to wait a long time for the little he gave me, and to take itfrom him in the most trifling sums. Notwithstanding this, my copyingwent on but slowly. I had two things together upon my hands, which wasthe most likely means of doing them both ill. 

They were very opposite to each other in their effects by the differentmanners of living to which they rendered me subject. The success of myfirst writings had given me celebrity. My new situation excitedcuriosity. Everybody wished to know that whimsical man who sought notthe acquaintance of any one, and whose only desire was to live free andhappy in the manner he had chosen; this was sufficient to make the thingimpossible to me. My apartment was continually full of people, who, under different pretences, came to take up my time. The women employed athousand artifices to engage me to dinner. The more unpolite I was withpeople, the more obstinate they became. I could not refuse everybody. While I made myself a thousand enemies by my refusals, I was incessantlya slave to my complaisance, and, in whatever manner I made myengagements, I had not an hour in a day to myself. 

I then perceived it was not so easy to be poor and independent, as I hadimagined. I wished to live by my profession: the public would not sufferme to do it. A thousand means were thought of to indemnify me for thetime I lost. The next thing would have been showing myself like Punch, at so much each person. I knew no dependence more cruel and degradingthan this. I saw no other method of putting an end to it than refusingall kinds of presents, great and small, let them come from whom theywould. This had no other effect than to increase the number of givers, who wished to have the honor of overcoming my resistance, and to forceme, in spite of myself, to be under an obligation to them. 

Many, who would not have given me half-a-crown had I asked it from them, incessantly importuned me with their offers, and, in revenge for myrefusal, taxed me with arrogance and ostentation. 

It will naturally be conceived that the resolutions I had taken, and thesystem I wished to follow, were not agreeable to Madam le Vasseur. Allthe disinterestedness of the daughter did not prevent her from followingthe directions of her mother; and the governesses, as Gauffecourt calledthem, were not always so steady in their refusals as I was. Althoughmany things were concealed from me, I perceived so many as were necessaryto enable me to judge that I did not see all, and this tormented me lessby the accusation of connivance, which it was so easy for me to foresee, than by the cruel idea of never being master in my own apartments, noreven of my own person. I prayed, conjured, and became angry, all to nopurpose; the mother made me pass for an eternal grumbler, and a man whowas peevish and ungovernable. She held perpetual whisperings with myfriends; everything in my little family was mysterious and a secret tome; and, that I might not incessantly expose myself to noisy quarrelling, I no longer dared to take notice of what passed in it. A firmness ofwhich I was not capable, would have been necessary to withdraw me fromthis domestic strife. I knew how to complain, but not how to act: theysuffered me to say what I pleased, and continued to act as they thoughtproper. 

This constant teasing, and the daily importunities to which I wassubject, rendered the house, and my residence at Paris, disagreeable tome. When my indisposition permitted me to go out, and I did not suffermyself to be led by my acquaintance first to one place and then toanother, I took a walk, alone, and reflected on my grand system, something of which I committed to paper, bound up between two covers, which, with a pencil, I always had in my pocket. In this manner, theunforeseen disagreeableness of a situation I had chosen entirely led meback to literature, to which unsuspectedly I had recourse as a means ofreleaving my mind, and thus, in the first works I wrote, I introduced thepeevishness and ill-humor which were the cause of my undertaking them. There was another circumstance which contributed not a little to this;thrown into the world despite of myself, without having the manners ofit, or being in a situation to adopt and conform myself to them, I tookit into my head to adopt others of my own, to enable me to dispense withthose of society. My foolish timidity, which I could not conquer, havingfor principle the fear of being wanting in the common forms, I took, byway of encouraging myself, a resolution to tread them under foot. Ibecame sour and cynic from shame, and affected to despise the politenesswhich I knew not how to practice. This austerity, conformable to my newprinciples, I must confess, seemed to ennoble itself in my mind; itassumed in my eyes the form of the intrepidity of virtue, and I dareassert it to be upon this noble basis, that it supported itself longerand better than could have been expected from anything so contrary to mynature. Yet, not withstanding, I had the name of a misanthrope, which myexterior appearance and some happy expressions had given me in the world:it is certain I did not support the character well in private, that myfriends and acquaintance led this untractable bear about like a lamb, andthat, confining my sarcasms to severe but general truths, I was nevercapable of saying an uncivil thing to any person whatsoever. 

The 'Devin du Village' brought me completely into vogue, and presentlyafter there was not a man in Paris whose company was more sought afterthan mine. The history of this piece, which is a kind of era in my life, is joined with that of the connections I had at that time. I must entera little into particulars to make what is to follow the betterunderstood. 

I had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two friends: Diderot andGrimm. By an effect of the desire I have ever felt to unite everythingthat is dear to me, I was too much a friend to both not to make themshortly become so to each other. I connected them: they agreed welltogether, and shortly become more intimate with each other than with me. Diderot had a numerous acquaintance, but Grimm, a stranger and anew-comer, had his to procure, and with the greatest pleasure I procuredhim all I could. I had already given him Diderot. I afterwards broughthim acquainted with Gauffecourt. I introduced him to Madam Chenonceaux, Madam D'Epinay, and the Baron d'Holbach; with whom I had becomeconnected almost in spite of myself. All my friends became his: thiswas natural: but not one of his ever became mine; which was inclining tothe contrary. Whilst he yet lodged at the house of the Comte de Friese, he frequently gave us dinners in his apartment, but I never received theleast mark of friendship from the Comte de Friese, Comte de Schomberg, his relation, very familiar with Grimm, nor from any other person, manor woman, with whom Grimm, by their means, had any connection. I exceptthe Abbe Raynal, who, although his friend, gave proofs of his beingmine; and in cases of need, offered me his purse with a generosity notvery common. But I knew the Abbe Raynal long before Grimm had anyacquaintance with him, and had entertained a great regard for him onaccount of his delicate and honorable behavior to me upon a slightoccasion, which I shall never forget. 

The Abbe Raynal is certainly a warm friend; of this I saw a proof, muchabout the time of which I speak, with respect to Grimm himself, with whomhe was very intimate. Grimm, after having been sometime on a footing offriendship with Mademoiselle Fel, fell violently in love with her, andwished to supplant Cahusac. The young lady, piquing herself on herconstancy, refused her new admirer. He took this so much to heart, thatthe appearance of his affliction became tragical. He suddenly fell intothe strangest state imaginable. He passed days and nights in a continuedlethargy. He lay with his eyes open; and although his pulse continued tobeat regularly, without speaking eating, or stirring, yet sometimesseeming to hear what was said to him, but never answering, not even by asign, and remaining almost as immovable as if he had been dead, yetwithout agitation, pain, or fever. The Abbe Raynal and myself watchedover him; the abbe, more robust, and in better health than I was, bynight, and I by day, without ever both being absent at one time. TheComte de Friese was alarmed, and brought to him Senac, who, after havingexamined the state in which he was, said there was nothing to apprehend, and took his leave without giving a prescription. My fears for my friendmade me carefully observe the countenance of the physician, and Iperceived him smile as he went away. However, the patient remainedseveral days almost motionless, without taking anything except a fewpreserved cherries, which from time to time I put upon his tongue, andwhich he swallowed without difficulty. At length he, one morning, rose, dressed himself, and returned to his usual way of life, without either atthat time or afterwards speaking to me or the Abbe Raynal, at least thatI know of, or to any other person, of this singular lethargy, or the carewe had taken of him during the time it lasted. 

The affair made a noise, and it would really have been a wonderfulcircumstance had the cruelty of an opera girl made a man die of despair. This strong passion brought Grimm into vogue; he was soon considered as aprodigy in love, friendship, and attachments of every kind. Such anopinion made his company sought after, and procured him a good receptionin the first circles; by which means he separated from me, with whom hewas never inclined to associate when he could do it with anybody else. I perceived him to be on the point of breaking with me entirely; for thelively and ardent sentiments, of which he made a parade, were those whichwith less noise and pretensions, I had really conceived for him. I wasglad he succeeded in the world; but I did not wish him to do this byforgetting his friend. I one day said to him: "Grimm, you neglect me, and I forgive you for it. When the first intoxication of your success isover, and you begin to perceive a void in your enjoyments, I hope youwill return to your friend, whom you will always find in the samesentiments; at present do not constrain yourself, I leave you at libertyto act as you please, and wait your leisure. " He said I was right, madehis arrangements in consequence, and shook off all restraint, so that Isaw no more of him except in company with our common friends. 

Our chief rendezvous, before he was connected with Madam d'Epinay as heafterwards became, was at the house of Baron d'Holbach. This said baronwas the son of a man who had raised himself from obscurity. His fortunewas considerable, and he used it nobly, receiving at his house men ofletters and merit: and, by the knowledge he himself had acquired, wasvery worthy of holding a place amongst them. Having been long attachedto Diderot, he endeavored to become acquainted with me by his means, evenbefore my name was known to the world. A natural repugnancy prevented mea long time from answering his advances. One day, when he asked me thereason of my unwillingness, I told him he was too rich. He was, however, resolved to carry his point, and at length succeeded. My greatestmisfortune proceeded from my being unable to resist the force of markedattention. I have ever had reason to repent of having yielded to it. 

Another acquaintance which, as soon as I had any pretensions to it, wasconverted into friendship, was that of M. Duclos. I had several yearsbefore seen him, for the first time, at the Chevrette, at the house ofMadam d'Epinay, with whom he was upon very good terms. On that day weonly dined together, and he returned to town in the afternoon. But wehad a conversation of a few moments after dinner. Madam d'Epinay hadmentioned me to him, and my opera of the 'Muses Gallantes'. Duclos, endowed with too great talents not to be a friend to those in whom thelike were found, was prepossessed in my favor, and invited me to go andsee him. Notwithstanding my former wish, increased by an acquaintance, Iwas withheld by my timidity and indolence, as long as I had no otherpassport to him than his complaisance. But encouraged by my firstsuccess, and by his eulogiums, which reached my ears, I went to see him;he returned my visit, and thus began the connection between us, whichwill ever render him dear to me. By him, as well as from the testimonyof my own heart, I learned that uprightness and probity may sometimes beconnected with the cultivation of letters. 

Many other connections less solid, and which I shall not hereparticularize, were the effects of my first success, and lasted untilcuriosity was satisfied. I was a man so easily known, that on the nextday nothing new was to be discovered in me. However, a woman, who atthat time was desirous of my acquaintance, became much more solidlyattached to me than any of those whose curiosity I had excited: this wasthe Marchioness of Crequi, niece to M. Le Bailli de Froulay, ambassadorfrom Malta, whose brother had preceded M. De Montaigu in the embassy toVenice, and whom I had gone to see on my return from that city. Madam deCrequi wrote to me: I visited her: she received me into her friendship. I sometimes dined with her. I met at her table several men of letters, amongst others M. Saurin, the author of Spartacus, Barnevelt, etc. , sincebecome my implacable enemy; for no other reason, at least that I canimagine, than my bearing the name of a man whom his father has cruellypersecuted. 

It will appear that for a copyist, who ought to be employed in hisbusiness from morning till night, I had many interruptions, whichrendered my days not very lucrative, and prevented me from beingsufficiently attentive to what I did to do it well; for which reason, half the time I had to myself was lost in erasing errors or beginning mysheet anew. This daily importunity rendered Paris more unsupportable, and made me ardently wish to be in the country. I several times went topass a few days at Mercoussis, the vicar of which was known to Madam leVasseur, and with whom we all arranged ourselves in such a manner as notto make things disagreeable to him. Grimm once went thither with us. 

 [Since I have neglected to relate here a trifling, but memorable adventure I had with the said Grimm one day, on which we were to dine at the fountain of St. Vandrille, I will let it pass: but when I thought of it afterwards, I concluded that he was brooding in his heart the conspiracy he has, with so much success, since carried into execution. ]

The vicar had a tolerable voice, sung well, and, although he did not readmusic, learned his part with great facility and precision. We passed ourtime in singing the trios I had composed at Chenonceaux. To these Iadded two or three new ones, to the words Grimm and the vicar wrote, wellor ill. I cannot refrain from regretting these trios composed and sungin moments of pure joy, and which I left at Wootton, with all my music. Mademoiselle Davenport has perhaps curled her hair with them; but theyare worthy of being preserved, and are, for the most part, of very goodcounterpoint. It was after one of these little excursions in which I hadthe pleasure of seeing the aunt at her ease and very cheerful, and inwhich my spirits were much enlivened, that I wrote to the vicar veryrapidly and very ill, an epistle in verse which will be found amongst mypapers. 

I had nearer to Paris another station much to my liking with M. Mussard, my countryman, relation and friend, who at Passy had made himself acharming retreat, where I have passed some very peaceful moments. M. Mussard was a jeweller, a man of good sense, who, after havingacquired a genteel fortune, had given his only daughter in marriage toM. De Valmalette, the son of an exchange broker, and maitre d'hotel tothe king, took the wise resolution to quit business in his decliningyears, and to place an interval of repose and enjoyment between the hurryand the end of life. The good man Mussard, a real philosopher inpractice, lived without care, in a very pleasant house which he himselfhad built in a very pretty garden, laid out with his own hands. Indigging the terraces of this garden he found fossil shells, and in suchgreat quantities that his lively imagination saw nothing but shells innature. He really thought the universe was composed of shells and theremains of shells, and that the whole earth was only the sand of these indifferent stratae. His attention thus constantly engaged with hissingular discoveries, his imagination became so heated with the ideasthey gave him, that, in his head, they would soon have been convertedinto a system, that is into folly, if, happily for his reason, butunfortunately for his friends, to whom he was dear, and to whom his housewas an agreeable asylum, a most cruel and extraordinary disease had notput an end to his existence. A constantly increasing tumor in hisstomach prevented him from eating, long before the cause of it wasdiscovered, and, after several years of suffering, absolutely occasionedhim to die of hunger. I can never, without the greatest affliction ofmind, call to my recollection the last moments of this worthy man, whostill received with so much pleasure, Leneips and myself, the onlyfriends whom the sight of his sufferings did not separate from him untilhis last hour, when he was reduced to devouring with his eyes the repastshe had placed before us, scarcely having the power of swallowing a fewdrops of weak tea, which came up again a moment afterwards. But beforethese days of sorrow, how many have I passed at his house, with thechosen friends he had made himself! At the head of the list I place theAbbe Prevot, a very amiable man, and very sincere, whose heart vivifiedhis writings, worthy of immortality, and who, neither in his dispositionnor in society, had the least of the melancholy coloring he gave to hisworks. Procope, the physician, a little Esop, a favorite with theladies; Boulanger, the celebrated posthumous author of 'DespotismeOriental', and who, I am of opinion extended the systems of Mussard onthe duration of the world. The female part of his friends consisted ofMadam Denis, niece to Voltaire, who, at that time, was nothing more thana good kind of woman, and pretended not to wit: Madam Vanloo, certainlynot handsome, but charming, and who sang like an angel: Madam deValmalette, herself, who sang also, and who, although very thin, wouldhave been very amiable had she had fewer pretensions. Such, or verynearly such, was the society of M. Mussard, with which I should had beenmuch pleased, had not his conchyliomania more engaged my attention; and Ican say, with great truth, that, for upwards of six months, I worked withhim in his cabinet with as much pleasure as he felt himself. 

He had long insisted upon the virtue of the waters of Passy, that theywere proper in my case, and recommended me to come to his house to drinkthem. To withdraw myself from the tumult of the city, I at lengthconsented, and went to pass eight or ten days at Passy, which, on accountof my being in the country, were of more service to me than the waters Idrank during my stay there. Mussard played the violincello, and waspassionately found of Italian music. This was the subject of a longconversation we had one evening after supper, particularly the'opera-buffe' we had both seen in Italy, and with which we were highlydelighted. My sleep having forsaken me in the night, I considered inwhat manner it would be possible to give in France an idea of this kindof drama. The 'Amours de Ragonde' did not in the least resemble it. In the morning, whilst I took my walk and drank the waters, I hastilythrew together a few couplets to which I adapted such airs as occurred tome at the moments. I scribbled over what I had composed, in a kind ofvaulted saloon at the end of the garden, and at tea. I could not refrainfrom showing the airs to Mussard and to Mademoiselle du Vernois, his'gouvernante', who was a very good and amiable girl. Three pieces ofcomposition I had sketched out were the first monologue: 'J'ai perdu monserviteur;'--the air of the Devin; 'L'amour croit s'il s'inquiete;' andthe last duo: 'A jamais, Colin, je t'engage, etc. ' I was so far fromthinking it worth while to continue what I had begun, that, had it notbeen for the applause and encouragement I received from both Mussard andMademoiselle, I should have throw n my papers into the fire and thoughtno more of their contents, as I had frequently done by things of much thesame merit; but I was so animated by the encomiums I received, that insix days, my drama, excepting a few couplets, was written. The musicalso was so far sketched out, that all I had further to do to it after myreturn from Paris, was to compose a little of the recitative, and to addthe middle parts, the whole of which I finished with so much rapidity, that in three weeks my work was ready for representation. The only thingnow wanting, was the divertissement, which was not composed until a longtime afterwards. 

My imagination was so warmed by the composition of this work that I hadthe strongest desire to hear it performed, and would have given anythingto have seen and heard the whole in the manner I should have chosen, which would have been that of Lully, who is said to have had 'Armide'performed for himself only. As it was not possible I should hear theperformance unaccompanied by the public, I could not see the effect of mypiece without getting it received at the opera. Unfortunately it wasquite a new species of composition, to which the ears of the public werenot accustomed; and besides the ill success of the 'Muses Gallantes' gavetoo much reason to fear for the Devin, if I presented it in my own name. Duclos relieved me from this difficulty, and engaged to get the piecerehearsed without mentioning the author. That I might not discovermyself, I did not go to the rehearsal, and the 'Petits violons', by whomit was directed, knew not who the author was until after a generalplaudit had borne the testimony of the work. 

 [Rebel and Frauneur, who, when they were very young, went together from house to house playing on the violin, were so called. ]

Everybody present was so delighted with it, that, on the next day, nothing else was spoken of in the different companies. M. De Cury, Intendant des Menus, who was present at the rehearsal, demanded thepiece to have it performed at court. Duclos, who knew my intentions, and thought I should be less master of my work at the court than atParis, refused to give it. Cury claimed it authoratively. Duclospersisted in his refusal, and the dispute between them was carried tosuch a length, that one day they would have gone out from theopera-house together had they not been separated. M. De Cury applied tome, and I referred him to Duclos. This made it necessary to return tothe latter. The Duke d'Aumont interfered; and at length Duclos thoughtproper to yield to authority, and the piece was given to be played atFontainebleau. 

The part to which I had been most attentive, and in which I had kept atthe greatest distance from the common track, was the recitative. Minewas accented in a manner entirely new, and accompanied the utterance ofthe word. The directors dared not suffer this horrid innovation to pass, lest it should shock the ears of persons who never judge for themselves. Another recitative was proposed by Francueil and Jelyotte, to which Iconsented; but refused at the same time to have anything to do with itmyself. 

When everything was ready and the day of performance fixed, a propositionwas made me to go to Fontainebleau, that I might at least be at the lastrehearsal. I went with Mademoiselle Fel, Grimm, and I think the AbbeRaynal, in one of the stages to the court. The rehearsal was tolerable:I was more satisfied with it than I expected to have been. The orchestrawas numerous, composed of the orchestras of the opera and the king'sband. Jelyotte played Colin, Mademoiselle Fel, Colette, Cuvillier theDevin: the choruses were those of the opera. I said but little; Jelyottehad prepared everything; I was unwilling either to approve of or censurewhat he had done; and notwithstanding I had assumed the air of an oldRoman, I was, in the midst of so many people, as bashful as a schoolboy. 

The next morning, the day of performance, I went to breakfast at thecoffee-house 'du grand commun', where I found a great number of people. The rehearsal of the preceding evening, and the difficulty of gettinginto the theatre, were the subjects of conversation. An officer presentsaid he entered with the greatest ease, gave a long account of what hadpassed, described the author, and related what he had said and done; butwhat astonished me most in this long narrative, given with as muchassurance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syllable of truth. It was clear to me that he who spoke so positively of the rehearsal hadnot been at it, because, without knowing him, he had before his eyes thatauthor whom he said he had seen and examined so minutely. However, whatwas more singular still in this scene, was its effect upon me. Theofficer was a man rather in years, he had nothing of the appearance of acoxcomb; his features appeared to announce a man of merit; and his crossof Saint Louis, an officer of long standing. He interested me:notwithstanding his impudence. Whilst he uttered his lies, I blushed, looked down, and was upon thorns; I, for some time, endeavored withinmyself to find the means of believing him to be in an involuntary error. At length, trembling lest some person should know me, and by this meansconfound him, I hastily drank my chocolate, without saying a word, and, holding down my head, I passed before him, got out of the coffee-house assoon as possible, whilst the company were making their remarks upon therelation that had been given. I was no sooner in the street than I wasin a perspiration, and had anybody known and named me before I left theroom, I am certain all the shame and embarrassment of a guilty personwould have appeared in my countenance, proceeding from what I felt thepoor man would have had to have suffered had his lie been discovered. 

I come to one of the critical moments of my life, in which it isdifficult to do anything more than to relate, because it is almostimpossible that even narrative should not carry with it the marks ofcensure or apology. I will, however, endeavor to relate how and uponwhat motives I acted, with out adding either approbation or censure. 

I was on that day in the same careless undress as usual, with a longbeard and wig badly combed. Considering this want of decency as an actof courage, I entered the theatre wherein the king, queen, the royalfamily, and the whole court were to enter immediately after. I wasconducted to a box by M. De Cury, and which belonged to him. It was veryspacious, upon the stage and opposite to a lesser, but more elevated one, in which the king sat with Madam de Pompadour. 

As I was surrounded by women, and the only man in front of the box, I hadno doubt of my having been placed there purposely to be exposed to view. As soon as the theatre was lighted up, finding I was in the midst ofpeople all extremely well dressed, I began to be less at my ease, andasked myself if I was in my place? whether or not I was properlydressed? After a few minutes of inquietude: "Yes, " replied I, with anintrepidity which perhaps proceeded more from the impossibility ofretracting than the force of all my reasoning, "I am in my place, becauseI am going to see my own piece performed, to which I have been invited, for which reason only I am come here; and after all, no person has agreater right than I have to reap the fruit of my labor and talents; I amdressed as usual, neither better nor worse; and if I once begin tosubject myself to public opinion, I shall shortly become a slave to it ineverything. To be always consistent with myself, I ought not to blush, in any place whatever, at being dressed in a manner suitable to the stateI have chosen. My exterior appearance is simple, but neither dirty norslovenly; nor is a beard either of these in itself, because it is givenus by nature, and according to time, place and custom, is sometimes anornament. People think I am ridiculous, nay, even absurd; but whatsignifies this to me? I ought to know how to bear censure and ridicule, provided I do not deserve them. " After this little soliloquy I became sofirm that, had it been necessary, I could have been intrepid. Butwhether it was the effect of the presence of his majesty, or the naturaldisposition of those about me, I perceived nothing but what was civil andobliging in the curiosity of which I was the object. This so muchaffected me that I began to be uneasy for myself, and the fate of mypiece; fearing I should efface the favorable prejudices which seemed tolead to nothing but applause. I was armed against raillery; but, so farovercome, by the flattering and obliging treatment I had not expected, that I trembled like a child when the performance was begun. 

I had soon sufficient reason to be encouraged. The piece was very illplayed with respect to the actors, but the musical part was well sung andexecuted. During the first scene, which was really of a delightfulsimplicity, I heard in the boxes a murmur of surprise and applause, which, relative to pieces of the same kind, had never yet happened. Thefermentation was soon increased to such a degree as to be perceptiblethrough the whole audience, and of which, to speak--after the manner ofMontesquieu--the effect was augmented by itself. In the scene betweenthe two good little folks, this effect was complete. There is noclapping of hands before the king; therefore everything was heard, whichwas advantageous to the author and the piece. I heard about me awhispering of women, who appeared as beautiful as angels. They said toeach other in a low voice: "This is charming: That is ravishing: There isnot a sound which does not go to the heart. " The pleasure of giving thisemotion to so many amiable persons moved me to tears; and these I couldnot contain in the first duo, when I remarked that I was not the onlyperson who wept. I collected myself for a moment, on recollecting theconcert of M. De Treitorens. This reminiscence had the effect of theslave who held the crown over the head of the general who triumphed, butmy reflection was short, and I soon abandoned myself without interruptionto the pleasure of enjoying my success. However, I am certain thevoluptuousness of the sex was more predominant than the vanity of theauthor, and had none but men been present, I certainly should not havehad the incessant desire I felt of catching on my lips the delicioustears I had caused to flow. I have known pieces excite more livelyadmiration, but I never saw so complete, delightful, and affecting anintoxication of the senses reign, during a whole representation, especially at court, and at a first performance. They who saw this mustrecollect it, for it has never yet been equalled. 

The same evening the Duke d' Aumont sent to desire me to be at the palacethe next day at eleven o'clock, when he would present me to the king. M. De Cury, who delivered me the message, added that he thought a pensionwas intended, and that his majesty wished to announce it to me himself. Will it be believed that the night of so brilliant a day was for mea night of anguish and perplexity? My first idea, after that of beingpresented, was that of my frequently wanting to retire; this had made mesuffer very considerably at the theatre, and might torment me the nextday when I should be in the gallery, or in the king's apartment, amongstall the great, waiting for the passing of his majesty. My infirmity wasthe principal cause which prevented me from mixing in polite companies, and enjoying the conversation of the fair. The idea alone of thesituation in which this want might place me, was sufficient to produce itto such a degree as to make me faint away, or to recur to means to which, in my opinion, death was much preferable. None but persons who areacquainted with this situation can judge of the horror which beingexposed to the risk of it inspires. 

I then supposed myself before the king, presented to his majesty, whodeigned to stop and speak to me. In this situation, justness ofexpression and presence of mind were peculiarly necessary in answering. Would my timidity which disconcerts me in presence of any strangerwhatever, have been shaken off in presence of the King of France; orwould it have suffered me instantly to make choice of proper expressions?I wished, without laying aside the austere manner I had adopted, to showmyself sensible of the honor done me by so great a monarch, and in ahandsome and merited eulogium to convey some great and useful truth. I could not prepare a suitable answer without exactly knowing what hismajesty was to say to me; and had this been the case, I was certain that, in his presence, I should not recollect a word of what I had previouslymeditated. "What, " said I, "will become of me in this moment, and beforethe whole court, if, in my confusion, any of my stupid expressions shouldescape me?" This danger alarmed and terrified me. I trembled to such adegree that at all events I was determined not to expose myself to it. 

I lost, it is true, the pension which in some measure was offered me; butI at the same time exempted myself from the yoke it would have imposed. Adieu, truth, liberty, and courage! How should I afterwards have daredto speak of disinterestedness and independence? Had I received thepension I must either have become a flatterer or remained silent; and, moreover, who would have insured to me the payment of it! What stepsshould I have been under the necessity of taking! How many people must Ihave solicited! I should have had more trouble and anxious cares inpreserving than in doing without it. Therefore, I thought I actedaccording to my principles by refusing, and sacrificing appearances toreality. I communicated my resolution to Grimm, who said nothing againstit. To others I alleged my ill state of health, and left the court inthe morning. 

My departure made some noise, and was generally condemned. My reasonscould not be known to everybody, it was therefore easy to accuse me offoolish pride, and thus not irritate the jealousy of such as felt theywould not have acted as I had done. The next day Jelyotte wrote me anote, in which he stated the success of my piece, and the pleasure it hadafforded the king. "All day long, " said he, "his majesty sings, with theworst voice in his kingdom: 'J'ai perdu mon serviteur: J'ai perdu toutmon bonheur. '" He likewise added, that in a fortnight the Devin was tobe performed a second time; which confirmed in the eyes of the public thecomplete success of the first. 

Two days afterwards, about nine o'clock in the evening, as I was going tosup with Madam D'Epinay, I perceived a hackney-coach pass by the door. Somebody within made a sign to me to approach. I did so, and got intoit, and found the person to be Diderot. He spoke of the pension withmore warmth than, upon such a subject, I should have expected from aphilosopher. He did not blame me for having been unwilling to bepresented to the king, but severely reproached me with my indifferenceabout the pension. He observed that although on my own account I mightbe disinterested, I ought not to be so on that of Madam Vasseur and herdaughter; that it was my duty to seize every means of providing for theirsubsistence; and that as, after all, it could not be said I had refusedthe pension, he maintained I ought, since the king seemed disposed togrant it to me, to solicit and obtain it by one means or another. Although I was obliged to him for his good wishes, I could not relish hismaxims, which produced a warm dispute, the first I ever had with him. All our disputes were of this kind, he prescribing to me what hepretended I ought to do, and I defending myself because I was of adifferent opinion. 

It was late when we parted. I would have taken him to supper at Madam d'Epinay's, but he refused to go; and, notwithstanding all the effortswhich at different times the desire of uniting those I love induced me tomake, to prevail upon him to see her, even that of conducting her to hisdoor which he kept shut against us, he constantly refused to do it, andnever spoke of her but with the utmost contempt. It was not until afterI had quarrelled with both that they became acquainted and that he beganto speak honorably of her. 

From this time Diderot and Grimm seemed to have undertaken to alienatefrom me the governesses, by giving them to understand that if they werenot in easy circumstances the fault was my own, and that they never wouldbe so with me. They endeavored to prevail on them to leave me, promisingthem the privilege for retailing salt, a snuff shop, and I know not whatother advantages by means of the influence of Madam d' Epinay. Theylikewise wished to gain over Duclos and d'Holback, but the formerconstantly refused their proposals. I had at the time some intimation ofwhat was going forward, but I was not fully acquainted with the wholeuntil long afterwards; and I frequently had reason to lament the effectsof the blind and indiscreet zeal of my friends, who, in my ill state ofhealth, striving to reduce me to the most melancholy solitude, endeavored, as they imagined, to render me happy by the means which, ofall others, were the most proper to make me miserable. 

In the carnival following the conclusion of the year 1753, the Devin wasperformed at Paris, and in this interval I had sufficient time to composethe overture and divertissement. This divertissement, such as it standsengraved, was to be in action from the beginning to the end, and in acontinued subject, which in my opinion, afforded very agreeablerepresentations. But when I proposed this idea at the opera-house, nobody would so much as hearken to me, and I was obliged to tack togethermusic and dances in the usual manner: on this account the divertissement, although full of charming ideas which do not diminish the beauty ofscenes, succeeded but very middlingly. I suppressed the recitative ofJelyotte, and substituted my own, such as I had first composed it, and asit is now engraved; and this recitative a little after the French manner, I confess, drawled out, instead of pronounced by the actors, far fromshocking the ears of any person, equally succeeded with the airs, andseemed in the judgment of the public to possess as much musical merit. I dedicated my piece to Duclos, who had given it his protection, anddeclared it should be my only dedication. I have, however, with hisconsent, written a second; but he must have thought himself more honoredby the exception, than if I had not written a dedication to any person. 

I could relate many anecdotes concerning this piece, but things ofgreater importance prevent me from entering into a detail of them atpresent. I shall perhaps resume the subject in a supplement. There ishowever one which I cannot omit, as it relates to the greater part ofwhat is to follow. I one day examined the music of D'Holbach, in hiscloset. After having looked over many different kinds, he said, showingme a collection of pieces for the harpsichord: "These were composed forme; they are full of taste and harmony, and unknown to everybody butmyself. You ought to make a selection from them for yourdivertissement. " Having in my head more subjects of airs and symphoniesthan I could make use of, I was not the least anxious to have any of his. However, he pressed me so much, that, from a motive of complaisance, Ichose a Pastoral, which I abridged and converted into a trio, for theentry of the companions of Colette. Some months afterwards, and whilstthe Devin still continued to be performed, going into Grimms I foundseveral people about his harpsichord, whence he hastily rose on myarrival. As I accidently looked toward his music stand, I there saw thesame collection of the Baron d'Holback, opened precisely at the piece hehad prevailed upon me to take, assuring me at the same time that itshould never go out of his hands. Some time afterwards, I again saw thecollection open on the harpischord of M. D'Papinay, one day when he gavea little concert. Neither Grimm, nor anybody else, ever spoke to me ofthe air, and my reason for mentioning it here is that some timeafterwards, a rumor was spread that I was not the author of Devin. As I never made a great progress in the practical part, I am persuadedthat had it not been for my dictionary of music, it would in the end havebeen said I did not understand composition. 

Sometime before the 'Devin du Village' was performed, a company ofItalian Bouffons had arrived at Paris, and were ordered to perform at theopera-house, without the effect they would produce there being foreseen. Although they were detestable, and the orchestra, at that time veryignorant, mutilated at will the pieces they gave, they did the Frenchopera an injury that will never be repaired. The comparison of these twokinds of music, heard the same evening in the same theatre, opened theears of the French; nobody could endure their languid music after themarked and lively accents of Italian composition; and the moment theBouffons had done, everybody went away. The managers were obliged tochange the order of representation, and let the performance of theBouffons be the last. 'Egle Pigmalion' and 'le Sylphe' were successivelygiven: nothing could bear the comparison. The 'Devin du Village' was theonly piece that did it, and this was still relished after 'la ServaPadroma'. When I composed my interlude, my head was filled with thesepieces, and they gave me the first idea of it: I was, however, far fromimagining they would one day be passed in review by the side of mycomposition. Had I been a plagiarist, how many pilferings would havebeen manifest, and what care would have been taken to point them out tothe public! But I had done nothing of the kind. All attempts todiscover any such thing were fruitless: nothing was found in my musicwhich led to the recollection of that of any other person; and my wholecomposition compared with the pretended original, was found to be as newas the musical characters I had invented. Had Mondonville or Rameauundergone the same ordeal, they would have lost much of their substance. 

The Bouffons acquired for Italian music very warm partisans. All Pariswas divided into two parties, the violence of which was greater than ifan affair of state or religion had been in question. One of them, themost powerful and numerous, composed of the great, of men of fortune, andthe ladies, supported French music; the other, more lively and haughty, and fuller of enthusiasm, was composed of real connoisseurs, and men oftalents, and genius. This little group assembled at the opera-house, under the box belonging to the queen. The other party filled up the restof the pit and the theatre; but the heads were mostly assembled under thebox of his majesty. Hence the party names of Coin du Roi, Coin de laReine, --[King's corner, --Queen's corner. ]--then in great celebrity. The dispute, as it became more animated, produced several pamphlets. The king's corner aimed at pleasantry; it was laughed at by the 'PetitProphete'. It attempted to reason; the 'Lettre sur la Musique Francoise'refuted its reasoning. These two little productions, the former of whichwas by Grimm, the latter by myself, are the only ones which have outlivedthe quarrel; all the rest are long since forgotten. 

But the Petit Prophete, which, notwithstanding all I could say, was for along time attributed to me, was considered as a pleasantry, and did notproduce the least inconvenience to the author: whereas the letter onmusic was taken seriously, and incensed against me the whole nation, which thought itself offended by this attack on its music. Thedescription of the incredible effect of this pamphlet would be worthy ofthe pen of Tacitus. The great quarrel between the parliament and theclergy was then at its height. The parliament had just been exiled; thefermentation was general; everything announced an approachinginsurrection. The pamphlet appeared: from that moment every otherquarrel was forgotten; the perilous state of French music was the onlything by which the attention of the public was engaged, and the onlyinsurrection was against myself. This was so general that it has neversince been totally calmed. At court, the bastile or banishment wasabsolutely determined on, and a 'lettre de cachet' would have been issuedhad not M. De Voyer set forth in the most forcible manner that such astep would be ridiculous. Were I to say this pamphlet probably preventeda revolution, the reader would imagine I was in a dream. It is, however, a fact, the truth of which all Paris can attest, it being no more thanfifteen years since the date of this singular fact. Although no attemptswere made on my liberty, I suffered numerous insults; and even my lifewas in danger. The musicians of the opera orchestra humanely resolved tomurder me as I went out of the theatre. Of this I received information;but the only effect it produced on me was to make me more assiduouslyattend the opera; and I did not learn, until a considerable timeafterwards, that M. Ancelot, officer in the mousquetaires, and who had afriendship for me, had prevented the effect of this conspiracy by givingme an escort, which, unknown to myself, accompanied me until I was out ofdanger. The direction of the opera-house had just been given to thehotel de ville. The first exploit performed by the Prevot des Marchands, was to take from me my freedom of the theatre, and this in the mostuncivil manner possible. Admission was publicly refused me on mypresenting myself, so that I was obliged to take a ticket that I mightnot that evening have the mortification to return as I had come. Thisinjustice was the more shameful, as the only price I had set on my piecewhen I gave it to the managers was a perpetual freedom of the house; foralthough this was a right, common to every author, and which I enjoyedunder a double title, I expressly stipulated for it in presence of M. Duclos. It is true, the treasurer brought me fifty louis, for which Ihad not asked; but, besides the smallness of the sum, compared with thatwhich, according to the rule, established in such cases, was due to me, this payment had nothing in common with the right of entry formerlygranted, and which was entirely independent of it. There was in thisbehavior such a complication of iniquity and brutality, that the public, notwithstanding its animosity against me, which was then at its highest, was universally shocked at it, and many persons who insulted me thepreceding evening, the next day exclaimed in the open theatre, that itwas shameful thus to deprive an author of his right of entry; andparticularly one who had so well deserved it, and was entitled to claimit for himself and another person. So true is the Italian proverb:Ogn' un ama la giustizia in cosa d altrui. --[Every one loves justice inthe affairs of another. ]

In this situation the only thing I had to do was to demand my work, since the price I had agreed to receive for it was refused me. For thispurpose I wrote to M. D'Argenson, who had the department of the opera. I likewise enclosed to him a memoir which was unanswerable; but this, aswell as my letter, was ineffectual, and I received no answer to either. The silence of that unjust man hurt me extremely, and did not contributeto increase the very moderate good opinion I always had of his characterand abilities. It was in this manner the managers kept my piece whilethey deprived me of that for which I had given it them. From the weak tothe strong, such an act would be a theft: from the strong to the weak, it is nothing more than an appropriation of property, without a right. 

With respect to the pecuniary advantages of the work, although it did notproduce me a fourth part of the sum it would have done to any other. Person, they were considerable enough to enable me to subsist severalyears, and to make amends for the ill success of copying, which went onbut very slowly. I received a hundred louis from the king; fifty fromMadam de Pompadour, for the performance at Bellevue, where she herselfplayed the part of Colin; fifty from the opera; and five hundred livresfrom Pissot, for the engraving; so that this interlude, which cost me nomore than five or six weeks' application, produced, notwithstanding theill treatment I received from the managers and my stupidity at court, almost as much money as my 'Emilius', which had cost me twenty years'meditation, and three years' labor. But I paid dearly for the pecuniaryease I received from the piece, by the infinite vexations it brought uponme. It was the germ of the secret jealousies which did not appear untila long time afterwards. After its success I did not remark, either inGrimm, Diderot, or any of the men of letters, with whom I was acquainted, the same cordiality and frankness, nor that pleasure in seeing me, I hadpreviously experienced. The moment I appeared at the baron's, theconversation was no longer general; the company divided into smallparties; whispered into each other's ears; and I remained alone, withoutknowing to whom to address myself. I endured for a long time thismortifying neglect; and, perceiving that Madam d'Holbach, who was mildand amiable, still received me well, I bore with the vulgarity of herhusband as long as it was possible. But he one day attacked me withoutreason or pretence, and with such brutality, in presence of Diderot, whosaid not a word, and Margency, who since that time has often told me howmuch he admired the moderation and mildness of my answers, that, atlength driven from his house, by this unworthy treatment, I took leavewith a resolution never to enter it again. This did not, however, prevent me from speaking honorably of him and his house, whilst hecontinually expressed himself relative to me in the most insulting terms, calling me that 'petit cuistre': the little college pedant, or servitorin a college, without, however, being able to charge me with having doneeither to himself or any person to whom he was attached the most triflinginjury. In this manner he verified my fears and predictions, I am ofopinion my pretended friends would have pardoned me for having writtenbooks, and even excellent ones, because this merit was not foreign tothemselves; but that they could not forgive my writing an opera, nor thebrilliant success it had; because there was not one amongst them capableof the same, nor in a situation to aspire to like honors. Duclos, theonly person superior to jealousy, seemed to become more attached to me:he introduced me to Mademoiselle Quinault, in whose house I receivedpolite attention, and civility to as great an extreme, as I had found awant of it in that of M. D'Holbach. 

Whilst the performance of the 'Devin du Village' was continued at theopera-house, the author of it had an advantageous negotiation with themanagers of the French comedy. Not having, during seven or eight years, been able to get my 'Narcissis' performed at the Italian theatre, I had, by the bad performance in French of the actors, become disgusted with it, and should rather have had my piece received at the French theatre thanby them. I mentioned this to La None, the comedian, with whom I hadbecome acquainted, and who, as everybody knows, was a man of merit and anauthor. He was pleased with the piece, and promised to get it performedwithout suffering the name of the author to be known; and in the meantimeprocured me the freedom of the theatre, which was extremely agreeable tome, for I always preferred it to the two others. The piece was favorablyreceived, and without the author's name being mentioned; but I havereason to believe it was known to the actors and actresses, and manyother persons. Mademoiselles Gauffin and Grandval played the amorousparts; and although the whole performance was, in my opinion, injudicious, the piece could not be said to be absolutely ill played. The indulgence of the public, for which I felt gratitude, surprised me;the audience had the patience to listen to it from the beginning to theend, and to permit a second representation without showing the least signof disapprobation. For my part, I was so wearied with the first, that Icould not hold out to the end; and the moment I left the theatre, I wentinto the Cafe de Procope, where I found Boissi, and others of myacquaintance, who had probably been as much fatigued as myself. I therehumbly or haughtily avowed myself the author of the piece, judging it aseverybody else had done. This public avowal of an author of a piecewhich had not succeeded, was much admired, and was by no means painful tomyself. My self-love was flattered by the courage with which I made it:and I am of opinion, that, on this occasion, there was more pride inspeaking, than there would have been foolish shame in being silent. However, as it was certain the piece, although insipid in the performancewould bear to be read, I had it printed: and in the preface, which is oneof the best things I ever wrote, I began to make my principles morepublic than I had before done. 

I soon had an opportunity to explain them entirely in a work of thegreatest importance: for it was, I think, this year, 1753, that theprogramma of the Academy of Dijon upon the 'Origin of the Inequality ofMankind' made its appearance. Struck with this great question, I wassurprised the academy had dared to propose it: but since it had shownsufficient courage to do it, I thought I might venture to treat it, andimmediately undertook the discussion. 

That I might consider this grand subject more at my ease, I went to St. Germain for seven or eight days with Theresa, our hostess, who was a goodkind of woman, and one of her friends. I consider this walk as one ofthe most agreeable ones I ever took. The weather was very fine. Thesegood women took upon themselves all the care and expense. Theresa amusedherself with them; and I, free from all domestic concerns, divertedmyself, without restraint, at the hours of dinner and supper. All therest of the day wandering in the forest, I sought for and found there theimage of the primitive ages of which I boldly traced the history. Iconfounded the pitiful lies of men; I dared to unveil their nature; tofollow the progress of time, and the things by which it has beendisfigured; and comparing the man of art with the natural man, to showthem, in their pretended improvement, the real source of all theirmisery. My mind, elevated by these contemplations, ascended to theDivinity, and thence, seeing my fellow creatures follow in the blindtrack of their prejudices that of their errors and misfortunes, I criedout to them, in a feeble voice, which they could not hear: "Madmen! knowthat all your evils proceed from yourselves!"

From these meditations resulted the discourse on Inequality, a work moreto the taste of Diderot than any of my other writings, and in which hisadvice was of the greatest service to me. 

 [At the time I wrote this, I had not the least suspicion of the grand conspiracy of Diderot and Grimm. Otherwise I should easily. Have discovered how much the former abused my confidence, by giving to my writings that severity and melancholy which were not to be found in them from the moments he ceased to direct me. The passage of the philosopher, who argues with himself, and stops his ears against the complaints of a man in distress, is after his manner: and he gave me others still more extraordinary; which I could never resolve to make use of. But, attributing, this melancholy to that he had acquired in the dungeon of Vincennes, and of which there is a very sufficient dose in his Clairoal, I never once suspected the least unfriendly dealing. ]

It was, however, understood but by few readers, and not one of thesewould ever speak of it. I had written it to become a competitor for thepremium, and sent it away fully persuaded it would not obtain it; wellconvinced it was not for productions of this nature that academies werefounded. 

This excursion and this occupation enlivened my spirits and was ofservice to my health. Several years before, tormented by my disorder, I had entirely given myself up to the care of physicians, who, withoutalleviating my sufferings, exhausted my strength and destroyed myconstitution. At my return from St. Germain, I found myself stronger andperceived my health to be improved. I followed this indication, anddetermined to cure myself or die without the aid of physicians andmedicine. I bade them forever adieu, and lived from day to day, keepingclose when I found myself indisposed, and going abroad the moment I hadsufficient strength to do it. The manner of living in Paris amidstpeople of pretensions was so little to my liking; the cabals of men ofletters, their little candor in their writings, and the air of importancethey gave themselves in the world, were so odious to me; I found solittle mildness, openness of heart and frankness in the intercourse evenof my friends; that, disgusted with this life of tumult, I began ardentlyto wish to reside in the country, and not perceiving that my occupationpermitted me to do it, I went to pass there all the time I had to spare. For several months I went after dinner to walk alone in the Bois deBoulogne, meditating on subjects for future works, and not returninguntil evening. 

Gauffecourt, with whom I was at that time extremely intimate, being onaccount of his employment obliged to go to Geneva, proposed to me thejourney, to which I consented. The state of my health was such as torequire the care of the governess; it was therefore decided she shouldaccompany us, and that her mother should remain in the house. After thushaving made our arrangements, we set off on the first of June, 1754. 

This was the period when at the age of forty-two, I for the first time inmy life felt a diminution of my natural confidence to which I hadabandoned myself without reserve or inconvenience. We had a privatecarriage, in which with the same horses we travelled very slowly. I frequently got out and walked. We had scarcely performed half ourjourney when Theresa showed the greatest uneasiness at being left in thecarriage with Gauffecourt, and when, notwithstanding her remonstrances, I would get out as usual, she insisted upon doing the same, and walkingwith me. I chid her for this caprice, and so strongly opposed it, thatat length she found herself obliged to declare to me the cause whence itproceeded. I thought I was in a dream; my astonishment was beyondexpression, when I learned that my friend M. De Gauffecourt, upwards ofsixty years of age, crippled by the gout, impotent and exhausted bypleasures, had, since our departure, incessantly endeavored to corrupt aperson who belonged to his friend, and was no longer young nor handsome, by the most base and shameful means, such as presenting to her a purse, attempting to inflame her imagination by the reading of an abominablebook, and by the sight of infamous figures, with which it was filled. Theresa, full of indignation, once threw his scandalous book out of thecarriage; and I learned that on the first evening of our journey, aviolent headache having obliged me to retire to bed before supper, he hademployed the whole time of this tete-a-tete in actions more worthy of asatyr than a man of worth and honor, to whom I thought I had intrusted mycompanion and myself. What astonishment and grief of heart for me!I, who until then had believed friendship to be inseparable from everyamiable and noble sentiment which constitutes all its charm, for thefirst time in my life found myself under the necessity of connecting itwith disdain, and of withdrawing my confidence from a man for whom I hadan affection, and by whom I imagined myself beloved! The wretchconcealed from me his turpitude; and that I might not expose Theresa, I was obliged to conceal from him my contempt, and secretly to harbor inmy heart such sentiments as were foreign to its nature. Sweet and sacredillusion of friendship! Gauffecourt first took the veil from before myeyes. What cruel hands have since that time prevented it from againbeing drawn over them!

At Lyons I quitted Gauffecourt to take the road to Savoy, being unable tobe so near to mamma without seeing her. I saw her--Good God, in what asituation! How contemptible! What remained to her of primitive virtue?Was it the same Madam de Warrens, formerly so gay and lively, to whom thevicar of Pontverre had given me recommendations? How my heart waswounded! The only resource I saw for her was to quit the country. Iearnestly but vainly repeated the invitation I had several times givenher in my letters to come and live peacefully with me, assuring her Iwould dedicate the rest of my life, and that of Theresa, to render herhappy. Attached to her pension, from which, although it was regularlypaid, she had not for a long time received the least advantage, my offerswere lost upon her. I again gave her a trifling part of the contents ofmy purse, much less than I ought to have done, and considerably less thanI should have offered her had not I been certain of its not being of theleast service to herself. During my residence at Geneva, she made ajourney into Chablais, and came to see me at Grange-canal. She was inwant of money to continue her journey: what I had in my pocket wasinsufficient to this purpose, but an hour afterwards I sent it her byTheresa. Poor mamma! I must relate this proof of the goodness of herheart. A little diamond ring was the last jewel she had left. She tookit from her finger, to put it upon that of Theresa, who instantlyreplaced it upon that whence it had been taken, kissing the generous handwhich she bathed with her tears. Ah! this was the proper moment todischarge my debt! I should have abandoned everything to follow her, and share her fate: let it be what it would. I did nothing of the kind. My attention was engaged by another attachment, and I perceived theattachment I had to her was abated by the slender hopes there were ofrendering it useful to either of us. I sighed after her, my heart wasgrieved at her situation, but I did not follow her. Of all the remorse Ifelt this was the strongest and most lasting. I merited the terriblechastisement with which I have since that time incessantly beenoverwhelmed: may this have expiated my ingratitude! Of this I appearguilty in my conduct, but my heart has been too much distressed by what Idid ever to have been that of an ungrateful man. 

Before my departure from Paris I had sketched out the dedication of mydiscourse on the 'Inequality of Mankind'. I finished it at Chambery, anddated it from that place, thinking that, to avoid all chicane, it wasbetter not to date it either from France or Geneva. The moment I arrivedin that city I abandoned myself to the republican enthusiasm which hadbrought me to it. This was augmented by the reception I there met with. Kindly treated by persons of every description, I entirely gave myself upto a patriotic zeal, and mortified at being excluded from the rights of acitizen by the possession of a religion different from that of myforefathers, I resolved openly to return to the latter. I thought thegospel being the same for every Christian, and the only difference inreligious opinions the result of the explanations given by men to thatwhich they did not understand, it was the exclusive right of thesovereign power in every country to fix the mode of worship, and theseunintelligible opinions; and that consequently it was the duty of acitizen to admit the one, and conform to the other in the mannerprescribed by the law. The conversation of the encyclopaedists, far fromstaggering my faith, gave it new strength by my natural aversion todisputes and party. The study of man and the universe had everywhereshown me the final causes and the wisdom by which they were directed. The reading of the Bible, and especially that of the New Testament, towhich I had for several years past applied myself, had given me asovereign contempt for the base and stupid interpretations given to thewords of Jesus Christ by persons the least worthy of understanding hisdivine doctrine. In a word, philosophy, while it attached me to theessential part of religion, had detached me from the trash of the littleformularies with which men had rendered it obscure. Judging that for areasonable man there were not two ways of being a Christian, I was alsoof opinion that in each country everything relative to form anddiscipline was within the jurisdiction of the laws. From this principle, so social and pacific, and which has brought upon me such cruelpersecutions, it followed that, if I wished to be a citizen of Geneva, I must become a Protestant, and conform to the mode of worshipestablished in my country. This I resolved upon; I moreover put myselfunder the instructions of the pastor of the parish in which I lived, and which was without the city. All I desired was not to appear at theconsistory. However, the ecclesiastical edict was expressly to thateffect; but it was agreed upon to dispense with it in my favor, and acommission of five or six members was named to receive my profession offaith. Unfortunately, the minister Perdriau, a mild and an amiable man, took it into his head to tell me the members were rejoiced at thethoughts of hearing me speak in the little assembly. This expectationalarmed me to such a degree that having night and day during three weeksstudied a little discourse I had prepared, I was so confused when I oughtto have pronounced it that I could not utter a single word, and duringthe conference I had the appearance of the most stupid schoolboy. Thepersons deputed spoke for me, and I answered yes and no, like ablockhead; I was afterwards admitted to the communion, and reinstated inmy rights as a citizen. I was enrolled as such in the lists of guards, paid by none but citizens and burgesses, and I attended at acouncil-general extraordinary to receive the oath from the syndicMussard. I was so impressed with the kindness shown me on this occasionby the council and the consistory, and by the great civility andobliging behavior of the magistrates, ministers and citizens, that, pressed by the worthy De Luc, who was incessant in his persuasions, andstill more so by my own inclination, I did not think of going back toParis for any other purpose than to break up housekeeping, find asituation for M. And Madam le Vassear, or provide for their subsistence, and then return with Theresa to Geneva, there to settle for the rest ofmy days. 

After taking this resolution I suspended all serious affairs the betterto enjoy the company of my friends until the time of my departure. Of all the amusements of which I partook, that with which I was mostpleased, was sailing round the lake in a boat, with De Luc, the father, his daughter-in-law, his two sons, and my Theresa. We gave seven days tothis excursion in the finest weather possible. I preserved a livelyremembrance of the situation which struck me at the other extremity ofthe lake, and of which I, some years afterwards, gave a description in myNew Eloisa. 

The principal connections I made at Geneva, besides the De Lucs, of whichI have spoken, were the young Vernes, with whom I had already beenacquainted at Paris, and of whom I then formed a better opinion than Iafterwards had of him. M. Perdriau, then a country pastor, now professorof Belles Lettres, whose mild and agreeable society will ever make meregret the loss of it, although he has since thought proper to detachhimself from me; M. Jalabert, at that time professor of naturalphilosophy, since become counsellor and syndic, to whom I read mydiscourse upon Inequality (but not the dedication), with which he seemedto be delighted; the Professor Lullin, with whom I maintained acorrespondence until his death, and who gave me a commission to purchasebooks for the library; the Professor Vernet, who, like most other people, turned his back upon me after I had given him proofs of attachment andconfidence of which he ought to, have been sensible, if a theologian canbe affected by anything; Chappins, clerk and successor to Gauffecourt, whom he wished to supplant, and who, soon afterwards, was him selfsupplanted; Marcet de Mezieres, an old friend of my father's, and who hadalso shown himself to be mine: after having well deserved of his country, he became a dramatic author, and, pretending to be of the council of twohundred, changed his principles, and, before he died, became ridiculous. But he from whom I expected most was M. Moultout, a very promising youngman by his talents and his brilliant imagination, whom I have alwaysloved, although his conduct with respect to me was frequently equivocal, and, not withstanding his being connected with my most cruel enemies, whom I cannot but look upon as destined to become the defender of mymemory and the avenger of his friend. 

In the midst of these dissipations, I neither lost the taste for mysolitary excursions, nor the habit of them; I frequently made long onesupon the banks of the lake, during which my mind, accustomed toreflection, did not remain idle; I digested the plan already formedof my political institutions, of which I shall shortly have to speak;I meditated a history of the Valais; the plan of a tragedy in prose, the subject of which, nothing less than Lucretia, did not deprive me ofthe hope of succeeding, although I had dared again to exhibit thatunfortunate heroine, when she could no longer be suffered upon any Frenchstage. I at that time tried my abilities with Tacitus, and translatedthe first books of his history, which will be found amongst my papers. 

After a residence of four months at Geneva, I returned in the month ofOctober to Paris; and avoided passing through Lyons that I might notagain have to travel with Gauffecourt. As the arrangement I had made didnot require my being at Geneva until the spring following, I returned, during the winter, to my habits and occupations; the principal of thelatter was examining the proof sheets of my discourse on the Inequalityof Mankind, which I had procured to be printed in Holland, by thebookseller Rey, with whom I had just become acquainted at Geneva. Thiswork was dedicated to the republic; but as the publication might beunpleasing to the council, I wished to wait until it had taken its effectat Geneva before I returned thither. This effect was not favorable tome; and the dedication, which the most pure patriotism had dictated, created me enemies in the council, and inspired even many of theburgesses with jealousy. M. Chouet, at that time first syndic, wrote mea polite but very cold letter, which will be found amongst my papers. Ireceived from private persons, amongst others from Du Luc and DeJalabert, a few compliments, and these were all. I did not perceive thata single Genevese was pleased with the hearty zeal found in the work. This indifference shocked all those by whom it was remarked. I rememberthat dining one day at Clichy, at Madam Dupin's, with Crommelin, residentfrom the republic, and M. De Mairan, the latter openly declared thecouncil owed me a present and public honors for the work, and that itwould dishonor itself if it failed in either. Crommelin, who was a blackand mischievous little man, dared not reply in my presence, but he made afrightful grimace, which however forced a smile from Madam Dupin. Theonly advantage this work procured me, besides that resulting from thesatisfaction of my own heart, was the title of citizen given me bymy friends, afterwards by the public after their example, and which Iafterwards lost by having too well merited. 

This ill success would not, however, have prevented my retiring toGeneva, had not more powerful motives tended to the same effect. M. D'Epinay, wishing to add a wing which was wanting to the chateau ofthe Chevrette, was at an immense expense in completing it. Going one daywith Madam D'Epinay to see the building, we continued our walk a quarterof a league further to the reservoir of the waters of the park whichjoined the forest of Montmorency, and where there was a handsome kitchengarden, with a little lodge, much out of repair, called the Hermitage. This solitary and very agreeable place had struck me when I saw it forthe first time before my journey to Geneva. I had exclaimed in mytransport: "Ah, madam, what a delightful habitation! This asylum waspurposely prepared for me. " Madam D'Epinay did not pay much attention towhat I said; but at this second journey I was quite surprised to find, instead of the old decayed building, a little house almost entirely new, well laid out, and very habitable for a little family of three persons. Madam D'Epinay had caused this to be done in silence, and at a very smallexpense, by detaching a few materials and some of the work men from thecastle. She now said to me, on remarking my surprise: "My dear, herebehold your asylum; it is you who have chosen it; friendship offers it toyou. I hope this will remove from you the cruel idea of separating fromme. " I do not think I was ever in my life more strongly or moredeliciously affected. I bathed with tears the beneficent hand of myfriend; and if I were not conquered from that very instant even, I wasextremely staggered. Madam D'Epinay, who would not be denied, became sopressing, employed so many means, so many people to circumvent me, proceeding even so far as to gain over Madam le Vasseur and her daughter, that at length she triumphed over all my resolutions. Renouncing the ideaof residing in my own country, I resolved, I promised, to inhabit theHermitage; and, whilst the building was drying, Madam D'Epinay took careto prepare furniture, so that everything was ready the following spring. 

One thing which greatly aided me in determining, was the residenceVoltaire had chosen near Geneva; I easily comprehended this man wouldcause a revolution there, and that I should find in my country themanners, which drove me from Paris; that I should be under the necessityof incessantly struggling hard, and have no other alternative than thatof being an unsupportable pedant, a poltroon, or a bad citizen. The letter Voltaire wrote me on my last work, induced me to insinuatemy fears in my answer; and the effect this produced confirmed them. From that moment I considered Geneva as lost, and I was not deceived. I perhaps ought to have met the storm, had I thought myself capable ofresisting it. But what could I have done alone, timid, and speakingbadly, against a man, arrogant, opulent, supported by the credit of thegreat, eloquent, and already the idol of the women and young men? I wasafraid of uselessly exposing myself to danger to no purpose. I listenedto nothing but my peaceful disposition, to my love of repose, which, ifit then deceived me, still continues to deceive me on the same subject. By retiring to Geneva, I should have avoided great misfortunes; but Ihave my doubts whether, with all my ardent and patriotic zeal, I shouldhave been able to effect anything great and useful for my country. 

Tronchin, who about the same time went to reside at Geneva, cameafterwards to Paris and brought with him treasures. At his arrival hecame to see me, with the Chevalier Jaucourt. Madam D'Epinay had a strongdesire to consult him in private, but this it was not easy to do. She addressed herself to me, and I engaged Tronchin to go and see her. Thus under my auspices they began a connection, which was afterwardsincreased at my expense. Such has ever been my destiny: the moment I hadunited two friends who were separately mine, they never failed to combineagainst me. Although, in the conspiracy then formed by the Tronchins, they must all have borne me a mortal hatred. He still continued friendlyto me: he even wrote me a letter after his return to Geneva, to proposeto me the place of honorary librarian. But I had taken my resolution, and the offer did not tempt me to depart from it. 

About this time I again visited M. D'Holbach. My visit was occasionedby the death of his wife, which, as well as that of Madam Francueil, happened whilst I was at Geneva. Diderot, when he communicated to methese melancholy events, spoke of the deep affliction of the husband. His grief affected my heart. I myself was grieved for the loss of thatexcellent woman, and wrote to M. D'Holbach a letter of condolence. I forgot all the wrongs he had done me, and at my return from Geneva, and after he had made the tour of France with Grimm and other friendsto alleviate his affliction, I went to see him, and continued my visitsuntil my departure for the Hermitage. As soon as it was known in hiscircle that Madam D'Epinay was preparing me a habitation there, innumerable sarcasms, founded upon the want I must feel of the flatteryand amusement of the city, and the supposition of my not being able tosupport the solitude for a fortnight, were uttered against me. Feelingwithin myself how I stood affected, I left him and his friends to saywhat they pleased, and pursued my intention. M. D'Holbach rendered mesome services in finding a place for the old Le Vasseur, who was eightyyears of age and a burden to his wife, from which she begged me torelieve her. 

 [This is an instance of the treachery of my memory. A long time after I had written what I have stated above, I learned, in conversing with my wife, that it was not M. D'Holbach, but M. De Chenonceaux, then one of the administrators of the Hotel Dieu, who procured this place for her father. I had so totally forgotten the circumstance, and the idea of M. D'Holbach's having done it was so strong in my mind that I would have sworn it had been him. ]

He was put into a house of charity, where, almost as soon as he arrivedthere, age and the grief of finding himself removed from his family senthim to the grave. His wife and all his children, except Theresa, did notmuch regret his loss. But she, who loved him tenderly, has ever sincebeen inconsolable, and never forgiven herself for having suffered him, at so advanced an age, to end his days in any other house than her own. 

Much about the same time I received a visit I little expected, althoughit was from a very old acquaintance. My friend Venture, accompanied byanother man, came upon me one morning by surprise. What a change did Idiscover in his person! Instead of his former gracefulness, he appearedsottish and vulgar, which made me extremely reserved with him. My eyesdeceived me, or either debauchery had stupefied his mind, or all hisfirst splendor was the effect of his youth, which was past. I saw himalmost with indifference, and we parted rather coolly. But when he wasgone, the remembrance of our former connection so strongly called to myrecollection that of my younger days, so charmingly, so prudentlydedicated to that angelic woman (Madam de Warrens) who was not much lesschanged than himself; the little anecdotes of that happy time, theromantic day of Toune passed with so much innocence and enjoyment betweenthose two charming girls, from whom a kiss of the hand was the onlyfavor, and which, notwithstanding its being so trifling, had left me suchlively, affecting and lasting regrets; and the ravishing delirium of ayoung heart, which I had just felt in all its force, and of which Ithought the season forever past for me. The tender remembrance of thesedelightful circumstances made me shed tears over my faded youth and itstransports for ever lost to me. Ah! how many tears should I have shedover their tardy and fatal return had I foreseen the evils I had yet tosuffer from them. 

Before I left Paris, I enjoyed during the winter which preceded myretreat, a pleasure after my own heart, and of which I tasted in all itspurity. Palissot, academician of Nancy, known by a few dramaticcompositions, had just had one of them performed at Luneville before theKing of Poland. He perhaps thought to make his court by representing inhis piece a man who had dared to enter into a literary dispute with theking. Stanislaus, who was generous, and did not like satire, was filledwith indignation at the author's daring to be personal in his presence. The Comte de Tressan, by order of the prince, wrote to M. D'Alembert, aswell as to myself, to inform me that it was the intention of his majestyto have Palissot expelled his academy. My answer was a strongsolicitation in favor of Palissot, begging M. De Tressan to intercedewith the king in his behalf. His pardon was granted, and M. De Tressan, when he communicated to me the information in the name of the monarch, added that the whole of what had passed should be inserted in theregister of the academy. I replied that this was less granting a pardonthan perpetuating a punishment. At length, after repeated solicitations, I obtained a promise, that nothing relative to the affair should beinserted in the register, and that no public trace should remain of it. The promise was accompanied, as well on the part of the king as on thatof M. De Tressan, with assurance of esteem and respect, with which I wasextremely flattered; and I felt on this occasion that the esteem of menwho are themselves worthy of it, produced in the mind a sentimentinfinitely more noble and pleasing than that of vanity. I havetranscribed into my collection the letters of M. De Tressan, with myanswers to them: and the original of the former will be found amongst myother papers. 

I am perfectly aware that if ever these memoirs become public, I hereperpetuate the remembrance of a fact which I would wish to efface everytrace; but I transmit many others as much against my inclination. The grand object of my undertaking, constantly before my eyes, and theindispensable duty of fulfilling it to its utmost extent, will not permitme to be turned aside by trifling considerations, which would lead mefrom my purpose. In my strange and unparalleled situation, I owe toomuch to truth to be further than this indebted to any person whatever. They who wish to know me well must be acquainted with me in every pointof view, in every relative situation, both good and bad. My confessionsare necessarily connected with those of many other people: I write bothwith the same frankness in everything that relates to that which hasbefallen me; and am not obliged to spare any person more than myself, although it is my wish to do it. I am determined always to be just andtrue, to say of others all the good I can, never speaking of evil exceptwhen it relates to my own conduct, and there is a necessity for my sodoing. Who, in the situation in which the world has placed me, has aright to require more at my hands? My confessions are not intended toappear during my lifetime, nor that of those they may disagreeablyaffect. Were I master of my own destiny, and that of the book I am nowwriting, it should never be made public until after my death and theirs. But the efforts which the dread of truth obliges my powerful enemies tomake to destroy every trace of it, render it necessary for me to doeverything, which the strictest right, and the most severe justice, willpermit, to preserve what I have written. Were the remembrance of me tobe lost at my dissolution, rather than expose any person alive, I wouldwithout a murmur suffer an unjust and momentary reproach. But since myname is to live, it is my duty to endeavor to transmit with it toposterity the remembrance of the unfortunate man by whom it was borne, such as he really was, and not such as his unjust enemies incessantlyendeavored to describe him. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK IX. 

My impatience to inhabit the Hermitage not permitting me to wait untilthe return of fine weather, the moment my lodging was prepared I hastenedto take possession of it, to the great amusement of the 'CoterieHolbachaque', which publicly predicted I should not be able to supportsolitude for three months, and that I should unsuccessfully return toParis, and live there as they did. For my part, having for fifteen yearsbeen out of my element, finding myself upon the eve of returning to it, I paid no attention to their pleasantries. Since contrary to myinclinations, I have again entered the world, I have incessantlyregretted my dear Charmettes, and the agreeable life I led there. I felta natural inclination to retirement and the country: it was impossiblefor me to live happily elsewhere. At Venice, in the train of publicaffairs, in the dignity of a kind of representation, in the pride ofprojects of advancement; at Paris, in the vortex of the great world, inthe luxury of suppers, in the brilliancy of spectacles, in the rays ofsplendor; my groves, rivulets, and solitary walks, constantly presentedthemselves to my recollection, interrupted my thought, rendered memelancholy, and made me sigh with desire. All the labor to which I hadsubjected myself, every project of ambition which by fits had animated myardor, all had for object this happy country retirement, which I nowthought near at hand. Without having acquired a genteel independence, which I had judged to be the only means of accomplishing my views, Iimagined myself, in my particular situation, to be able to do without it, and that I could obtain the same end by a means quite opposite. I had noregular income; but I possessed some talents, and had acquired a name. My wants were few, and I had freed myself from all those which were mostexpensive, and which merely depended on prejudice and opinion. Besidesthis, although naturally indolent, I was laborious when I chose to be so. And my idleness was less that of an indolent man, than that of anindependent one who applies to business when it pleases him. My profession of a copyist of music was neither splendid nor lucrative, but it was certain. The world gave me credit for the courage I had shownin making choice of it. I might depend upon having sufficient employmentto enable me to live. Two thousand livres which remained of the produceof the 'Devin du Village', and my other writings, were a sum which keptme from being straitened, and several works I had upon the stockspromised me, without extorting money from the booksellers, suppliessufficient to enable me to work at my ease without exhausting myself, even by turning to advantage the leisure of my walks. My little family, consisting of three persons, all of whom were usefully employed, was notexpensive to support. Finally, from my resources, proportioned to mywants and desires, I might reasonably expect a happy and permanentexistence, in that manner of life which my inclination had induced me toadopt. 

I might have taken the interested side of the question, and, instead ofsubjecting my pen to copying, entirely devoted it to works which, fromthe elevation to which I had soared, and at which I found myself capableof continuing, might have enabled me to live in the midst of abundance, nay, even of opulence, had I been the least disposed to join themanoeuvres of an author to the care of publishing a good book. But Ifelt that writing for bread would soon have extinguished my genius, anddestroyed my talents, which were less in my pen than in my heart, andsolely proceeded from an elevated and noble manner of thinking, by whichalone they could be cherished and preserved. Nothing vigorous or greatcan come from a pen totally venal. Necessity, nay, even avarice, perhaps, would have made me write rather rapidly than well. If thedesire of success had not led me into cabals, it might have made meendeavor to publish fewer true and useful works than those which might bepleasing to the multitude; and instead of a distinguished author, which Imight possibly become, I should have been nothing more than a scribbler. No: I have always felt that the profession of letters was illustrious inproportion as it was less a trade. It is too difficult to think noblywhen we think for a livelihood. To be able to dare even to speak greattruths, an author must be independent of success. I gave my books to thepublic with a certainty of having written for the general good ofmankind, without giving myself the least concern about what was tofollow. If the work was thrown aside, so much the worse for such as didnot choose to profit by it. Their approbation was not necessary toenable me to live, my profession was sufficient to maintain me had not myworks had a sale, for which reason alone they all sold. 

It was on the ninth of August, 1756, that I left cities, never to residein them again: for I do not call a residence the few days I afterwardsremained in Paris, London, or other cities, always on the wing, orcontrary to my inclinations. Madam d'Epinay came and took us all threein her coach; her farmer carted away my little baggage, and I was putinto possession the same day. I found my little retreat simplyfurnished, but neatly, and with some taste. The hand which had lent itsaid in this furnishing rendered it inestimable in my eyes, and I thoughtit charming to be the guest of my female friend in a house I had madechoice of, and which she had caused to be built purposely for me. 

Although the weather was cold, and the ground lightly covered with snow, the earth began to vegetate: violets and primroses already made theirappearance, the trees began to bud, and the evening of my arrival wasdistinguished by the song of the nightingale, which was heard almostunder my window, in a wood adjoining the house. After a light sleep, forgetting when I awoke my change of abode, I still thought myself in theRue Grenelle, when suddenly this warbling made me give a start, and Iexclaimed in my transport: "At length, all my wishes are accomplished!"The first thing I did was to abandon myself to the impression of therural objects with which I was surrounded. Instead of beginning to setthings in order in my new habitation, I began by doing it for my walks, and there was not a path, a copse, a grove, nor a corner in the environsof my place of residence that I did not visit the next day. The more Iexamined this charming retreat, the more I found it to my wishes. Thissolitary, rather than savage, spot transported me in idea to the end ofthe world. It had striking beauties which are but seldom found nearcities, and never, if suddenly transported thither, could any person haveimagined himself within four leagues of Paris. 

After abandoning myself for a few days to this rural delirium, I began toarrange my papers, and regulate my occupations. I set apart, as I hadalways done, my mornings to copying, and my afternoons to walking, provided with my little paper book and a pencil, for never having beenable to write and think at my ease except 'sub dio', I had no inclinationto depart from this method, and I was persuaded the forest ofMontmorency, which was almost at my door, would in future be my closetand study. I had several works begun; these I cast my eye over. My mindwas indeed fertile in great projects, but in the noise of the city theexecution of them had gone on but slowly. I proposed to myself to usemore diligence when I should be less interrupted. I am of opinion I havesufficiently fulfilled this intention; and for a man frequently ill, often at La Chevrette, at Epinay, at Raubonne, at the castle ofMontmorency, at other times interrupted by the indolent and curious, andalways employed half the day in copying, if what I produced during thesix years I passed at the Hermitage and at Montmorency be considered, Iam persuaded it will appear that if, in this interval, I lost my time, itwas not in idleness. 

Of the different works I had upon the stocks, that I had longest resolvedin my mind which was most to my taste; to which I destined a certainportion of my life, and which, in my opinion, was to confirm thereputation I had acquired, was my 'Institutions Politiques. I had, fourteen years before, when at Venice, where I had an opportunity ofremarking the defects of that government so much boasted of, conceivedthe first idea of them. Since that time my views had become much moreextended by the historical study of morality. I had perceived everythingto be radically connected with politics, and that, upon whateverprinciples these were founded, a people would never be more than thatwhich the nature of the government made them; therefore the greatquestion of the best government possible appeared to me to be reduced tothis: What is the nature of a government the most proper to form the mostvirtuous and enlightened, the wisest and best people, taking the lastepithet in its most extensive meaning? I thought this question was muchif not quite of the same nature with that which follows: What governmentis that which, by its nature, always maintains itself nearest to thelaws, or least deviates from the laws. Hence, what is the law? and aseries of questions of similar importance. I perceived these led togreat truths, useful to the happiness of mankind, but more especially tothat of my country, wherein, in the journey I had just made to it, I hadnot found notions of laws and liberty either sufficiently just or clear. I had thought this indirect manner of communicating these to myfellow-citizens would be least mortifying to their pride, and mightobtain me forgiveness for having seen a little further than themselves. 

Although I had already labored five or six years at the work, theprogress I had made in it was not considerable. Writings of this kindrequire meditation, leisure and tranquillity. I had besides written the'Institutions Politiques', as the expression is, 'en bonne fortune', andhad not communicated my project to any person; not even to Diderot. I was afraid it would be thought too daring for the age and country inwhich I wrote, and that the fears of my friends would restrain me fromcarrying it into execution. 

 [It was more especially the wise severity of Duclos which inspired me with this fear; as for Diderot, I know not by what means all my conferences with him tended to make me more satirical than my natural disposition inclined me to be. This prevented me from consulting him upon an undertaking, in which I wished to introduce nothing but the force of reasoning without the least appearance of ill humor or partiality. The manner of this work may be judged of by that of the 'Contrat Social', which is taken from it. ]

I did not yet know that it would be finished in time, and in such amanner as to appear before my decease. I wished fearlessly to give to mysubject everything it required; fully persuaded that not being of asatirical turn, and never wishing to be personal, I should in equityalways be judged irreprehensible. I undoubtedly wished fully to enjoythe right of thinking which I had by birth; but still respecting thegovernment under which I lived, without ever disobeying its laws, andvery attentive not to violate the rights of persons, I would not fromfear renounce its advantages. 

I confess, even that, as a stranger, and living in France, I found mysituation very favorable in daring to speak the truth; well knowing thatcontinuing, as I was determined to do, not to print anything in thekingdom without permission, I was not obliged to give to any person in itan account of my maxims nor of their publication elsewhere. I shouldhave been less independent even at Geneva, where, in whatever place mybooks might have been printed, the magistrate had a right to criticisetheir contents. This consideration had greatly contributed to make meyield to the solicitations of Madam d'Epinay, and abandon the project offixing my residence at Geneva. I felt, as I have remarked in my Emilius, that unless an author be a man of intrigue, when he wishes to render hisworks really useful to any country whatsoever, he must compose them insome other. 

What made me find my situation still more happy, was my being persuadedthat the government of France would, perhaps, without looking upon mewith a very favorable eye, make it a point to protect me, or at least notto disturb my tranquillity. It appeared to me a stroke of simple, yetdexterous policy, to make a merit of tolerating that which there was nomeans of preventing; since, had I been driven from France, which was allgovernment had the right to do, my work would still have been written, and perhaps with less reserve; whereas if I were left undisturbed, theauthor remained to answer for what he wrote, and a prejudice, generalthroughout all Europe, would be destroyed by acquiring the reputation ofobserving a proper respect for the rights of persons. 

They who, by the event, shall judge I was deceived, may perhaps bedeceived in their turn. In the storm which has since broken over myhead, my books served as a pretence, but it was against my person thatevery shaft was directed. My persecutors gave themselves but littleconcern about the author, but they wished to ruin Jean Jacques; and thegreatest evil they found in my writings was the honor they might possiblydo me. Let us not encroach upon the future. I do not know that thismystery, which is still one to me, will hereafter be cleared up to myreaders; but had my avowed principles been of a nature to bring upon methe treatment I received, I should sooner have become their victim, sincethe work in which these principles are manifested with most courage, notto call it audacity, seemed to have had its effect previous to my retreatto the Hermitage, without I will not only say my having received theleast censure, but without any steps having been taken to prevent thepublication of it in France, where it was sold as publicly as in Holland. The New Eloisa afterwards appeared with the same facility, I dare add;with the same applause: and, what seems incredible, the profession offaith of this Eloisa at the point of death is exactly similar to that ofthe Savoyard vicar. Every strong idea in the Social Contract had beenbefore published in the discourse on Inequality; and every bold opinionin Emilius previously found in Eloisa. This unrestrained freedom did notexcite the least murmur against the first two works; therefore it was notthat which gave cause to it against the latter. 

Another undertaking much of the same kind, but of which the project wasmore recent, then engaged my attention: this was the extract of the worksof the Abbe de Saint Pierre, of which, having been led away by the threadof my narrative, I have not hitherto been able to speak. The idea wassuggested to me, after my return from Geneva, by the Abbe Malby, notimmediately from himself, but by the interposition of Madam Dupin, whohad some interest in engaging me to adopt it. She was one of the threeor four-pretty women of Paris, of whom the Abbe de Saint Pierre had beenthe spoiled child, and although she had not decidedly had the preference, she had at least partaken of it with Madam d'Aiguillon. She preservedfor the memory of the good man a respect and an affection which did honorto them both; and her self-love would have been flattered by seeing thestill-born works of her friend brought to life by her secretary. Theseworks contained excellent things, but so badly told that the reading ofthem was almost insupportable; and it is astonishing the Abbe de SaintPierre, who looked upon his readers as schoolboys, should neverthelesshave spoken to them as men, by the little care he took to induce them togive him a hearing. It was for this purpose that the work was proposedto me as useful in itself, and very proper for a man laborious inmanoeuvre, but idle as an author, who finding the trouble of thinkingvery fatiguing, preferred, in things which pleased him, throwing a lightupon and extending the ideas of others, to producing any himself. Besides, not being confined to the functions of a translator, I was atliberty sometimes to think for myself; and I had it in my power to givesuch a form to my work, that many important truths would pass in it underthe name of the Abbe de Saint Pierre, much more safely than under mine. The undertaking also was not trifling; the business was nothing less thanto read and meditate twenty-three volumes, diffuse, confused, full oflong narrations and periods, repetitions, and false or little views, fromamongst which it was necessary to select some few that were good anduseful, and sufficiently encouraging to enable me to support the painfullabor. I frequently wished to have given it up, and should have done so, could I have got it off my hands with a great grace; but when I receivedthe manuscripts of the abbe, which were given to me by his nephew, theComte de Saint Pierre, I had, by the solicitation of St. Lambert, in somemeasure engaged to make use of them, which I must either have done, orhave given them back. It was with the former intention I had taken themanuscripts to the Hermitage, and this was the first work to which Iproposed to dedicate my leisure hours. 

I had likewise in my own mind projected a third, the idea of which I owedto the observations I had made upon myself and I felt the more disposedto undertake this work, as I had reason to hope I could make it a trulyuseful one, and perhaps, the most so of any that could be offered to theworld, were the execution equal to the plan I had laid down. It has beenremarked that most men are in the course of their lives frequently unlikethemselves, and seem to be transformed into others very different fromwhat they were. It was not to establish a thing so generally known thatI wished to write a book; I had a newer and more important object. Thiswas to search for the causes of these variations, and, by confining myobservations to those which depend on ourselves, to demonstrate in whatmanner it might be possible to direct them, in order to render us betterand more certain of our dispositions. For it is undoubtedly more painfulto an honest man to resist desires already formed, and which it is hisduty to subdue, than to prevent, change, or modify the same desires intheir source, were he capable of tracing them to it. A man undertemptation resists once because he has strength of mind, he yieldsanother time because this is overcome; had it been the same as before hewould again have triumphed. 

By examining within myself, and searching in others what could be thecause of these different manners of being, I discovered that, in a greatmeasure they depended on the anterior impressions of external objects;and that, continually modified by our senses and organs, we, withoutknowing it, bore in our ideas, sentiments, and even actions, the effectof these modifications. The striking and numerous observations I hadcollected were beyond all manner of dispute, and by their naturalprinciple seemed proper to furnish an exterior regimen, which variedaccording to circumstances, might place and support the mind in the statemost favorable to virtue. From how many mistakes would reason bepreserved, how many vices would be stifled in their birth, were itpossible to force animal economy to favor moral order, which it sofrequently disturbs! Climate, seasons, sounds, colors, light, darkness, the elements, ailments, noise, silence, motion, rest, all act on theanimal machine, and consequently on the mind: all offer a thousand means, almost certain of directing in their origin the sentiments by which wesuffer ourselves to be governed. Such was the fundamental idea of whichI had already made a sketch upon paper, and whence I hoped for an effectthe more certain, in favor of persons well disposed, who, sincerelyloving virtue, were afraid of their own weakness, as it appeared to meeasy to make of it a book as agreeable to read as it was to compose. I have, however, applied myself but very little to this work, the titleof which was to have been 'Morale Sensitive' ou le Materialisme du Sage. --[Sensitive Morality, or the Materialism of the Sage. ]--Interruptions, the cause of which will soon appear, prevented me from continuing it, andthe fate of the sketch, which is more connected with my own than it mayappear to be, will hereafter be seen. 

Besides this, I had for some time meditated a system of education, ofwhich Madam de Chenonceaux, alarmed for her son by that of her husband, had desired me to consider. The authority of friendship placed thisobject, although less in itself to my taste, nearer to my heart than anyother. On which account this subject, of all those of which I have justspoken, is the only one I carried to its utmost extent. The end Iproposed to myself in treating of it should, I think, have procured theauthor a better fate. But I will not here anticipate this melancholysubject. I shall have too much reason to speak of it in the course of mywork. 

These different objects offered me subjects of meditation for my walks;for, as I believed I had already observed, I am unable to reflect when Iam not walking: the moment I stop, I think no more, and as soon as I amagain in motion my head resumes its workings. I had, however, providedmyself with a work for the closet upon rainy days. This was mydictionary of music, which my scattered, mutilated, and unshapenmaterials made it necessary to rewrite almost entirely. I had with mesome books necessary to this purpose; I had spent two months in makingextracts from others, I had borrowed from the king's library, whence Iwas permitted to take several to the Hermitage. I was thus provided withmaterials for composing in my apartment when the weather did not permitme to go out, and my copying fatigued me. This arrangement was soconvenient that it made it turn to advantage as well at the Hermitage asat Montmorency, and afterwards even at Motiers, where I completed thework whilst I was engaged in others, and constantly found a change ofoccupation to be a real relaxation. 

During a considerable time I exactly followed the distribution I hadprescribed myself, and found it very agreeable; but as soon as the fineweather brought Madam d'Epinay more frequently to Epinay, or to theChervette, I found that attentions, in the first instance natural to me, but which I had not considered in my scheme, considerably deranged myprojects. I have already observed that Madam d'Epinay had many amiablequalities; she sincerely loved her friends; served them with zeal; and, not sparing for them either time or pains, certainly deserved on theirpart every attention in return. I had hitherto discharged this dutywithout considering it as one, but at length I found that I had givenmyself a chain of which nothing but friendship prevented me from feelingthe weight, and this was still aggravated by my dislike to numeroussocieties. Madam d' Epinay took advantage of these circumstances to makeme a proposition seemingly agreeable to me, but which was more so toherself; this was to let me know when she was alone, or had but littlecompany. I consented, without perceiving to what a degree I engagedmyself. The consequence was that I no longer visited her at my own hour--but at hers, and that I never was certain of being master of myself fora day together. This constraint considerably diminished the pleasureI had in going to see her. I found the liberty she had so frequentlypromised was given me upon no other condition than that of my neverenjoying it; and once or twice when I wished to do this there were somany messages, notes, and alarms relative to my health, that I perceivedthat I could have no excuse but being confined to my bed, for notimmediately running to her upon the first intimation. It was necessaryI should submit to this yoke, and I did it, even more voluntarily thancould be expected from so great an enemy to dependence: the sincereattachment I had to Madam D'Epinay preventing me, in a great measure, from feeling the inconvenience with which it was accompanied. She, on her part, filled up, well or ill, the void which the absence of herusual circle left in her amusements. This for her was but a very slendersupplement, although preferable to absolute solitude, which she could notsupport. She had the means of doing it much more at her ease after shebegan with literature, and at all events to write novels, letters, comedies, tales, and other trash of the same kind. But she was not somuch amused in writing these as in reading them; and she never scribbledover two or three pages--at one sitting--without being previously assuredof having, at least, two or three benevolent auditors at the end of somuch labor. I seldom had the honor of being one of the chosen few exceptby means of another. When alone, I was, for the most part, considered asa cipher in everything; and this not only in the company of MadamD'Epinay, but in that of M. D'Holbach, and in every place where Grimmgave the 'ton'. This nullity was very convenient to me, except in atete-a-tete, when I knew not what countenance to put on, not daring tospeak of literature, of which it was not for me to say a word; nor ofgallantry, being too timid, and fearing, more than death, theridiculousness of an old gallant; besides that, I never had such an ideawhen in the company of Madam D'Epinay, and that it perhaps would neverhave occurred to me, had I passed my whole life with her; not that herperson was in the least disagreeable to me; on the contrary, I loved herperhaps too much as a friend to do it as a lover. I felt a pleasure inseeing and speaking to her. Her conversation, although agreeable enoughin a mixed company, was uninteresting in private; mine, not more elegantor entertaining than her own, was no great amusement to her. Ashamed ofbeing long silent, I endeavored to enliven our tete-a-tete and, althoughthis frequently fatigued me, I was never disgusted with it. I was happyto show her little attentions, and gave her little fraternal kisses, which seemed not to be more sensual to herself; these were all. She wasvery thin, very pale, and had a bosom which resembled the back of her hand. This defect alone would have been sufficient to moderate my most ardentdesires; my heart never could distinguish a woman in a person who had it;and besides other causes useless to mention, always made me forget the sexof this lady. 

Having resolved to conform to an assiduity which was necessary, I immediately and voluntarily entered upon it, and for the first year atleast, found it less burthensome than I could have expected. Madamd'Epinay, who commonly passed the summer in the country, continued therebut a part of this; whether she was more detained by her affairs inParis, or that the absence of Grimm rendered the residence of theChevrette less agreeable to her, I know not. I took the advantage ofthe intervals of her absence, or when the company with her was numerous, to enjoy my solitude with my good Theresa and her mother, in such amanner as to taste all its charms. Although I had for several yearspassed been frequently in the country, I seldom had enjoyed much of itspleasures; and these excursions, always made in company with people whoconsidered themselves as persons of consequence, and rendered insipid byconstraint, served to increase in me the natural desire I had for rusticpleasures. The want of these was the more sensible to me as I had theimage of them immediately before my eyes. I was so tired of saloons, jets d'eau, groves, parterres, and of more fatiguing persons by whom theywere shown; so exhausted with pamphlets, harpsichords, trios, unravellings of plots, stupid bon mots, insipid affections, pitifulstorytellers, and great suppers; that when I gave a side glance at a poorsimple hawthorn bush, a hedge, a barn, or a meadow; when, in passingthrough a hamlet, I scented a good chervil omelette, and heard at adistance the burden of a rustic song of the Bisquieres; I wished allrouge, furbelows and amber at the d---l, and envying the dinner of thegood housewife, and the wine of her own vineyard, I heartily wished togive a slap on the chaps to Monsieur le Chef and Monsieur le Maitre, whomade me dine at the hour of supper, and sup when I should have beenasleep, but especially to Messieurs the lackeys, who devoured with theireyes the morsel I put into my mouth, and upon pain of my dying withthirst, sold me the adulterated wine of their master, ten times dearerthan that of a better quality would have cost me at a public house. 

At length I was settled in an agreeable and solitary asylum, at libertyto pass there the remainder of my days, in that peaceful, equal, andindependent life for which I felt myself born. Before I relate theeffects this situation, so new to me, had upon my heart, it is proper Ishould recapitulate its secret affections, that the reader may betterfollow in their causes the progress of these new modifications. 

I have always considered the day on which I was united to Theresa as thatwhich fixed my moral existence. An attachment was necessary for me, since that which should have been sufficient to my heart had been socruelly broken. The thirst after happiness is never extinguished in theheart of man. Mamma was advancing into years, and dishonored herself!I had proofs that she could never more be happy here below; it thereforeremained to me to seek my own happiness, having lost all hopes ofpartaking of hers. I was sometimes irresolute, and fluctuated from oneidea to another, and from project to project. My journey to Venice wouldhave thrown me into public life, had the man with whom, almost against myinclination, I was connected there had common sense. I was easilydiscouraged, especially in undertakings of length and difficulty. Theill success of this disgusted me with every other; and, according to myold maxims, considering distant objects as deceitful allurements, Iresolved in future to provide for immediate wants, seeing nothing in lifewhich could tempt me to make extraordinary efforts. 

It was precisely at this time we became acquainted. The mild characterof the good Theresa seemed so fitted to my own, that I united myself toher with an attachment which neither time nor injuries have been able toimpair, and which has constantly been increased by everything by which itmight have been expected to be diminished. The force of this sentimentwill hereafter appear when I come to speak of the wounds she has given myheart in the height of my misery, without my ever having, until thismoment, once uttered a word of complaint to any person whatever. 

When it shall be known, that after having done everything, bravedeverything, not to separate from her; that after passing with her twentyyears in despite of fate and men; I have in my old age made her my wife, without the least expectation or solicitation on her part, or promise orengagement on mine, the world will think that love bordering uponmadness, having from the first moment turned my head, led me by degreesto the last act of extravagance; and this will no longer appear doubtfulwhen the strong and particular reasons which should forever haveprevented me from taking such a step are made known. What, therefore, will the reader think when I shall have told him, with all the truth hehas ever found in me, that, from the first moment in which I saw her, until that wherein I write, I have never felt the least love for her, that I never desired to possess her more than I did to possess Madam deWarrens, and that the physical wants which were satisfied with her personwere, to me, solely those of the sex, and by no means proceeding from theindividual? He will think that, being of a constitution different fromthat of other men, I was incapable of love, since this was not one of thesentiments which attached me to women the most dear to my heart. Patience, O my dear reader! the fatal moment approaches in which youwill be but too much undeceived. 

I fall into repetitions; I know it; and these are necessary. The firstof my wants, the greatest, strongest and most insatiable, was wholly inmy heart; the want of an intimate connection, and as intimate as it couldpossibly be: for this reason especially, a woman was more necessary to methan a man, a female rather than a male friend. This singular want wassuch that the closest corporal union was not sufficient: two souls wouldhave been necessary to me in the same body, without which I always felt avoid. I thought I was upon the point of filling it up forever. Thisyoung person, amiable by a thousand excellent qualities, and at that timeby her form, without the shadow of art or coquetry, would have confinedwithin herself my whole existence, could hers, as I had hoped it would, have been totally confined to me. I had nothing to fear from men; I amcertain of being the only man she ever really loved and her moderatepassions seldom wanted another not even after I ceased in this respect tobe one to her. I had no family; she had one; and this family wascomposed of individuals whose dispositions were so different from mine, that I could never make it my own. This was the first cause of myunhappiness. What would I not have given to be the child of her mother?I did everything in my power to become so, but could never succeed. I in vain attempted to unite all our interests: this was impossible. She always created herself one different from mine, contrary to it, andto that even of her daughter, which already was no longer separated fromit. She, her other children, and grand-children, became so many leeches, and the least evil these did to Theresa was robbing her. The poor girl, accustomed to submit, even to her nieces, suffered herself to be pilferedand governed without saying a word; and I perceived with grief that byexhausting my purse, and giving her advice, I did nothing that could beof any real advantage to her. I endeavored to detach her from hermother; but she constantly resisted such a proposal. I could not butrespect her resistance, and esteemed her the more for it; but her refusalwas not on this account less to the prejudice of us both. Abandoned toher mother and the rest of her family, she was more their companion thanmine, and rather at their command than mistress of herself. Theiravarice was less ruinous than their advice was pernicious to her; infact, if, on account of the love she had for me, added to her goodnatural disposition, she was not quite their slave, she was enough so toprevent in a great measure the effect of the good maxims I endeavored toinstil into her, and, notwithstanding all my efforts, to prevent ourbeing united. 

Thus was it, that notwithstanding a sincere and reciprocal attachment, in which I had lavished all the tenderness of my heart, the void in thatheart was never completely filled. Children, by whom this effect shouldhave been produced, were brought into the world, but these only madethings worse. I trembled at the thought of intrusting them to a familyill brought up, to be still worse educated. The risk of the education ofthe foundling hospital was much less. This reason for the resolution Itook, much stronger than all those I stated in my letter to Madam deFrancueil, was, however, the only one with which I dared not make heracquainted; I chose rather to appear less excusable than to expose toreproach the family of a person I loved. But by the conduct of herwretched brother, notwithstanding all that can be said in his defence, it will be judged whether or not I ought to have exposed my children toan education similar to his. 

Not having it in my power to taste in all its plentitude the charms ofthat intimate connection of which I felt the want, I sought forsubstitutes which did not fill up the void, yet they made it lesssensible. Not having a friend entirely devoted to me, I wanted others, whose impulse should overcome my indolence; for this reason I cultivatedand strengthened my connection with Diderot and the Abbe de Condillac, formed with Grimm a new one still more intimate, till at length by theunfortunate discourse, of which I have related some particulars, I unexpectedly found myself thrown back into a literary circle whichI thought I had quitted forever. 

My first steps conducted me by a new path to another intellectual world, the simple and noble economy of which I cannot contemplate withoutenthusiasm. I reflected so much on the subject that I soon saw nothingbut error and folly in the doctrine of our sages, and oppression andmisery in our social order. In the illusion of my foolish pride, I thought myself capable of destroying all imposture; and thinking that, to make myself listened to, it was necessary my conduct should agree withmy principles, I adopted the singular manner of life which I have notbeen permitted to continue, the example of which my pretended friendshave never forgiven me, which at first made me ridiculous, and would atlength have rendered me respectable, had it been possible for me topersevere. 

Until then I had been good; from that moment I became virtuous, or atleast infatuated with virtue. This infatuation had begun in my head, butafterwards passed into my heart. The most noble pride there took rootamongst the ruins of extirpated vanity. I affected nothing; I becamewhat I appeared to be, and during four years at least, whilst thiseffervescence continued at its greatest height, there is nothing greatand good that can enter the heart of man, of which I was not capablebetween heaven and myself. Hence flowed my sudden eloquence; hence, inmy first writings, that fire really celestial, which consumed me, andwhence during forty years not a single spark had escaped, because it wasnot yet lighted up. 

I was really transformed; my friends and acquaintance scarcely knew me. I was no longer that timid, and rather bashful than modest man, whoneither dared to present himself, nor utter a word; whom a singlepleasantry disconcerted, and whose face was covered with a blush themoment his eyes met those of a woman. I became bold, haughty, intrepid, with a confidence the more firm, as it was simple, and resided in my soulrather than in my manner. The contempt with which my profoundmeditations had inspired me for the manners, maxims and prejudices of theage in which I lived, rendered me proof against the raillery of those bywhom they were possessed, and I crushed their little pleasantries with asentence, as I would have crushed an insect with my fingers. 

What a change! All Paris repeated the severe and acute sarcasms of thesame man who, two years before, and ten years afterwards, knew not how tofind what he had to say, nor the word he ought to employ. Let thesituation in the world the most contrary to my natural disposition besought after, and this will be found. Let one of the short moments of mylife in which I became another man, and ceased to be myself, berecollected, this also will be found in the time of which I speak; but, instead of continuing only six days, or six weeks, it lasted almost sixyears, and would perhaps still continue, but for the particularcircumstances which caused it to cease, and restored me to nature, abovewhich I had, wished to soar. 

The beginning of this change took place as soon as I had quitted Paris, and the sight of the vices of that city no longer kept up the indignationwith which it had inspired me. I no sooner had lost sight of men than Iceased to despise them, and once removed from those who designed me evil, my hatred against them no longer existed. My heart, little fitted forhatred, pitied their misery, and even their wickedness. This situation, more pleasing but less sublime, soon allayed the ardent enthusiasm bywhich I had so long been transported; and I insensibly, almost to myselfeven, again became fearful, complaisant and timid; in a word, the sameJean Jacques I before had been. 

Had this resolution gone no further than restoring me to myself, allwould have been well; but unfortunately it rapidly carried me away to theother extreme. From that moment my mind in agitation passed the line ofrepose, and its oscillations, continually renewed, have never permittedit to remain here. I must enter into some detail of this secondrevolution; terrible and fatal era, of a fate unparalleled amongstmortals. 

We were but three persons in our retirement; it was therefore natural ourintimacy should be increased by leisure and solitude. This was the casebetween Theresa and myself. We passed in conversations in the shade themost charming and delightful hours, more so than any I had hithertoenjoyed. She seemed to taste of this sweet intercourse more than I haduntil then observed her to do; she opened her heart, and communicated tome, relative to her mother and family, things she had had resolutionenough to conceal for a great length of time. Both had received fromMadam Dupin numerous presents, made them on my account, and mostly forme, but which the cunning old woman, to prevent my being angry, hadappropriated to her own use and that of her other children, withoutsuffering Theresa to have the least share, strongly forbidding her to saya word to me of the matter: an order the poor girl had obeyed with anincredible exactness. 

But another thing which surprised me more than this had done, was thediscovery that besides the private conversations Diderot and Grimm hadfrequently had with both to endeavor to detach them from me, in which, by means of the resistance of Theresa, they had not been able to succeed, they had afterwards had frequent conferences with the mother, the subjectof which was a secret to the daughter. However, she knew little presentshad been made, and that there were mysterious goings backward andforward, the motive of which was entirely unknown to her. When we leftParis, Madam le Vasseur had long been in the habit of going to see Grimmtwice or thrice a month, and continuing with him for hours together, inconversation so secret that the servant was always sent out of the room. 

I judged this motive to be of the same nature with the project into whichthey had attempted to make the daughter enter, by promising to procureher and her mother, by means of Madam d'Epinay, a salt huckster'slicense, or snuff-shop; in a word, by tempting her with the allurementsof gain. They had been told that, as I was not in a situation to doanything for them, I could not, on their account, do anything for myself. As in all this I saw nothing but good intentions, I was not absolutelydispleased with them for it. The mystery was the only thing which gaveme pain, especially on the part of the old woman, who moreover dailybecame more parasitical and flattering towards me. This, however, didnot prevent her from reproaching her daughter in private with telling meeverything, and loving me too much, observing to her she was a fool andwould at length be made a dupe. 

This woman possessed, to a supreme degree, the art of multiplying thepresents made her, by concealing from one what she received from another, and from me what she received from all. I could have pardoned heravarice, but it was impossible I should forgive her dissimulation. Whatcould she have to conceal from me whose happiness she knew principallyconsisted in that of herself and her daughter? What I had done for thedaughter I had done for myself, but the services I rendered the mothermerited on her part some acknowledgment. She ought, at least, to havethought herself obliged for them to her daughter, and to have loved mefor the sake of her by whom I was already beloved. I had raised her fromthe lowest state of wretchedness; she received from my hands the means ofsubsistence, and was indebted to me for her acquaintance with the personsfrom whom she found means to reap considerable benefit. Theresa had longsupported her by her industry, and now maintained her with my bread. She owed everything to this daughter, for whom she had done nothing, andher other children, to whom she had given marriage portions, and on whoseaccount she had ruined herself, far from giving her the least aid, devoured her substance and mine. I thought that in such a situation sheought to consider me as her only friend and most sure protector, andthat, far from making of my own affairs a secret to me, and conspiringagainst me in my house, it was her duty faithfully to acquaint me witheverything in which I was interested, when this came to her knowledgebefore it did to mine. In what light, therefore, could I consider herfalse and mysterious conduct? What could I think of the sentiments withwhich she endeavored to inspire her daughter? What monstrous ingratitudewas hers, to endeavor to instil it into her from whom I expected mygreatest consolation?

These reflections at length alienated my affections from this woman, andto such a degree that I could no longer look upon her but with contempt. I nevertheless continued to treat with respect the mother of the friendof my bosom, and in everything to show her almost the reverence of a son;but I must confess I could not remain long with her without pain, andthat I never knew how to bear restraint. 

This is another short moment of my life, in which I approached near tohappiness without being able to attain it, and this by no fault of myown. Had the mother been of a good disposition we all three should havebeen happy to the end of our days; the longest liver only would have beento be pitied. Instead of which, the reader will see the course thingstook, and judge whether or not it was in my power to change it. 

Madam le Vasseur, who perceived I had got more full possession of theheart of Theresa, and that she had lost ground with her, endeavored toregain it; and instead of striving to restore herself to my good opinionby the mediation of her daughter attempted to alienate her affectionsfrom me. One of the means she employed was to call her family to heraid. I had begged Theresa not to invite any of her relations to theHermitage, and she had promised me she would not. These were sent for inmy absence, without consulting her, and she was afterwards prevailed uponto promise not to say anything of the matter. After the first step wastaken all the rest were easy. When once we make a secret of anything tothe person we love, we soon make little scruple of doing it ineverything; the moment I was at the Chevrette the Hermitage was full ofpeople who sufficiently amused themselves. A mother has always greatpower over a daughter of a mild disposition; yet notwithstanding all theold woman could do, she was never able to prevail upon Theresa to enterinto her views, nor to persuade her to join in the league against me. For her part, she resolved upon doing it forever, and seeing on one sideher daughter and myself, who were in a situation to live, and that wasall; on the other, Diderot, Grimm, D' Holbach and Madam d'Epinay, whopromised great things, and gave some little ones, she could not conceiveit was possible to be in the wrong with the wife of a farmer-general andbaron. Had I been more clear sighted, I should from this moment haveperceived I nourished a serpent in my bosom. But my blind confidence, which nothing had yet diminished, was such that I could not imagine shewished to injure the person she ought to love. Though I saw numerousconspiracies formed on every side, all I complain of was the tyranny ofpersons who called themselves my friends, and who, as it seemed, wouldforce me to be happy in the manner they should point out, and not in thatI had chosen for myself. 

Although Theresa refused to join in the confederacy with her mother, sheafterwards kept her secret. For this her motive was commendable, although I will not determine whether she did it well or ill. Two women, who have secrets between them, love to prattle together; this attractedthem towards each other, and Theresa, by dividing herself, sometimes letme feel I was alone; for I could no longer consider as a society thatwhich we all three formed. 

I now felt the neglect I had been guilty of during the first years of ourconnection, in not taking advantage of the docility with which her loveinspired her, to improve her talents and give her knowledge, which, bymore closely connecting us in our retirement would agreeably have filledup her time and my own, without once suffering us to perceive the lengthof a private conversation. Not that this was ever exhausted between us, or that she seemed disgusted with our walks; but we had not a sufficientnumber of ideas common to both to make ourselves a great store, and wecould not incessantly talk of our future projects which were confined tothose of enjoying the pleasures of life. The objects around us inspiredme with reflections beyond the reach of her comprehension. An attachmentof twelve years' standing had no longer need of words: we were too wellacquainted with each other to have any new knowledge to acquire in thatrespect. The resource of puns, jests, gossiping and scandal, was allthat remained. In solitude especially is it, that the advantage ofliving with a person who knows how to think is particularly felt. Iwanted not this resource to amuse myself with her; but she would havestood in need of it to have always found amusement with me. The worst ofall was our being obliged to hold our conversations when we could; hermother, who become importunate, obliged me to watch for opportunities todo it. I was under constraint in my own house: this is sayingeverything; the air of love was prejudicial to good friendship. We hadan intimate intercourse without living in intimacy. 

The moment I thought I perceived that Theresa sometimes sought for apretext to elude the walks I proposed to her, I ceased to invite her toaccompany me, without being displeased with her for not finding in themso much amusement as I did. Pleasure is not a thing which depends uponthe will. I was sure of her heart, and the possession of this was all Idesired. As long as my pleasures were hers, I tasted of them with her;when this ceased to be the case I preferred her contentment to my own. 

In this manner it was that, half deceived in my expectation, leading alife after my own heart, in a residence I had chosen with a person whowas dear to me, I at length found myself almost alone. What I stillwanted prevented me from enjoying what I had. With respect to happinessand enjoyment, everything or nothing, was what was necessary to me. Thereason of these observations will hereafter appear. At present I returnto the thread of my narrative. 

I imagined that I possessed treasures in the manuscripts given me by theComte de St. Pierre. On examination I found they were a little morethan the collection of the printed works of his uncle, with notes andcorrections by his own hand, and a few other trifling fragments which hadnot yet been published. I confirmed myself by these moral writings inthe idea I had conceived from some of his letters, shown me by Madam deCrequi, that he had more sense and ingenuity than at first I hadimagined; but after a careful examination of his political works, I discerned nothing but superficial notions, and projects that wereuseful but impracticable, in consequence of the idea from which theauthor never could depart, that men conducted themselves by theirsagacity rather than by their passions. The high opinion he had of theknowledge of the moderns had made him adopt this false principle ofimproved reason, the basis of all the institutions he proposed, and thesource of his political sophisms. This extraordinary man, an honor tothe age in which he lived, and to the human species, and perhaps the onlyperson, since the creation of mankind, whose sole passion was that ofreason, wandered in all his systems from error to error, by attempting tomake men like himself, instead of taking them as they were, are, and willcontinue to be. He labored for imaginary beings, while he thoughthimself employed for the benefit of his contemporaries. 

All these things considered, I was rather embarrassed as to the form Ishould give to my work. To suffer the author's visions to pass was doingnothing useful; fully to refute them would have been unpolite, as thecare of revising and publishing his manuscripts, which I had accepted, and even requested, had been intrusted to me; this trust had imposed onme the obligation of treating the author honorably. I at lengthconcluded upon that which to me appeared the most decent, judicious, anduseful. This was to give separately my own ideas and those of theauthor, and, for this purpose, to enter into his views, to set them in anew light, to amplify, extend them, and spare nothing which mightcontribute to present them in all their excellence. 

My work therefore was to be composed of two parts absolutely distinct:one, to explain, in the manner I have just mentioned, the differentprojects of the author; in the other, which was not to appear until thefirst had had its effect, I should have given my opinion upon theseprojects, which I confess might sometimes have exposed them to the fateof the sonnet of the misanthrope. At the head of the whole was to havebeen the life of the author. For this I had collected some goodmaterials, and which I flattered myself I should not spoil in making useof them. I had been a little acquainted with the Abbe de St. Pierre, inhis old age, and the veneration I had for his memory warranted to me, upon the whole, that the comte would not be dissatisfied with the mannerin which I should have treated his relation. 

I made my first essay on the 'Perpetual Peace', the greatest and mostelaborate of all the works which composed the collection; and before Iabandoned myself to my reflections I had the courage to read everythingthe abbe had written upon this fine subject, without once sufferingmyself to be disgusted either by his slowness or his repetitions. Thepublic has seen the extract, on which account I have nothing to say uponthe subject. My opinion of it has not been printed, nor do I know thatit ever will be; however, it was written at the same time the extract wasmade. From this I passed to the 'Polysynodie', or Plurality of Councils, a work written under the regent to favor the administration he hadchosen, and which caused the Abbe de Saint Pierre to be expelled from theacademy, on account of some remarks unfavorable to the precedingadministration, and with which the Duchess of Maine and the Cardinal dePolignac were displeased. I completed this work as I did the former, with an extract and remarks; but I stopped here without intending tocontinue the undertaking which I ought never to have begun. 

The reflection which induced me to give it up naturally presents itself, and it was astonishing I had not made it sooner. 

Most of the writings of the Abbe de Saint Pierre were eitherobservations, or contained observations, on some parts of the governmentof France, and several of these were of so free a nature, that it washappy for him he had made them with impunity. But in the offices of allthe ministers of state the Abbe de St. Pierre had ever been considered asa kind of preacher rather than a real politician, and he was suffered tosay what he pleased, because it appeared that nobody listened to him. Had I procured him readers the case would have been different. He was aFrenchman, and I was not one; and by repeating his censures, although inhis own name, I exposed myself to be asked, rather rudely, but withoutinjustice, what it was with which I meddled. Happily before I proceededany further, I perceived the hold I was about to give the governmentagainst me, and I immediately withdrew. I knew that, living alone in themidst of men more powerful than myself, I never could by any meanswhatever be sheltered from the injury they chose to do me. There was butone thing which depended upon my own efforts: this was, to observe such aline of conduct that whenever they chose to make me feel the weight ofauthority they could not do it without being unjust. The maxim whichinduced me to decline proceeding with the works of the Abbe de SaintPierre, has frequently made me give up projects I had much more at heart. People who are always ready to construe adversity into a crime, would bemuch surprised were they to know the pains I have taken, that during mymisfortunes it might never with truth be said of me, Thou hast deservedthem. 

After having given up the manuscript, I remained some time withoutdetermining upon the work which should succeed it, and this interval ofinactivity was destructive; by permitting me to turn my reflections onmyself, for want of another object to engage my attention. I had noproject for the future which could amuse my imagination. It was not evenpossible to form any, as my situation was precisely that in which all mydesires were united. I had not another to conceive, and yet there was avoid in my heart. This state was the more cruel, as I saw no other thatwas to be preferred to it. I had fixed my most tender affections upon aperson who made me a return of her own. I lived with her withoutconstraint, and, so to speak, at discretion. Notwithstanding this, asecret grief of mind never quitted me for a moment, either when she waspresent or absent. In possessing Theresa, I still perceived she wantedsomething to her happiness; and the sole idea of my not being everythingto her had such an effect upon my mind that she was next to nothing tome. 

I had friends of both sexes, to whom I was attached by the purestfriendship and most perfect esteem; I depended upon a real return ontheir part, and a doubt of their sincerity never entered my mind; yetthis friendship was more tormenting than agreeable to me, by theirobstinate perseverance and even by their affectation, in opposing mytaste, inclinations and manner of living; and this to such a degree, thatthe moment I seemed to desire a thing which interested myself only, anddepended not upon them, they immediately joined their efforts to obligeme to renounce it. This continued desire to control me in all my wishes, the more unjust, as I did not so much as make myself acquainted withtheirs, became so cruelly oppressive, that I never received one of theirletters without feeling a certain terror as I opened it, and which wasbut too well justified by the contents. I thought being treated like achild by persons younger than myself, and who, of themselves, stood ingreat need of the advice they so prodigally bestowed on me, was too much:"Love me, " said I to them, "as I love you, but, in every other respect, let my affairs be as indifferent to you, as yours are to me: this is allI ask. " If they granted me one of these two requests, it was not thelatter. 

I had a retired residence in a charming solitude, was master of my ownhouse, and could live in it in the manner I thought proper, without beingcontrolled by any person. This habitation imposed on me duties agreeableto discharge, but which were indispensable. My liberty was precarious. In a greater state of subjection than a person at the command of another, it was my duty to be so by inclination. When I arose in the morning, I never could say to myself, I will employ this day as I think proper. And, moreover, besides my being subject to obey the call of Madamd'Epinay, I was exposed to the still more disagreeable importunities ofthe public and chance comers. The distance I was at from Paris did notprevent crowds of idlers, not knowing how to spend their time, from dailybreaking in upon me, and, without the least scruple, freely disposing ofmine. When I least expected visitors I was unmercifully assailed bythem, and I seldom made a plan for the agreeable employment of the daythat was not counteracted by the arrival of some stranger. 

In short, finding no real enjoyment in the midst of the pleasures I hadbeen most desirous to obtain, I, by sudden mental transitions, returnedin imagination to the serene days of my youth, and sometimes exclaimedwith a sigh: "Ah! this is not Les Charmettes!"

The recollection of the different periods of my life led me to reflectupon that at which I was arrived, and I found I was already on thedecline, a prey to painful disorders, and imagined I was approaching theend of my days without having, tasted, in all its plentitude, scarcelyanyone of the pleasures after which my heart had so much thirsted, orhaving given scope to the lively sentiments I felt it had in reserve. I had not favored even that intoxicating voluptuousness with which mymind was richly stored, and which, for want of an object, was alwayscompressed, an never exhaled but by signs. 

How was it possible that, with a mind naturally expansive, I, with whomto live was to love, should not hitherto have found a friend entirelydevoted to me; a real friend: I who felt myself so capable of being sucha friend to another? How can it be accounted for that with such warmaffections, such combustible senses, and a heart wholly made up of love, I had not once, at least, felt its flame for a determinate object?Tormented by the want of loving, without ever having been able to satisfyit, I perceived myself approaching the eve of old age, and hastening onto death without having lived. 

These melancholy but affecting recollections led me to others, which, although accompanied with regret, were not wholly unsatisfactory. Ithought something I had not yet received was still due to me fromdestiny. 

To what end was I born with exquisite faculties? To suffer them toremain unemployed? the sentiment of conscious merit, which made meconsider myself as suffering injustice, was some kind of reparation, andcaused me to shed tears which with pleasure I suffered to flow. 

These were my mediations during the finest season of the year, in themonth of June, in cool shades, to the songs of the nightingale, and thewarbling of brooks. Everything concurred in plunging me into that tooseducing state of indolence for which I was born, and from which myaustere manner, proceeding from a long effervescence, should forever havedelivered me. I unfortunately remembered the dinner of the Chateau deToune, and my meeting with the two charming girls in the same season, inplaces much resembling that in which I then was. The remembrance ofthese circumstances, which the innocence that accompanied them renderedto me still more dear, brought several others of the nature to myrecollection. I presently saw myself surrounded by all the objectswhich, in my youth, had given me emotion. Mademoiselle Galley, Mademoiselle de Graffenried, Mademoiselle de Breil, Madam Basile, Madamde Larnage, my pretty scholars, and even the bewitching Zulietta, whom myheart could not forget. I found myself in the midst of a seraglio ofhouris of my old acquaintance, for whom the most lively inclination wasnot new to me. My blood became inflamed, my head turned, notwithstandingmy hair was almost gray, and the grave citizen of Geneva, the austereJean Jacques, at forty-five years of age, again became the fond shepherd. The intoxication, with which my mind was seized, although sudden andextravagant, was so strong and lasting, that, to enable me to recoverfrom it, nothing less than the unforeseen and terrible crisis it broughton was necessary. 

This intoxication, to whatever degree it was carried, went not so far asto make me forget my age and situation, to flatter me that I could stillinspire love, nor to make me attempt to communicate the devouring flameby which ever since my youth I had felt my heart in vain consumed. Forthis I did not hope; I did not even desire it. I knew the season of lovewas past; I knew too well in what contempt the ridiculous pretensions ofsuperannuated gallants were held, ever to add one to the number, and Iwas not a man to become an impudent coxcomb in the decline of life, afterhaving been so little such during the flower of my age. Besides, as afriend to peace, I should have been apprehensive of domestic dissensions;and I too sincerely loved Theresa to expose her to the mortification ofseeing me entertain for others more lively sentiments than those withwhich she inspired me for herself. 

What step did I take upon this occasion? My reader will already haveguessed it, if he has taken the trouble to pay the least attention to mynarrative. The impossibility of attaining real beings threw me into theregions of chimera, and seeing nothing in existence worthy of mydelirium, I sought food for it in the ideal world, which my imaginationquickly peopled with beings after my own heart. This resource never camemore apropos, nor was it ever so fertile. In my continual ecstasy Iintoxicated my mind with the most delicious sentiments that ever enteredthe heart of man. Entirely forgetting the human species, I formed tomyself societies of perfect beings, whose virtues were as celestial astheir beauty, tender and faithful friends, such as I never found herebelow. I became so fond of soaring in the empyrean, in the midst of thecharming objects with which I was surrounded, that I thus passed hoursand days without perceiving it; and, losing the remembrance of all otherthings, I scarcely had eaten a morsel in haste before I was impatient tomake my escape and run to regain my groves. When ready to depart for theenchanted world, I saw arrive wretched mortals who came to detain me uponearth, I could neither conceal nor moderate my vexation; and no longermaster of myself, I gave them so uncivil a reception, that it mightjustly be termed brutal. This tended to confirm my reputation as amisanthrope, from the very cause which, could the world have read myheart, should have acquired me one of a nature directly opposite. 

In the midst of my exultation I was pulled down like a paper kite, andrestored to my proper place by means of a smart attack of my disorder. I recurred to the only means that had before given me relief, and thusmade a truce with my angelic amours; for besides that it seldom happensthat a man is amorous when he suffers, my imagination, which is animatedin the country and beneath the shade of trees, languishes and becomesextinguished in a chamber, and under the joists of a ceiling. Ifrequently regretted that there existed no dryads; it would certainlyhave been amongst these that I should have fixed my attachment. 

Other domestic broils came at the same time to increase my chagrin. Madam le Vasseur, while making me the finest compliments in the world, alienated from me her daughter as much as she possibly could. I receivedletters from my late neighborhood, informing me that the good old ladyhad secretly contracted several debts in the name of Theresa, to whomthese became known, but of which she had never mentioned to me a word. The debts to be paid hurt me much less than the secret that had been madeof them. How could she, for whom I had never had a secret, have one fromme? Is it possible to dissimulate with persons whom we love? The'Coterie Holbachique', who found I never made a journey to Paris, beganseriously to be afraid I was happy and satisfied in the country, andmadman enough to reside there. 

Hence the cabals by which attempts were made to recall me indirectly tothe city. Diderot, who did not immediately wish to show himself, beganby detaching from me De Leyre, whom I had brought acquainted with him, and who received and transmitted to me the impressions Diderot chose togive without suspecting to what end they were directed. 

Everything seemed to concur in withdrawing me from my charming and madreverie. I was not recovered from the late attack I had when I receivedthe copy of the poem on the destruction of Lisbon, which I imagined to besent by the author. This made it necessary I should write to him andspeak of his composition. I did so, and my letter was a long timeafterwards printed without my consent, as I shall hereafter have occasionto remark. 

Struck by seeing this poor man overwhelmed, if I may so speak, withprosperity and honor, bitterly exclaiming against the miseries of thislife, and finding everything to be wrong, I formed the mad project ofmaking him turn his attention to himself, and of proving to him thateverything was right. Voltaire, while he appeared to believe in God, never really believed in anything but the devil; since his pretendeddeity is a malicious being, who, according to him, had no pleasure but inevil. The glaring absurdity of this doctrine is particularly disgustingfrom a man enjoying the greatest prosperity; who, from the bosom ofhappiness, endeavors, by the frightful and cruel image of all thecalamities from which he is exempt, to reduce his fellow creatures todespair. I, who had a better right than he to calculate and weigh allthe evils of human life, impartially examine them, and proved to him thatof all possible evils there was not one to be attributed to Providence, and which had not its source rather in the abusive use man made of hisfaculties than in nature. I treated him, in this letter, with thegreatest respect and delicacy possible. Yet, knowing his self-love to beextremely irritable, I did not send the letter immediately to himself, but to Doctor Tronchin, his physician and friend, with full power eitherto give it him or destroy it. Voltaire informed me in a few lines thatbeing ill, having likewise the care of a sick person, he postponed hisanswer until some future day, and said not a word on the subject. Tronchin, when he sent me the letter, inclosed in it another, in which heexpressed but very little esteem for the person from whom he received it. 

I have never published, nor even shown, either of these two letters, notliking to make a parade of such little triumphs; but the originals are inmy collections. Since that time Voltaire has published the answer hepromised me, but which I never received. This is the novel of 'Candide', of which I cannot speak because I have not read it. 

All these interruptions ought to have cured me of my fantastic amours, and they were perhaps the means offered me by Heaven to prevent theirdestructive consequences; but my evil genius prevailed, and I hadscarcely begun to go out before my heart, my head, and my feet returnedto the same paths. I say the same in certain respects; for my ideas, rather less exalted, remained this time upon earth, but yet were busiedin making so exquisite a choice of all that was to be found there amiableof every kind, that it was not much less chimerical than the imaginaryworld I had abandoned. 

I figured to myself love and friendship, the two idols of my heart, underthe most ravishing images. I amused myself in adorning them with all thecharms of the sex I had always adored. I imagined two female friendsrather than two of my own sex, because, although the example be morerare, it is also more amiable. I endowed them with different characters, but analogous to their connection, with two faces, not perfectlybeautiful, but according to my taste, and animated with benevolence andsensibility. I made one brown and the other fair, one lively and theother languishing, one wise and the other weak, but of so amiable aweakness that it seemed to add a charm to virtue. I gave to one of thetwo a lover, of whom the other was the tender friend, and even somethingmore, but I did not admit either rivalry, quarrels, or jealousy: becauseevery painful sentiment is painful for me to imagine, and I was unwillingto tarnish this delightful picture by anything which was degrading tonature. Smitten with my two charming models, I drew my own portrait inthe lover and the friend, as much as it was possible to do it; but I madehim young and amiable, giving him, at the same time, the virtues and thedefects which I felt in myself. 

That I might place my characters in a residence proper for them, Isuccessively passed in review the most beautiful places I had seen in mytravels. But I found no grove sufficiently delightful, no landscape thatpleased me. The valleys of Thessaly would have satisfied me had I butonce had a sight of them; but my imagination, fatigued with invention, wished for some real place which might serve it as a point to rest upon, and create in me an illusion with respect to the real existence of theinhabitants I intended to place there. I thought a good while upon theBoromean Islands, the delightful prospect of which had transported me, but I found in them too much art and ornament for my lovers. I howeverwanted a lake, and I concluded by making choice of that about which myheart has never ceased to wander. I fixed myself upon that part of thebanks of this lake where my wishes have long since placed my residence inthe imaginary happiness to which fate has confined me. The native placeof my poor mamma had still for me a charm. The contrast of thesituations, the richness and variety of the sites, the magnificence, themajesty of the whole, which ravishes the senses, affects, the heart, andelevates the mind, determined me to give it the preference, and I placedmy young pupils at Vervey. This is what I imagined at the first sketch;the rest was not added until afterwards. 

I for a long time confined myself to this vague plan, because it wassufficient to fill my imagination with agreeable objects, and my heartwith sentiments in which it delighted. These fictions, by frequentlypresenting themselves, at length gained a consistence, and took in mymind a determined form. I then had an inclination to express upon papersome of the situations fancy presented to me, and, recollectingeverything I had felt during my youth, thus, in some measure, gave anobject to that desire of loving, which I had never been able to satisfy, and by which I felt myself consumed. 

I first wrote a few incoherent letters, and when I afterwards wished togive them connection, I frequently found a difficulty in doing it. Whatis scarcely credible, although most strictly true, is my having writtenthe first two parts almost wholly in this manner, without having any planformed, and not foreseeing I should one day be tempted to make it aregular work. For this reason the two parts afterwards formed ofmaterials not prepared for the place in which they are disposed, are fullof unmeaning expressions not found in the others. 

In the midst of my reveries I had a visit from Madam d'Houdetot, thefirst she had ever made me, but which unfortunately was not the last, aswill hereafter appear. The Comtesse d'Houdetot was the daughter of thelate M. De Bellegarde, a farmer-general, sister to M. D'Epinay, andMessieurs de Lalive and De la Briche, both of whom have since beenintroductors to ambassadors. I have spoken of the acquaintance I madewith her before she was married: since that event I had not seen her, except at the fetes at La Chevrette, with Madam d'Epinay, hersister-in-law. Having frequently passed several days with her, both atLa Chevrette and Epinay, I always thought her amiable, and that she seemedto be my well-wisher. She was fond of walking with me; we were both goodwalkers, and the conversation between us was inexhaustible. However, Inever went to see her in Paris, although she had several times requestedand solicited me to do it. Her connections with M. De St. Lambert, withwhom I began to be intimate, rendered her more interesting to me, and itwas to bring me some account of that friend who was, I believe, then atMahon, that she came to see me at the Hermitage. 

This visit had something of the appearance of the beginning of a romance. She lost her way. Her coachman, quitting the road, which turned to theright, attempted to cross straight over from the mill of Clairvaux to theHermitage: her carriage stuck in a quagmire in the bottom of the valley, and she got out and walked the rest of the road. Her delicate shoes weresoon worn through; she sunk into the dirt, her servants had the greatestdifficulty in extricating her, and she at length arrived at the Hermitagein boots, making the place resound with her laughter, in which I mostheartily joined. She had to change everything. Theresa provided herwith what was necessary, and I prevailed upon her to forget her dignityand partake of a rustic collation, with which she seemed highlysatisfied. It was late, and her stay was short; but the interview was somirthful that it pleased her, and she seemed disposed to return. She didnot however put this project into execution until the next year: but, alas! the delay was not favorable to me in anything. 

I passed the autumn in an employment no person would suspect me ofundertaking: this was guarding the fruit of M. D'Epinay. The Hermitagewas the reservoir of the waters of the park of the Chevrette; there was agarden walled round and planted with espaliers and other trees, whichproduced M. D'Epinay more fruit than his kitchen-garden at the Chevrette, although three-fourths of it were stolen from him. That I might not be aguest entirely useless, I took upon myself the direction of the gardenand the inspection of the conduct of the gardener. Everything went onwell until the fruit season, but as this became ripe, I observed that itdisappeared without knowing in what manner it was disposed of. Thegardener assured me it was the dormice which eat it all. I destroyed agreat number of these animals, notwithstanding which the fruit stilldiminished. I watched the gardener's motions so narrowly, that I foundhe was the great dormouse. He lodged at Montmorency, whence he came inthe night with his wife and children to take away the fruit he hadconcealed in the daytime, and which he sold in the market at Paris aspublicly as if he had brought it from a garden of his own. The wretchwhom I loaded with kindness, whose children were clothed by Theresa, andwhose father, who was a beggar, I almost supported, robbed us with asmuch ease as effrontery, not one of the three being sufficiently vigilantto prevent him: and one night he emptied my cellar. 

Whilst he seemed to address himself to me only, I suffered everything, but being desirous of giving an account of the fruit, I was obliged todeclare by whom a great part of it had been stolen. Madam d'Epinaydesired me to pay and discharge him, and look out for another; I did so. As this rascal rambled about the Hermitage in the night, armed with athick club staff with an iron ferrule, and accompanied by other villainslike himself, to relieve the governesses from their fears, I made hissuccessor sleep in the house with us; and this not being sufficient toremove their apprehensions, I sent to ask M. D'Epinay for a musket, whichI kept in the chamber of the gardener, with a charge not to make use ofit except an attempt was made to break open the door or scale the wallsof the garden, and to fire nothing but powder, meaning only to frightenthe thieves. This was certainly the least precaution a man indisposedcould take for the common safety of himself and family, having to passthe winter in the midst of a wood, with two timid women. I also procureda little dog to serve as a sentinel. De Leyre coming to see me aboutthis time, I related to him my situation, and we laughed together at mymilitary apparatus. At his return to Paris he wished to amuse Diderotwith the story, and by this means the 'Coterie d'Holbachique' learnedthat I was seriously resolved to pass the winter at the Hermitage. Thisperseverance, of which they had not imagined me to be capable, disconcerted them, and, until they could think of some other means ofmaking my residence disagreeable to me, they sent back, by means ofDiderot, the same De Leyre, who, though at first he had thought myprecautions quite natural, now pretended to discover that they wereinconsistent with my principles, and styled them more than ridiculous inhis letters, in which he overwhelmed me with pleasantries sufficientlybitter and satirical to offend me had I been the least disposed to takeoffence. But at that time being full of tender and affectionatesentiments, and not susceptible of any other, I perceived in his bitingsarcasms nothing more than a jest, and believed him only jocose whenothers would have thought him mad. 

By my care and vigilance I guarded the garden so well, that, althoughthere had been but little fruit that year the produce was triple that ofthe preceding years; it is true, I spared no pains to preserve it, and Iwent so far as to escort what I sent to the Chevrette and to Epinay, andto carry baskets of it myself. The aunt and I carried one of these, which was so heavy that we were obliged to rest at every dozen steps, andwhich we arrived with it we were quite wet with perspiration. 

As soon as the bad season began to confine me to the house, I wished toreturn to my indolent amusements, but this I found impossible. I hadeverywhere two charming female friends before my eyes, their friend, everything by which they were surrounded, the country they inhabited, andthe objects created or embellished for them by my imagination. I was nolonger myself for a moment, my delirium never left me. After manyuseless efforts to banish all fictions from my mind, they at lengthseduced me, and my future endeavors were confined to giving them orderand coherence, for the purpose of converting them into a species ofnovel. 

What embarrassed me most was, that I had contradicted myself so openlyand fully. After the severe principles I had just so publicly asserted, after the austere maxims I had so loudly preached, and my violentinvectives against books, which breathed nothing but effeminacy and love, could anything be less expected or more extraordinary, than to see me, with my own hand, write my name in the list of authors of those books Ihad so severely censured? I felt this incoherence in all its extent. Ireproached myself with it, I blushed at it and was vexed; but all thiscould not bring me back to reason. Completely overcome, I was at allrisks obliged to submit, and to resolve to brave the What will the worldsay of it? Except only deliberating afterwards whether or not I shouldshow my work, for I did not yet suppose I should ever determine topublish it. 

This resolution taken, I entirely abandoned myself to my reveries, and, by frequently resolving these in my mind, formed with them the kind ofplan of which the execution has been seen. This was certainly thegreatest advantage that could be drawn from my follies; the love of goodwhich has never once been effaced from my heart, turned them towardsuseful objects, the moral of which might have produced its good effects. My voluptuous descriptions would have lost all their graces, had theybeen devoid of the coloring of innocence. 

A weak girl is an object of pity, whom love may render interesting, andwho frequently is not therefore the less amiable; but who can see withoutindignation the manners of the age; and what is more disgusting than thepride of an unchaste wife, who, openly treading under foot every duty, pretends that her husband ought to be grateful for her unwillingness tosuffer herself to be taken in the fact? Perfect beings are not innature, and their examples are not near enough to us. But whoever saysthat the description of a young person born with good dispositions, and aheart equally tender and virtuous, who suffers herself, when a girl, tobe overcome by love, and when a woman, has resolution enough to conquerin her turn, is upon the whole scandalous and useless, is a liar and ahypocrite; hearken not to him. 

Besides this object of morality and conjugal chastity which is radicallyconnected with all social order, I had in view one more secret in behalfof concord and public peace, a greater, and perhaps more important objectin itself, at least for the moment for which it was created. The stormbrought on by the 'Encyclopedie', far from being appeased, was at thetime at its height. Two parties exasperated against each other to thelast degree of fury soon resembled enraged wolves, set on for theirmutual destruction, rather than Christians and philosophers, who had areciprocal wish to enlighten and convince each other, and lead theirbrethren to the way of truth. Perhaps nothing more was wanting to eachparty than a few turbulent chiefs, who possessed a little power, to makethis quarrel terminate in a civil war; and God only knows what a civilwar of religion founded on each side upon the most cruel intolerancewould have produced. Naturally an enemy to all spirit of party, I hadfreely spoken severe truths to each, of which they had not listened. I thought of another expedient, which, in my simplicity, appeared to meadmirable: this was to abate their reciprocal hatred by destroying theirprejudices, and showing to each party the virtue and merit which in theother was worthy of public esteem and respect. This project, littleremarkable for its wisdom, which supported sincerity in mankind, andwhereby I fell into the error with which I reproached the Abbe de SaintPierre, had the success that was to be expected from it: It drew togetherand united the parties for no other purpose than that of crushing theauthor. Until experience made me discover my folly, I gave my attentionto it with a zeal worthy of the motive by which I was inspired; and Iimagined the two characters of Wolmar and Julia in an ecstasy, which mademe hope to render them both amiable, and, what is still more, by means ofeach other. 

Satisfied with having made a rough sketch of my plan, I returned to thesituations in detail, which I had marked out; and from the arrangement Igave them resulted the first two parts of the Eloisa, which I finishedduring the winter with inexpressible pleasure, procuring gilt-paper toreceive a fair copy of them, azure and silver powder to dry the writing, and blue narrow ribbon to tack my sheets together; in a word, I thoughtnothing sufficiently elegant and delicate for my two charming girls, of whom, like another Pygmalion, I became madly enamoured. Everyevening, by the fireside, I read the two parts to the governesses. Thedaughter, without saying a word, was like myself moved to tenderness, and we mingled our sighs; her mother, finding there were no compliments, understood nothing of the matter, remained unmoved, and at the intervalswhen I was silent always repeated: "Sir, that is very fine. "

Madam d'Epinay, uneasy at my being alone, in winter, in a solitary house, in the midst of woods, often sent to inquire after my health. I neverhad such real proofs of her friendship for me, to which mine never morefully answered. It would be wrong in me were not I, among these proofs, to make special mention of her portrait, which she sent me, at the sametime requesting instructions from me in what manner she might have mine, painted by La Tour, and which had been shown at the exhibition. I oughtequally to speak of another proof of her attention to me, which, althoughit be laughable, is a feature in the history of my character, on accountof the impression received from it. One day when it froze to an extremedegree, in opening a packet she had sent me of several things I haddesired her to purchase for me, I found a little under-petticoat ofEnglish flannel, which she told me she had worn, and desired I would makeof it an under-waistcoat. 

This care, more than friendly, appeared to me so tender, and as if shehad stripped herself to clothe me, that in my emotion I repeatedlykissed, shedding tears at the same time, both the note and the petticoat. Theresa thought me mad. It is singular that of all the marks offriendship Madam d'Epinay ever showed me this touched me the most, andthat ever since our rupture I have never recollected it without beingvery sensibly affected. I for a long time preserved her little note, andit would still have been in my possession had not it shared the fate ofmy other notes received at the same period. 

Although my disorder then gave me but little respite in winter, and apart of the interval was employed in seeking relief from pain, this wasstill upon the whole the season which since my residence in France I hadpassed with most pleasure and tranquillity. During four or five months, whilst the bad weather sheltered me from the interruptions of importunatevisits, I tasted to a greater degree than I had ever yet or have sincedone, of that equal simple and independent life, the enjoyment of whichstill made it more desirable to me; without any other company than thetwo governesses in reality, and the two female cousins in idea. It wasthen especially that I daily congratulated myself upon the resolution Ihad had the good sense to take, unmindful of the clamors of my friends, who were vexed at seeing me delivered from their tyranny; and when Iheard of the attempt of a madman, when De Leyre and Madam d'Epinay spoketo me in letters of the trouble and agitation which reigned in Paris, howthankful was I to Heaven for having placed me at a distance from all suchspectacles of horror and guilt. These would have been continued andincreased the bilious humor which the sight of public disorders had givenme; whilst seeing nothing around me in my retirement but gay and pleasingobjects, my heart was wholly abandoned to sentiments which were amiable. 

I remark here with pleasure the course of the last peaceful moments thatwere left me. The spring succeeding to this winter, which had been socalm, developed the germ of the misfortunes I have yet to describe; inthe tissue of which, alike interval, wherein I had leisure to respite, will not be found. 

I think however, I recollect, that during this interval of peace, and inthe bosom of my solitude, I was not quite undisturbed by the Holbachiens. Diderot stirred me up some strife, and I am much deceived if it was notin the course of this winter that the 'Fils Naturel'--[Natural Son]--ofwhich I shall soon have occasion to speak, made its appearance. Independently of the causes which left me but few papers relative to thatperiod, those even which I have been able to preserve are not very exactwith respect to dates. Diderot never dated his letters--Madam d'Epinayand Madam d' Houdetot seldom dated theirs except the day of the week, andDe Leyre mostly confined himself to the same rules. When I was desirousof putting these letters in order I was obliged to supply what waswanting by guessing at dates, so uncertain that I cannot depend uponthem. Unable therefore to fix with certainty the beginning of thesequarrels, I prefer relating in one subsequent article everything I canrecollect concerning them. 

The return of spring had increased my amorous delirium, and in mymelancholy, occasioned by the excess of my transports, I had composed forthe last parts of Eloisa several letters, wherein evident marks of therapture in which I wrote them are found. Amongst others I may quotethose from the Elysium, and the excursion upon the lake, which, if mymemory does not deceive me, are at the end of the fourth part. Whoever, in reading these letters, does not feel his heart soften and melt intothe tenderness by which they were dictated, ought to lay down the book:nature has refused him the means of judging of sentiment. 

Precisely at the same time I received a second unforeseen visit fromMadam d'Houdetot, in the absence of her husband, who was captain of theGendarmarie, and of her lover, who was also in the service. She had cometo Eaubonne, in the middle of the Valley of Montmorency, where she hadtaken a pretty house, from thence she made a new excursion to theHermitage. She came on horseback, and dressed in men's clothes. Although I am not very fond of this kind of masquerade, I was struck withthe romantic appearance she made, and, for once, it was with love. Asthis was the first and only time in all my life, the consequence of whichwill forever render it terrible to my remembrance, I must take thepermission to enter into some particulars on the subject. 

The Countess d'Houdetot was nearly thirty years of age, and not handsome;her face was marked with the smallpox, her complexion coarse, she wasshort-sighted, and her eyes were rather round; but she had fine longblack hair, which hung down in natural curls below her waist; her figurewas agreeable, and she was at once both awkward and graceful in hermotions; her wit was natural and pleasing; to this gayety, heedlessnessand ingenuousness were perfectly suited: she abounded in charmingsallies, after which she so little sought, that they sometimes escapedher lips in spite of herself. She possessed several agreeable talents, played the harpsichord, danced well, and wrote pleasing poetry. Hercharacter was angelic--this was founded upon a sweetness of mind, andexcept prudence and fortitude, contained in it every virtue. She wasbesides so much to be depended upon in all intercourse, so faithful insociety, even her enemies were not under the necessity of concealing fromher their secrets. I mean by her enemies the men, or rather the women, by whom she was not beloved; for as to herself she had not a heartcapable of hatred, and I am of opinion this conformity with mine greatlycontributed towards inspiring me with a passion for her. In confidenceof the most intimate friendship, I never heard her speak ill of personswho were absent, nor even of her sister-in-law. She could neitherconceal her thoughts from anyone, nor disguise any of her sentiments, andI am persuaded she spoke of her lover to her husband, as she spoke of himto her friends and acquaintances, and to everybody without distinction ofpersons. What proved, beyond all manner of doubt, the purity andsincerity of her nature was, that subject to very extraordinary absencesof mind, and the most laughable inconsiderateness, she was often guiltyof some very imprudent ones with respect to herself, but never in theleast offensive to any person whatsoever. 

She had been married very young and against her inclinations to the Comted'Houdetot, a man of fashion, and a good officer; but a man who lovedplay and chicane, who was not very amiable, and whom she never loved. She found in M. De Saint Lambert all the merit of her husband, with moreageeeable qualities of mind, joined with virtue and talents. If anythingin the manners of the age can be pardoned, it is an attachment whichduration renders more pure, to which its effects do honor, and whichbecomes cemented by reciprocal esteem. It was a little from inclination, as I am disposed to think, but much more to please Saint Lambert, thatshe came to see me. He had requested her to do it, and there was reasonto believe the friendship which began to be established between us wouldrender this society agreeable to all three. She knew I was acquaintedwith their connection, and as she could speak to me without restraint, itwas natural she should find my conversation agreeable. She came; I sawher; I was intoxicated with love without an object; this intoxicationfascinated my eyes; the object fixed itself upon her. I saw my Julia inMadam d'Houdetot, and I soon saw nothing but Madam d'Houdetot, but withall the perfections with which I had just adorned the idol of my heart. To complete my delirium she spoke to me of Saint Lambert with a fondnessof a passionate lover. Contagious force of love! while listening to her, and finding myself near her, I was seized with a delicious trembling, which I had never before experienced when near to any person whatsoever. She spoke, and I felt myself affected; I thought I was nothing more thaninterested in her sentiments, when I perceived I possessed those whichwere similar; I drank freely of the poisoned cup, of which I yet tastednothing more than the sweetness. Finally, imperceptibly to us both, sheinspired me for herself with all she expressed for her lover. Alas! itwas very late in life, and cruel was it to consume with a passion notless violent than unfortunate for a woman whose heart was already in thepossession of another. 

Notwithstanding the extraordinary emotions I had felt when near to her, I did not at first perceive what had happened to me; it was not untilafter her departure that, wishing to think of Julia, I was struck withsurprise at being unable to think of anything but Madam d' Houdetot. Then was it my eyes were opened: I felt my misfortune, and lamented whathad happened, but I did not foresee the consequences. 

I hesitated a long time on the manner in which I should conduct myselftowards her, as if real love left behind it sufficient reason todeliberate and act accordingly. I had not yet determined upon this whenshe unexpectedly returned and found me unprovided. It was this time, perfectly acquainted with my situation, shame, the companion of evil, rendered me dumb, and made me tremble in her presence; I neither dared toopen my mouth or raise my eyes; I was in an inexpressible confusion whichit was impossible she should not perceive. I resolved to confess to hermy troubled state of mind, and left her to guess the cause whence itproceeded: this was telling her in terms sufficiently clear. 

Had I been young and amiable, and Madam d' Houdetot, afterwards weak, I should here blame her conduct; but this was not the case, and I amobliged to applaud and admire it. The resolution she took was equallyprudent and generous. She could not suddenly break with me withoutgiving her reasons for it to Saint Lambert, who himself had desired herto come and see me; this would have exposed two friends to a rupture, and perhaps a public one, which she wished to avoid. She had for meesteem and good wishes; she pitied my folly without encouraging it, and endeavored to restore me to reason. She was glad to preserve to herlover and herself a friend for whom she had some respect; and she spokeof nothing with more pleasure than the intimate and agreeable society wemight form between us three the moment I should become reasonable. She did not always confine herself to these friendly exhortations, and, in case of need, did not spare me more severe reproaches, which I hadrichly deserved. 

I spared myself still less: the moment I was alone I began to recover;I was more calm after my declaration--love, known to the person by whomit is inspired, becomes more supportable. 

The forcible manner in which I approached myself with mine, ought to havecured me of it had the thing been possible. What powerful motives did Inot call to my mind to stifle it? My morals, sentiments and principles;the shame, the treachery and crime, of abusing what was confided tofriendship, and the ridiculousness of burning, at my age, with the mostextravagant passion for an object whose heart was preengaged, and whocould neither make me a return, nor least hope; moreover with a passionwhich, far from having anything to gain by constancy, daily became lesssufferable. 

We would imagine that the last consideration which ought to have addedweight to all the others, was that whereby I eluded them! What scruple, thought I, ought I to make of a folly prejudicial to nobody but myself?Am I then a young man of whom Madam d'Houdetot ought to be afraid? Wouldnot it be said by my presumptive remorse that, by my gallantry, mannerand dress, I was going to seduce her? Poor Jean Jacques, love on at thyease, in all safety of conscience, and be not afraid that thy sighs willbe prejudicial to Saint Lambert. 

It has been seen that I never was a coxcomb, not even in my youth. Themanner of thinking, of which I have spoken, was according to my turn ofmind, it flattered my passions; this, was sufficient to induce me toabandon myself to it without reserve, and to laugh even at theimpertinent scruple I thought I had made from vanity, rather than fromreason. This is a great lesson for virtuous minds, which vice neverattacks openly; it finds means to surprise them by masking itself withsophisms, and not unfrequently with a virtue. 

Guilty without remorse, I soon became so without measure; and I entreatit may be observed in what manner my passion followed my nature, atlength to plunge me into an abyss. In the first place, it assumed theair of humility to encourage me; and to render me intrepid it carriedthis humility even to mistrust. Madam d'Houdetot incessantly putting inmind of my duty, without once for a single moment flattering my folly, treated me with the greatest mildness, and remained with me upon thefooting of the most tender friendship. This friendship would, I protest, have satisfied my wishes, had I thought it sincere; but finding it toostrong to be real, I took it into my head that love, so ill-suited to myage and appearance, had rendered me contemptible in the eyes of Madamd'Houdetot; that this young mad creature only wished to divert herselfwith me and my superannuated passion; that she had communicated this toSaint Lambert; and that the indignation caused by my breach offriendship, having made her lover enter into her views, they were agreedto turn my head and then to laugh at me. This folly, which at twenty-sixyears of age, had made me guilty of some extravagant behavior to Madam deLarnage, whom I did not know, would have been pardonable in me atforty-five with Madam d' Houdetot had not I known that she and her loverwere persons of too much uprightness to indulge themselves in such abarbarous amusement. 

Madam d' Houdetot continued her visits, which I delayed not to return. She, as well as myself, was fond of walking, and we took long walks in anenchanting country. Satisfied with loving and daring to say I loved, Ishould have been in the most agreeable situation had not my extravagancespoiled all the charm of it. She, at first, could not comprehend thefoolish pettishness with which I received her attentions; but my heart, incapable of concealing what passed in it, did not long leave herignorant of my suspicions; she endeavored to laugh at them, but thisexpedient did not succeed; transports of rage would have been theconsequence, and she changed her tone. Her compassionate gentleness wasinvincible; she made me reproaches, which penetrated my heart; sheexpressed an inquietude at my unjust fears, of which I took advantage. I required proofs of her being in earnest. She perceived there was noother means of relieving me from my apprehensions. I became pressing:the step was delicate. It is astonishing, and perhaps without example, that a woman having suffered herself to be brought to hesitate shouldhave got herself off so well. She refused me nothing the most tenderfriendship could grant; yet she granted me nothing that rendered herunfaithful, and I had the mortification to see that the disorder intowhich the most trifling favors had thrown all my senses had not the leasteffect upon hers. 

I have somewhere said, that nothing should be granted to the senses, whenwe wished to refuse them anything. To prove how false this maxim wasrelative to Madam d' Houdetot, and how far she was right to depend uponher own strength of mind, it would be necessary to enter into the detailof our long and frequent conversations, and follow them, in all theirliveliness during the four months we passed together in an intimacyalmost without example between two friends of different sexes who containthemselves within the bounds which we never exceeded. Ah! if I had livedso long without feeling the power of real love, my heart and sensesabundantly paid the arrears. What, therefore, are the transports we feelwith the object of our affections by whom we are beloved, since thepassions of which my idol did not partake inspired such as I felt?

But I am wrong in saying Madam Houdetot did not partake of the passion oflove; that which I felt was in some measure confined to myself; yet lovewas equal on both sides, but not reciprocal. We were both intoxicatedwith the passion, she for her lover, and I for herself; our sighs anddelicious tears were mingled together. Tender confidants of the secretsof each other, there was so great a similarity in our sentiments that itwas impossible they should not find some common point of union. In themidst of this delicious intoxication, she never forgot herself for amoment, and I solemnly protest that, if ever, led away by my senses, I have attempted to render her unfaithful, I was never really desirousof succeeding. The vehemence itself of my passion restrained it withinbounds. The duty of self-denial had elevated my mind. The lustre ofevery virture adorned in my eyes the idol of my heart; to have soiledtheir divine image would have been to destroy it. I might have committedthe crime; it has been a hundred times committed in my heart; but todishonor my Sophia! Ah! was this ever possible? No! I have told her ahundred times it was not. Had I had it in my power to satisfy mydesires, had she consented to commit herself to my discretion, I should, except in a few moments of delirium, have refused to be happy at theprice of her honor. I loved her too well to wish to possess her. 

The distance from the Hermitage to Raubonne is almost a league; in myfrequent excursions to it I have sometimes slept there. One eveningafter having supped tete-a-tete we went to walk in the garden by a finemoonlight. At the bottom of the garden a considerable copse, throughwhich we passed on our way to a pretty grove ornamented with a cascade, of which I had given her the idea, and she had procured it to be executedaccordingly. 

Eternal remembrance of innocence and enjoyment! It was in this grovethat, seated by her side upon a seat of turf under an acacia in fullbloom, I found for the emotions of my heart a language worthy of them. It was the first and only time of my life; but I was sublime: ifeverything amiable and seducing with which the most tender and ardentlove can inspire the heart of man can be so called. What intoxicatingtears did I shed upon her knees! how many did I make her to shedinvoluntarily! At length in an involuntary transport she exclaimed:"No, never was a man so amiable, nor ever was there one who loved likeyou! But your friend Saint Lambert hears us, and my heart is incapableof loving twice. " I exhausted myself with sighs; I embraced her--what anembrace! But this was all. She had lived alone for the last six months, that is absent from her husband and lover; I had seen her almost everyday during three months, and love seldom failed to make a third. We hadsupped tete-a-tete, we were alone, in the grove by moonlight, and aftertwo hours of the most lively and tender conversation, she left this groveat midnight, and the arms of her lover, as morally and physically pure asshe had entered it. Reader, weigh all these circumstances; I will addnothing more. 

Do not, however, imagine that in this situation my passions left me asundisturbed as I was with Theresa and mamma. I have already observedI was this time inspired not only with love, but with love and all itsenergy and fury. I will not describe either the agitations, tremblings, palpitations, convulsionary emotions, nor faintings of the heart, I continually experienced; these may be judged of by the effect her imagealone made upon me. I have observed the distance from the Hermitage toEaubonne was considerable; I went by the hills of Andilly, which aredelightful; I mused, as I walked, on her whom I was going to see, thecharming reception she would give me, and upon the kiss which awaited meat my arrival. This single kiss, this pernicious embrace, even beforeI received it, inflamed my blood to such a degree as to affect my head, my eyes were dazzled, my knees trembled, and were unable to support me;I was obliged to stop and sit down; my whole frame was in inconceivabledisorder, and I was upon the point of fainting. Knowing the danger, I endeavored at setting out to divert my attention from the object, and think of something else. I had not proceeded twenty steps before thesame recollection, and all that was the consequence of it, assailed me insuch a manner that it was impossible to avoid them, and in spite of allmy efforts I do not believe I ever made this little excursion alone withimpunity. I arrived at Eaubonne, weak, exhausted, and scarcely able tosupport myself. The moment I saw her everything was repaired; all I feltin her presence was the importunity of an inexhaustible and uselessardor. Upon the road to Raubonne there was a pleasant terrace calledMont Olympe, at which we sometimes met. I arrived first, it was proper Ishould wait for her; but how dear this waiting cost me! To divert myattention, I endeavored to write with my pencil billets, which I couldhave written with the purest drops of my blood; I never could finish onewhich was eligible. When she found a note in the niche upon which we hadagreed, all she learned from the contents was the deplorable state inwhich I was when I wrote it. This state and its continuation, duringthree months of irritation and self-denial, so exhausted me, that I wasseveral years before I recovered from it, and at the end of these it leftme an ailment which I shall carry with me, or which will carry me to thegrave. Such was the sole enjoyment of a man of the most combustibleconstitution, but who was, at the same time, perhaps, one of the mosttimid mortals nature ever produced. Such were the last happy days I canreckon upon earth; at the end of these began the long train of evils, inwhich there will be found but little interruption. 

It has been seen that, during the whole course of my life, my heart, astransparent as crystal, has never been capable of concealing for thespace of a moment any sentiment in the least lively which had takenrefuge in it. It will therefore be judged whether or not it was possiblefor me long to conceal my affection for Madam d'Houdetot. Our intimacystruck the eyes of everybody, we did not make of it either a secret or amystery. It was not of a nature to require any such precaution, and asMadam d'Houdetot had for me the most tender friendship with which she didnot reproach herself, and I for her an esteem with the justice of whichnobody was better acquainted than myself; she frank, absent, heedless; Itrue, awkward, haughty, impatient and choleric; We exposed ourselves morein deceitful security than we should have done had we been culpable. Weboth went to the Chevrette; we sometimes met there by appointment. Welived there according to our accustomed manner; walking together everyday talking of our amours, our duties, our friend, and our innocentprojects; all this in the park opposite the apartment of Madam d'Epinay, under her windows, whence incessantly examining us, and thinking herselfbraved, she by her eyes filled her heart with rage and indignation. 

Women have the art of concealing their anger, especially when it isgreat. Madam d'Epinay, violent but deliberate, possessed this art to aneminent degree. She feigned not to see or suspect anything, and at thesame time that she doubled towards me her cares, attention, andallurements, she affected to load her sister-in-law with incivilitiesand marks of disdain, which she seemingly wished to communicate to me. It will easily be imagined she did not succeed; but I was on the rack. Torn by opposite passions, at the same time that I was sensible of hercaresses, I could scarcely contain my anger when I saw her wanting ingood manners to Madam d'Houdetot. The angelic sweetness of this ladymade her endure everything without complaint, or even without beingoffended. 

She was, in fact, so absent, and always so little attentive to thesethings, that half the time she did not perceive them. 

I was so taken up with my passion, that, seeing nothing but Sophia(one of the names of Madam d'Houdetot), I did not perceive that I wasbecome the laughing-stock of the whole house, and all those who came toit. The Baron d'Holbach, who never, as I heard of, had been at theChevrette, was one of the latter. Had I at that time been as mistrustfulas I am since become, I should strongly have suspected Madam d'Epinay tohave contrived this journey to give the baron the amusing spectacle of anamorous citizen. But I was then so stupid that I saw not that even whichwas glaring to everybody. My stupidity did not, however, prevent me fromfinding in the baron a more jovial and satisfied appearance thanordinary. Instead of looking upon me with his usual moroseness, he saidto me a hundred jocose things without my knowing what he meant. Surprisewas painted in my countenance, but I answered not a word: Madam d'Epinayshook her sides with laughing; I knew not what possessed them. As nothing yet passed the bounds of pleasantry, the best thing I couldhad done, had I been in the secret, would have been to have humored thejoke. It is true I perceived amid the rallying gayety of the baron, that his eyes sparkled with a malicious joy, which could have given mepain had I then remarked it to the degree it has since occurred to myrecollection. 

One day when I went to see Madam d'Houdetot, at Eaubonne, after herreturn from one of her journeys to Paris, I found her melancholy, andobserved that she had been weeping. I was obliged to put a restraint onmyself, because Madam de Blainville, sister to her husband, was present;but the moment I found an opportunity, I expressed to her my uneasiness. "Ah, " said she, with a sigh, "I am much afraid your follies will cost methe repose of the rest of my days. St. Lambert has been informed of whathas passed, and ill informed of it. He does me justice, but he is vexed;and what is still worse, he conceals from me a part of his vexation. Fortunately I have not concealed from him anything relative to ourconnection which was formed under his auspices. My letters, like myheart, were full of yourself; I made him acquainted with everything, except your extravagant passion, of which I hoped to cure you; and whichhe imputes to me as a crime. Somebody has done us ill offices. I havebeen injured, but what does this signify? Either let us entirely breakwith each other, or do you be what you ought to be. I will not in futurehave anything to conceal from my lover. "

This was the first moment in which I was sensible of the shame of feelingmyself humbled by the sentiment of my fault, in presence of a young womanof whose just reproaches I approved, and to whom I ought to have been amentor. The indignation I felt against myself would, perhaps, have beensufficient to overcome my weakness, had not the tender passion inspiredme by the victim of it, again softened my heart. Alas! was this a momentto harden it when it was overflowed by the tears which penetrated it inevery part? This tenderness was soon changed into rage against the vileinformers, who had seen nothing but the evil of a criminal butinvoluntary sentiment, without believing or even imagining the sincereuprightness of heart by which it was counteracted. We did not remainlong in doubt about the hand by which the blow was directed. 

We both knew that Madam d'Epinay corresponded with St. Lambert. This wasnot the first storm she had raised up against Madam d'Houdetot, from whomshe had made a thousand efforts to detach her lover, the success of someof which made the consequences to be dreaded. Besides, Grimm, who, Ithink, had accompanied M. De Castries to the army, was in Westphalia, aswell as Saint Lambert; they sometimes visited. Grimm had made someattempts on Madam d'Houdetot, which had not succeeded, and beingextremely piqued, suddenly discontinued his visits to her. Let it bejudged with what calmness, modest as he is known to be, he supposed shepreferred to him a man older than himself, and of whom, since he hadfrequented the great, he had never spoken but as a person whom hepatronized. 

My suspicions of Madam d'Epinay were changed into a certainty the momentI heard what had passed in my own house. When I was at the Chevrette, Theresa frequently came there, either to bring me letters or to pay methat attention which my ill state of health rendered necessary. Madamd'Epinay had asked her if Madam d'Houdetot and I did not write to eachother. Upon her answering in the affirmative, Madam d'Epinay pressed herto give her the letters of Madam d'Houdetot, assuring her that she wouldreseal them in such a manner as it should never be known. Theresa, without showing how much she was shocked at the proposition, and withouteven putting me upon my guard, did nothing more than seal the letters shebrought me more carefully; a lucky precaution, for Madam d'Epinay had herwatched when she arrived, and, waiting for her in the passage, severaltimes carried her audaciousness as far as to examine her tucker. She didmore even than this: having one day invited herself with M. De Margencyto dinner at the Hermitage, for the first time since I resided there, she seized the moment I was walking with Margency to go into my closetwith the mother and daughter, and to press them to show her the lettersof Madam d'Houdetot. Had the mother known where the letters were, theywould have been given to her; fortunately, the daughter was the onlyperson who was in the secret, and denied my having preserved any one ofthem. A virtuous, faithful and generous falsehood; whilst truth wouldhave been a perfidy. Madam d' Epinay, perceiving Theresa was not to beseduced, endeavored to irritate her by jealousy, reproaching her with hereasy temper and blindness. "How is it possible, " said she to her, "youcannot perceive there is a criminal intercourse between them? If besideswhat strikes your eyes you stand in need of other proofs, lend yourassistance to obtain that which may furnish them; you say he tears theletters from Madam d'Houdetot as soon as he has read them. Well, carefully gather up the pieces and give them to me; I will take uponmyself to put them together. "

Such were the lessons my friend gave to the partner of my bed. 

Theresa had the discretion to conceal from me, for a considerable time, all these attempts; but perceiving how much I was perplexed, she thoughtherself obliged to inform me of everything, to the end that knowing withwhom I had to do, I might take my measures accordingly. My rage andindignation are not to be described. Instead of dissembling with Madamd'Epinay, according to her own example, and making use of counterplots, I abandoned myself without reserve to the natural impetuosity of mytemper; and with my accustomed inconsiderateness came to an open rupture. My imprudence will be judged of by the following letters, whichsufficiently show the manner of proceeding of both parties on thisoccasion:

NOTE FROM MADAM D'EPINAY. "Why, my dear friend, do I not see you? You make me uneasy. You have sooften promised me to do nothing but go and come between this place andthe Hermitage! In this I have left you at liberty; and you have suffereda week to pass without coming. Had not I been told you were well Ishould have imagined the contrary. I expected you either the day beforeyesterday, or yesterday, but found myself disappointed. My God, what isthe matter with you? You have no business, nor can you have anyuneasiness; for had this been the case, I flatter myself you would havecome and communicated it to me. You are, therefore, ill! Relieve me, I beseech you, speedily from my fears. Adieu, my dear friend: let thisadieu produce me a good-morning from you. "

ANSWER. "I cannot yet say anything to you. I wait to be better informed, andthis I shall be sooner or later. In the meantime be persuaded thatinnocence will find a defender sufficiently powerful to cause somerepentance in the slanderers, be they who they may. "

SECOND NOTE FROM THE SAME. "Do you know that your letter frightens me? What does it mean? I haveread it twenty times. In truth I do not understand what it means. All Ican perceive is, that you are uneasy and tormented, and that you waituntil you are no longer so before you speak to me upon the subject. Is this, my dear friend, what we agreed upon? What then is become ofthat friendship and confidence, and by what means have I lost them?Is it with me or for me that you are angry? However this may be, come tome this evening I conjure you; remember you promised me no longer than aweek ago to let nothing remain upon your mind, but immediately tocommunicate to me whatever might make it uneasy. My dear friend, I livein that confidence--There--I have just read your letter again; I do notunderstand the contents better, but they make me tremble. You seem to becruelly agitated. I could wish to calm your mind, but as I am ignorantof the cause whence your uneasiness arises, I know not what to say, except that I am as wretched as yourself, and shall remain so until wemeet. If you are not here this evening at six o'clock, I set off tomorrow for the Hermitage, let the weather be how it will, and in whateverstate of health I may be; for I can no longer support the inquietude Inow feel. Good day, my dear friend, at all risks I take the liberty totell you, without knowing whether or not you are in need of such advice, to endeavor to stop the progress uneasiness makes in solitude. A fly becomes a monster. I have frequently experienced it. "

ANSWER. "I can neither come to see you nor receive your visit so long as mypresent inquietude continues. The confidence of which you speak nolonger exists, and it will be easy for you to recover it. I see nothingmore in your present anxiety than the desire of drawing from theconfessions of others some advantage agreeable to your views; and myheart, so ready to pour its overflowings into another which opens itselfto receive them, is shut against trick and cunning. I distinguish yourordinary address in the difficulty you find in understanding my note. Do you think me dupe enough to believe you have not comprehended what itmeant? No: but I shall know how to overcome your subtleties by myfrankness. I will explain myself more clearly, that you may understandme still less. 

"Two lovers closely united and worthy of each other's love are dear tome; I expect you will not know who I mean unless I name them. I presumeattempts have been made to disunite them, and that I have been made useof to inspire one of the two with jealousy. The choice was notjudicious, but it appeared convenient to the purposes of malice, and ofthis malice it is you whom I suspect to be guilty. I hope this becomesmore clear. 

"Thus the woman whom I most esteem would, with my knowledge, have beenloaded with the infamy of dividing her heart and person between twolovers, and I with that of being one of these wretches. If I knew that, for a single moment in your life, you ever had thought this, either ofher or myself, I should hate you until my last hour. But it is withhaving said, and not with having thought it, that I charge you. In thiscase, I cannot comprehend which of the three you wished to injure; but, if you love peace of mind, tremble lest you should have succeeded. I have not concealed either from you or her all the ill I think ofcertain connections, but I wish these to end by a means as virtuous astheir cause, and that an illegitimate love may be changed into an eternalfriendship. Should I, who never do ill to any person, be the innocentmeans of doing it to my friends? No, I should never forgive you; Ishould become your irreconcilable enemy. Your secrets are all I shouldrespect; for I will never be a man without honor. 

"I do not apprehend my present perplexity will continue a long time. Ishall soon know whether or not I am deceived; I shall then perhaps havegreat injuries to repair, which I will do with as much cheerfulness asthat with which the most agreeable act of my life has been accompanied. But do you know in what manner I will make amends for my faults duringthe short space of time I have to remain near to you? By doing whatnobody but myself would do; by telling you freely what the world thinksof you, and the breaches you have to repair in your reputation. Notwithstanding all the pretended friends by whom you are surrounded, themoment you see me depart you may bid adieu to truth, you will no longerfind any person who will tell it to you. "

THIRD LETTER FROM THE SAME. 

"I did not understand your letter of this morning; this I told youbecause it was the case. I understand that of this evening; do notimagine I shall ever return an answer to it; I am too anxious to forgetwhat it contains; and although you excite my pity, I am not proof againstthe bitterness with which it has filled my mind. I! descend to trickand cunning with you! I! accused of the blackest of all infamies!Adieu, I regret your having the adieu. I know not what I say adieu:I shall be very anxious to forgive you. You will come when you please;you will be better received than your suspicions deserve. All I have todesire of you is not to trouble yourself about my reputation. Theopinion of the world concerning me is of but little importance in myesteem. My conduct is good, and this is sufficient for me. Besides, Iam ignorant of what has happened to the two persons who are dear to me asthey are to you. "

This last letter extricated me from a terrible embarrassment, and threwme into another of almost the same magnitude. Although these letters andanswers were sent and returned the same day with an extreme rapidity, theinterval had been sufficient to place another between my rage andtransport, and to give me time to reflect on the enormity of myimprudence. Madam d'Houdetot had not recommended to me anything so muchas to remain quiet, to leave her the care of extricating herself, and toavoid, especially at that moment, all noise and rupture; and I, by themost open and atrocious insults, took the properest means of carryingrage to its greatest height in the heart of a woman who was already buttoo well disposed to it. I now could naturally expect nothing from herbut an answer so haughty, disdainful, and expressive of contempt, that Icould not, without the utmost meanness, do otherwise than immediatelyquit her house. Happily she, more adroit than I was furious, avoided, by the manner of her answer, reducing me to that extremity. But it wasnecessary either to quit or immediately go and see her; the alternativewas inevitable; I resolved on the latter, though I foresaw how much Imust be embarrassed in the explanation. For how was I to get through itwithout exposing either Madam d'Houdetot or Theresa? and woe to her whomI should have named! There was nothing that the vengeance of animplacable and an intriguing woman did not make me fear for the personwho should be the object of it. It was to prevent this misfortune thatin my letter I had spoken of nothing but suspicions, that I might not beunder the necessity of producing my proofs. This, it is true, renderedmy transports less excusable; no simple suspicions being sufficient toauthorize me to treat a woman, and especially a friend, in the manner Ihad treated Madam d'Epinay. But here begins the noble task I worthilyfulfilled of expiating my faults and secret weaknesses by charging myselfwith such of the former as I was incapable of committing, and which Inever did commit. 

I had not to bear the attack I had expected, and fear was the greatestevil I received from it. At my approach, Madam d' Epinay threw her armsabout my neck, bursting into tears. This unexpected reception, and by anold friend, extremely affected me; I also shed many tears. I said to hera few words which had not much meaning; she uttered others with stillless, and everything ended here. Supper was served; we sat down totable, where, in expectation of the explanation I imagined to be deferreduntil supper was over, I made a very poor figure; for I am so overpoweredby the most trifling inquietude of mind that I cannot conceal it frompersons the least clear-sighted. My embarrassed appearance must havegiven her courage, yet she did not risk anything upon that foundation. There was no more explanation after than before supper: none took placeon the next day, and our little tete-a-tete conversations consisted ofindifferent things, or some complimentary words on my part, by which, while I informed her I could not say more relative to my suspicions, I asserted, with the greatest truth, that, if they were ill-founded, my whole life should be employed in repairing the injustice. She did notshow the least curiosity to know precisely what they were, nor for whatreason I had formed them, and all our peacemaking consisted, on her partas well as on mine, in the embrace at our first meeting. Since Madamd'Epinay was the only person offended, at least in form, I thought it wasnot for me to strive to bring about an eclaircissement for which sheherself did not seem anxious, and I returned as I had come; continuing, besides, to live with her upon the same footing as before, I soon almostentirely forgot the quarrel, and foolishly believed she had done thesame, because she seemed not to remember what had passed. 

This, it will soon appear, was not the only vexation caused me byweakness; but I had others not less disagreeable which I had not broughtupon myself. The only cause of these was a desire of forcing me from mysolitude, by means of tormenting me. These originated from Diderot and thed'Holbachiens. 

 [That is to take from it the old woman who was wanted in the conspiracy. It is astonishing that, during this long quarrel, my stupid confidence presented me from comprehending that it was not me but her whom they wanted in Paris. ]

Since I had resided at the Hermitage, Diderot incessantlyharrassed me, either himself or by means of De Leyre, and I soonperceived from the pleasantries of the latter upon my ramblings in thegroves, with what pleasure he had travestied the hermit into the gallantshepherd. But this was not the question in my quarrels with Diderot; thecause of these were more serious. After the publication of Fils Naturelhe had sent me a copy of it, which I had read with the interest andattention I ever bestowed on the works of a friend. In reading the kindof poem annexed to it, I was surprised and rather grieved to find in it, amongst several things, disobliging but supportable against men insolitude, this bitter and severe sentence without the least softening:'Il n'y a que le mechant qui fail feul. '--[The wicked only is alone. ]--This sentence is equivocal, and seems to present a double meaning; theone true, the other false, since it is impossible that a man who isdetermined to remain alone can do the least harm to anybody, andconsequently he cannot be wicked. The sentence in itself thereforerequired an interpretation; the more so from an author who, when he sentit to the press, had a friend retired from the world. It appeared to meshocking and uncivil, either to have forgotten that solitary friend, or, in remembering him, not to have made from the general maxim the honorableand just exception which he owed, not only to his friend, but to so manyrespectable sages, who, in all ages, have sought for peace andtranquillity in retirement, and of whom, for the first time since thecreation of the world, a writer took it into his head indiscriminately tomake so many villains. 

I had a great affection and the most sincere esteem for Diderot, andfully depended upon his having the same sentiments for me. But tiredwith his indefatigable obstinacy in continually opposing my inclinations, taste, and manner of living, and everything which related to no personbut myself; shocked at seeing a man younger than I was wish, at allevents, to govern me like a child; disgusted with his facility inpromising, and his negligence in performing; weary of so manyappointments given by himself, and capriciously broken, while new oneswere again given only to be again broken; displeased at uselessly waitingfor him three or four times a month on the days he had assigned, and indining alone at night after having gone to Saint Denis to meet him, andwaited the whole day for his coming; my heart was already full of thesemultiplied injuries. This last appeared to me still more serious, andgave me infinite pain. I wrote to complain of it, but in so mild andtender a manner that I moistened my paper with my tears, and my letterwas sufficiently affecting to have drawn others from himself. It wouldbe impossible to guess his answer on this subject: it was literally asfollows: "I am glad my work has pleased and affected you. You are not ofmy opinion relative to hermits. Say as much good of them as you please, you will be the only one in the world of whom I shall think well: even onthis there would be much to say were it possible to speak to you withoutgiving you offence. A woman eighty years of age! etc. A phrase of aletter from the son of Madam d'Epinay which, if I know you well, musthave given you much pain, has been mentioned to me. "

The last two expressions of this letter want explanation. 

Soon after I went to reside at the Hermitage, Madam le Vasseur seemeddissatisfied with her situation, and to think the habitation too retired. Having heard she had expressed her dislike to the place, I offered tosend her back to Paris, if that were more agreeable to her; to pay herlodging, and to have the same care taken of her as if she remained withme. She rejected my offer, assured me she was very well satisfied withthe Hermitage, and that the country air was of service to her. This wasevident, for, if I may so speak, she seemed to become young again, andenjoyed better health than at Paris. Her daughter told me her motherwould, on the whole, had been very sorry to quit the Hermitage, which wasreally a very delightful abode, being fond of the little amusements ofthe garden and the care of the fruit of which she had the handling, butthat she had said, what she had been desired to say, to induce me toreturn to Paris. 

Failing in this attempt they endeavored to obtain by a scruple the effectwhich complaisance had not produced, and construed into a crime mykeeping the old woman at a distance from the succors of which, at herage, she might be in need. They did not recollect that she, and manyother old people, whose lives were prolonged by the air of the country, might obtain these succors at Montmorency, near to which I lived; as ifthere were no old people, except in Paris, and that it was impossible forthem to live in any other place. Madam le Vasseur who eat a great deal, and with extreme voracity, was subject to overflowings of bile and tostrong diarrhoeas, which lasted several days, and served her instead ofclysters. At Paris she neither did nor took anything for them, but leftnature to itself. She observed the same rule at the Hermitage, knowingit was the best thing she could do. No matter, since there were not inthe country either physicians or apothecaries, keeping her there must, nodoubt, be with the desire of putting an end to her existence, althoughshe was in perfect health. Diderot should have determined at what age, under pain of being punished for homicide, it is no longer permitted tolet old people remain out of Paris. 

This was one of the atrocious accusations from which he did not except mein his remark; that none but the wicked were alone: and the meaning ofhis pathetic exclamation with the et cetera, which he had benignantlyadded: A woman of eighty years of age, etc. 

I thought the best answer that could be given to this reproach would befrom Madam le Vasseur herself. I desired her to write freely andnaturally her sentiments to Madam d'Epinay. To relieve her from allconstraint I would not see her letter. I showed her that which I amgoing to transcribe. I wrote it to Madam d'Epinay upon the subject of ananswer I wish to return to a letter still more severe from Diderot, andwhich she had prevented me from sending. 

 Thursday. 

"My good friend. Madam le Vasseur is to write to you: I have desired herto tell you sincerely what she thinks. To remove from her allconstraint, I have intimated to her that I will not see what she writes, and I beg of you not to communicate to me any part of the contents of herletter. 

"I will not send my letter because you do not choose I should; but, feeling myself grievously offended, it would be baseness and falsehood, of either of which it is impossible for me to be guilty, to acknowledgemyself in the wrong. Holy writ commands him to whom a blow is given, toturn the other cheek, but not to ask pardon. Do you remember the man incomedy who exclaims, while he is giving another blows with his staff, 'This is the part of a philosopher!'

"Do not flatter yourself that he will be prevented from coming by the badweather we now have. His rage will give him the time and strength whichfriendship refuses him, and it will be the first time in his life he evercame upon the day he had appointed. 

"He will neglect nothing to come and repeat to me verbally the injurieswith which he loads me in his letters; I will endure them all withpatience--he will return to Paris to be ill again; and, according tocustom, I shall be a very hateful man. What is to be done? Endure itall. 

"But do not you admire the wisdom of the man who would absolutely come toSaint Denis in a hackney-coach to dine there, bring me home in ahackney-coach, and whose finances, eight days afterwards, obliges him tocome to the Hermitage on foot? It is not possible, to speak his ownlanguage, that this should be the style of sincerity. But were this thecase, strange changes of fortune must have happened in the course of aweek. 

"I join in your affliction for the illness of madam, your mother, but youwill perceive your grief is not equal to mine. We suffer less by seeingthe persons we love ill than when they are unjust and cruel. 

"Adieu, my good friend, I shall never again mention to you this unhappyaffair. You speak of going to Paris with an unconcern, which, at anyother time, would give me pleasure. "

I wrote to Diderot, telling him what I had done, relative to Madam leVasseur, upon the proposal of Madam d'Epinay herself; and Madam leVasseur having, as it may be imagined, chosen to remain at the Hermitage, where she enjoyed a good state of health, always had company, and livedvery agreeably, Diderot, not knowing what else to attribute to me as acrime, construed my precaution into one, and discovered another in Madamle Vasseur continuing to reside at the Hermitage, although this was byher own choice; and though her going to Paris had depended, and stilldepended upon herself, where she would continue to receive the samesuccors from me as I gave her in my house. 

This is the explanation of the first reproach in the letter of Diderot. That of the second is in the letter which follows: "The learned man (aname given in a joke by Grimm to the son of Madam d'Epinay) must haveinformed you there were upon the rampart twenty poor persons who weredying with cold and hunger, and waiting for the farthing you customarilygave them. This is a specimen of our little babbling..... And if youunderstand the rest it will amuse you perhap. "

My answer to this terrible argument, of which Diderot seemed so proud, was in the following words:

"I think I answered the learned man; that is, the farmer-general, that Idid not pity the poor whom he had seen upon the rampart, waiting for myfarthing; that he had probably amply made it up to them; that I appointedhim my substitute, that the poor of Paris would have no reason tocomplain of the change; and that I should not easily find so good a onefor the poor of Montmorency, who were in much greater need of assistance. Here is a good and respectable old man, who, after having worked hard allhis lifetime, no longer being able to continue his labors, is in his olddays dying with hunger. My conscience is more satisfied with the twosous I give him every Monday, than with the hundred farthings I shouldhave distributed amongst all the beggars on the rampart. You arepleasant men, you philosophers, while you consider the inhabitants of thecities as the only persons whom you ought to befriend. It is in thecountry men learn how to love and serve humanity; all they learn incities is to despise it. "

Such were the singular scruples on which a man of sense had the folly toattribute to me as a crime my retiring from Paris, and pretended to proveto me by my own example, that it was not possible to live out of thecapital without becoming a bad man. I cannot at present conceive how Icould be guilty of the folly of answering him, and of suffering myself tobe angry instead of laughing in his fare. However, the decisions ofMadam d'Epinay and the clamors of the 'Cote in Holbachique' had so faroperated in her favor, that I was generally thought to be in the wrong;and the D'Houdetot herself, very partial to Diderot, insisted upon mygoing to see him at Paris, and making all the advances towards anaccommodation which, full and sincere as it was on my part, was not oflong duration. The victorious argument by which she subdued my heartwas, that at that moment Diderot was in distress. Besides the stormexcited against the 'Encyclopedie', he had then another violent one tomake head against, relative to his piece, which, notwithstanding theshort history he had printed at the head of it, he was accused of havingentirely taken from Goldoni. Diderot, more wounded by criticisms thanVoltaire, was overwhelmed by them. Madam de Grasigny had been maliciousenough to spread a report that I had broken with him on this account. I thought it would be just and generous publicly to prove the contrary, and I went to pass two days, not only with him, but at his lodgings. This, since I had taken up my abode at the Hermitage, was my secondjourney to Paris. I had made the first to run to poor Gauffecourt, whohad had a stroke of apoplexy, from which he has never perfectlyrecovered: I did not quit the side of his pillow until he was so farrestored as to have no further need of my assistance. 

Diderot received me well. How many wrongs are effaced by the embraces ofa friend! after these, what resentment can remain in the heart? We cameto but little explanation. This is needless for reciprocal invectives. The only thing necessary is to know how to forget them. There had beenno underhand proceedings, none at least that had come to my knowledge:the case was not the same with Madam d' Epinay. He showed me the plan ofthe 'Pere de Famille'. "This, " said I to him, "is the best defence tothe 'Fils Naturel'. Be silent, give your attention to this piece, andthen throw it at the head of your enemies as the only answer you thinkproper to make them. " He did so, and was satisfied with what he haddone. 

I had six months before sent him the first two parts of my 'Eloisa' tohave his opinion upon them. He had not yet read the work over. We reada part of it together. He found this 'feuillet', that was his term, bywhich he meant loaded with words and redundancies. I myself had alreadyperceived it; but it was the babbling of the fever: I have never beenable to correct it. The last parts are not the same. The fourthespecially, and the sixth, are master-pieces of diction. 

The day after my arrival, he would absolutely take me to sup with M. D'Holbach. We were far from agreeing on this point; for I wished even toget rid of the bargain for the manuscript on chemistry, for which I wasenraged to be obliged to that man. Diderot carried all before him. Heswore D'Holbach loved me with all his heart, said I must forgive him hismanner, which was the same to everybody, and more disagreeable to hisfriends than to others. He observed to me that, refusing the produce ofthis manuscript, after having accepted it two years before, was anaffront to the donor which he had not deserved, and that my refusal mightbe interpreted into a secret reproach, for having waited so long toconclude the bargain. "I see, " added he, "D'Holbach every day, and knowbetter than you do the nature of his disposition. Had you reason to bedissatisfied with him, do you think your friend capable of advising youto do a mean thing?" In short, with my accustomed weakness, I sufferedmyself to be prevailed upon, and we went to sup with the baron, whoreceived me as he usually had done. But his wife received me coldly andalmost uncivilly. I saw nothing in her which resembled the amiableCaroline, who, when a maid, expressed for me so many good wishes. Ithought I had already perceived that since Grimm had frequented the houseof D'Aine, I had not met there so friendly a reception. 

Whilst I was at Paris, Saint Lambert arrived there from the army. As Iwas not acquainted with his arrival, I did not see him until after myreturn to the country, first at the Chevrette, and afterwards at theHermitage; to which he came with Madam d'Houdetot, and invited himself todinner with me. It may be judged whether or not I received him withpleasure! But I felt one still greater at seeing the good understandingbetween my guests. Satisfied with not having disturbed their happiness, I myself was happy in being a witness to it, and I can safely assertthat, during the whole of my mad passion, and especially at the moment ofwhich I speak, had it been in my power to take from him Madam d'HoudetotI would not have done it, nor should I have so much as been tempted toundertake it. I found her so amiable in her passion for Saint Lambert, that I could scarcely imagine she would have been as much so had sheloved me instead of him; and without wishing to disturb their union, allI really desired of her was to permit herself to be loved. Finally, however violent my passion may have been for this lady, I found it asagreeable to be the confidant, as the object of her amours, and I neverfor a moment considered her lover as a rival, but always as my friend. It will be said this was not love: be it so, but it was something more. 

As for Saint Lambert, he behaved like an honest and judicious man: as Iwas the only person culpable, so was I the only one who was punished;this, however, was with the greatest indulgence. He treated me severely, but in a friendly manner, and I perceived I had lost something in hisesteem, but not the least part of his friendship. For this I consoledmyself, knowing it would be much more easy to me to recover the one thanthe other, and that he had too much sense to confound an involuntaryweakness and a passion with a vice of character. If even I were in faultin all that had passed, I was but very little so. Had I first soughtafter his mistress? Had not he himself sent her to me? Did not she comein search of me? Could I avoid receiving her? What could I do? Theythemselves had done the evil, and I was the person on whom it fell. Inmy situation they would have done as much as I did, and perhaps more;for, however estimable and faithful Madam d'Houdetot might be, she wasstill a woman; her lover was absent; opportunities were frequent;temptations strong; and it would have been very difficult for her alwaysto have defended herself with the same success against a moreenterprising man. We certainly had done a great deal in our situation, in placing boundaries beyond which we never permitted ourselves to pass. 

Although at the bottom of my heart I found evidence sufficientlyhonorable in my favor, so many appearances were against me, that theinvincible shame always predominant in me, gave me in his presence theappearance of guilt, and of this he took advantage for the purpose ofhumbling me: a single circumstance will describe this reciprocalsituation. I read to him, after dinner, the letter I had written thepreceding year to Voltaire, and of which Saint Lambert had heard speak. Whilst I was reading he fell asleep, and I, lately so haughty, at presentso foolish, dared not stop, and continued to read whilst he continued tosnore. Such were my indignities and such his revenge; but his generositynever permitted him to exercise them; except between ourselves. 

After his return to the army, I found Madam d'Houdetot greatly changed inher manner with me. At this I was as much surprised as if it had notbeen what I ought to have expected; it affected me more than it ought tohave done, and did me considerable harm. It seemed that everything fromwhich I expected a cure, still plunged deeper into my heart the dart, which I at length broke in rather than draw out. 

I was quite determined to conquer myself, and leave no means untried tochange my foolish passion into a pure and lasting friendship. For thispurpose I had formed the finest projects in the world; for the executionof which the concurrence of Madam d' Houdetot was necessary. When Iwished to speak to her I found her absent and embarrassed; I perceived Iwas no longer agreeable to her, and that something had passed which shewould not communicate to me, and which I have never yet known. Thischange, and the impossibility of knowing the reason of it, grieved me tothe heart. 

She asked me for her letters; these I returned her with a fidelity ofwhich she did me the insult to doubt for a moment. 

This doubt was another wound given to my heart, with which she must havebeen so well acquainted. She did me justice, but not immediately: Iunderstood that an examination of the packet I had sent her, made herperceive her error; I saw she reproached herself with it, by which I wasa gainer of something. She could not take back her letters withoutreturning me mine. She told me she had burnt them: of this I dared todoubt in my turn, and I confess I doubt of it at this moment. No, suchletters as mine to her were, are never thrown into the fire. Those ofEloisa have been found ardent. 

Heavens! what would have been said of these! No, No, she who caninspire a like passion, will never have the courage to burn the proofs ofit. But I am not afraid of her having made a bad use of them: of this Ido not think her capable; and besides I had taken proper measures toprevent it. The foolish, but strong apprehension of raillery, had mademe begin this correspondence in a manner to secure my letters from allcommunication. I carried the familiarity I permitted myself with her inmy intoxication so far as to speak to her in the singular number: butwhat theeing and thouing! she certainly could not be offended with it. Yet she several times complained, but this was always useless: hercomplaints had no other effect than that of awakening my fears, and Ibesides could not suffer myself to lose ground. If these letters be notyet destroyed, and should they ever be made public, the world will see inwhat manner I have loved. 

The grief caused me by the coldness of Madam d'Houdetot, and thecertainty of not having merited it, made me take the singular resolutionto complain of it to Saint Lambert himself. While waiting the effect ofthe letter I wrote to him, I sought dissipations to which I ought soonerto have had recourse. Fetes were given at the Chevrette for which Icomposed music. The pleasure of honoring myself in the eyes of Madamd'Houdetot by a talent she loved, warmed my imagination, and anotherobject still contributed to give it animation, this was the desire theauthor of the 'Devin du Villaqe' had of showing he understood music; forI had perceived some persons had, for a considerable time past, endeavored to render this doubtful, at least with respect to composition. My beginning at Paris, the ordeal through which I had several timespassed there, both at the house of M. Dupin and that of M. De laPopliniere; the quantity of music I had composed during fourteen years inthe midst of the most celebrated masters and before their eyes:--finally, the opera of the 'Muses Gallantes', and that even of the 'Devin'; a motetI had composed for Mademoiselle Fel, and which she had sung at thespiritual concert; the frequent conferences I had had upon this fine artwith the first composers, all seemed to prevent or dissipate a doubt ofsuch a nature. This however existed even at the Chevrette, and in themind of M. D'Epinay himself. Without appearing to observe it, Iundertook to compose him a motet for the dedication of the chapel of theChevrette, and I begged him to make choice of the words. He directed deLinant, the tutor to his son, to furnish me with these. De Linant gaveme words proper to the subject, and in a week after I had received themthe motet was finished. This time, spite was my Apollo, and never didbetter music come from my hand. The words began with: 'Ecce sedes hictonantis'. (I have since learned these were by Santeuil, and that M. DeLinant had without scruple appropriated them to himself. ) The grandeur ofthe opening is suitable to the words, and the rest of the motet is soelegantly harmonious that everyone was struck with it. I had composed itfor a great orchestra. D'Epinay procured the best performers. MadamBruna, an Italian singer, sung the motet, and was well accompanied. Thecomposition succeeded so well that it was afterwards performed at thespiritual concert, where, in spite of secret cabals, and notwithstandingit was badly executed, it was twice generally applauded. I gave for thebirthday of M. D'Epinay the idea of a kind of piece half dramatic andhalf pantomimical, of which I also composed the music. Grimm, on hisarrival, heard speak of my musical success. An hour afterwards not aword more was said on the subject; but there no longer remained a doubt, not at least that I know of, of my knowledge of composition. 

Grimm was scarcely arrived at the Chevrette, where I already did not muchamuse myself, before he made it insupportable to me by airs I neverbefore saw in any person, and of which I had no idea. The evening beforehe came, I was dislodged from the chamber of favor, contiguous to that ofMadam d'Epinay; it was prepared for Grimm, and instead of it, I was putinto another further off. "In this manner, " said I, laughingly, to Madamd'Epinay, "new-comers displace those which are established. " She seemedembarrassed. I was better acquainted the same evening with the reasonfor the change, in learning that between her chamber and that I hadquitted there was a private door which she had thought needless to showme. Her intercourse with Grimm was not a secret either in her own houseor to the public, not even to her husband; yet, far from confessing it tome, the confidant of secrets more important to her, and which was surewould be faithfully kept, she constantly denied it in the strongestmanner. I comprehended this reserve proceeded from Grimm, who, thoughintrusted with all my secrets, did not choose I should be with any ofhis. 

However prejudiced I was in favor of this man by former sentiments, whichwere not extinguished, and by the real merit he had, all was not proofagainst the cares he took to destroy it. He received me like the Comtede Tuffiere; he scarcely deigned to return my salute; he never once spoketo me, and prevented my speaking to him by not making me any answer; heeverywhere passed first, and took the first place without ever paying methe least attention. All this would have been supportable had he notaccompanied it with a shocking affectation, which may be judged of by oneexample taken from a hundred. One evening Madam d'Epinay, findingherself a little indisposed, ordered something for her supper to becarried into her chamber, and went up stairs to sup by the side of thefire. She asked me to go with her, which I did. Grimm came afterwards. The little table was already placed, and there were but two covers. Supper was served; Madam d' Epinay took her place on one side of thefire, Grimm took an armed chair, seated himself at the other, drew thelittle table between them, opened his napkin, and prepared himself foreating without speaking to me a single word. 

Madam d' Epinay blushed at his behavior, and, to induce him to repair hisrudeness, offered me her place. He said nothing, nor did he ever look atme. Not being able to approach the fire, I walked about the chamberuntil a cover was brought. Indisposed as I was, older than himself, longer acquainted in the house than he had been, the person who hadintroduced him there, and to whom as a favorite of the lady he ought tohave done the honors of it, he suffered me to sup at the end of thetable, at a distance from the fire, without showing me the leastcivility. His whole behavior to me corresponded with this example of it. He did not treat me precisely as his inferior, but he looked upon me as acipher. I could scarcely recognize the same Grimm, who, to the house ofthe Prince de Saxe-Gotha, thought himself honored when I cast my eyesupon him. I had still more difficulty in reconciling this profoundsilence and insulting haughtiness with the tender friendship he possessedfor me to those whom he knew to be real friends. It is true the onlyproofs he gave of it was pitying my wretched fortune, of which I did notcomplain; compassionating my sad fate, with which I was satisfied; andlamenting to see me obstinately refuse the benevolent services he said, he wished to render me. Thus was it he artfully made the world admirehis affectionate generosity, blame my ungrateful misanthropy, andinsensibly accustomed people to imagine there was nothing more between aprotector like him and a wretch like myself, than a connection foundedupon benefactions on one part and obligations on the other, without oncethinking of a friendship between equals. For my part, I have vainlysought to discover in what I was under an obligation to this newprotector. I had lent him money, he had never lent me any; I hadattended him in his illness, he scarcely came to see me in mine; I hadgiven him all my friends, he never had given me any of his; I had saideverything I could in his favor, and if ever he has spoken of me it hasbeen less publicly and in another manner. He has never either renderedor offered me the least service of any kind. How, therefore, was he myMecaenas? In what manner was I protected by him? This wasincomprehensible to me, and still remains so. 

It is true, he was more or less arrogant with everybody, but I was theonly person with whom he was brutally so. I remember Saint Lambert onceready to throw a plate at his head, upon his, in some measure, giving himthe lie at table by vulgarly saying, "That is not true. " With hisnaturally imperious manner he had the self-sufficiency of an upstart, and became ridiculous by being extravagantly impertinent. An intercoursewith the great had so far intoxicated him that he gave himself airs whichnone but the contemptible part of them ever assume. He never called hislackey but by "Eh!" as if amongst the number of his servants my lord hadnot known which was in waiting. When he sent him to buy anything, he threw the money upon the ground instead of putting it into his hand. In short, entirely forgetting he was a man, he treated him with suchshocking contempt, and so cruel a disdain in everything, that the poorlad, a very good creature, whom Madam d'Epinay had recommended, quittedhis service without any other complaint than that of the impossibility ofenduring such treatment. This was the la Fleur of this new presumingupstart. 

As these things were nothing more than ridiculous, but quite opposite tomy character, they contributed to render him suspicious to me. I couldeasily imagine that a man whose head was so much deranged could not havea heart well placed. He piqued himself upon nothing so much as uponsentiments. How could this agree with defects which are peculiar tolittle minds? How can the continued overflowings of a susceptible heartsuffer it to be incessantly employed in so many little cares relative tothe person? He who feels his heart inflamed with this celestial firestrives to diffuse it, and wishes to show what he internally is. Hewould wish to place his heart in his countenance, and thinks not of otherpaint for his cheeks. 

I remember the summary of his morality which Madam d'Epinay had mentionedto me and adopted. This consisted in one single article; that the soleduty of man is to follow all the inclinations of his heart. Thismorality, when I heard it mentioned, gave me great matter of reflection, although I at first considered it solely as a play of wit. But I soonperceived it was a principle really the rule of his conduct, and of whichI afterwards had, at my own expense, but too many convincing proofs. It is the interior doctrine Diderot has so frequently intimated to me, but which I never heard him explain. 

I remember having several years before been frequently told that Grimmwas false, that he had nothing more than the appearance of sentiment, and particularly that he did not love me. I recollected several littleanecdotes which I had heard of him by M. De Francueil and Madam deChenonceaux, neither of whom esteemed him, and to whom he must have beenknown, as Madam de Chenonceaux was daughter to Madam de Rochechouart, the intimate friend of the late Comte de Friese, and that M. DeFrancueil, at that time very intimate with the Viscount de Polignac, had lived a good deal at the Palais Royal precisely when Grimm began tointroduce himself there. All Paris heard of his despair after the deathof the Comte de Friese. It was necessary to support the reputation hehad acquired after the rigors of Mademoiselle Fel, and of which I, morethan any other person, should have seen the imposture, had I been lessblind. He was obliged to be dragged to the Hotel de Castries where heworthily played his part, abandoned to the most mortal affliction. There, he every morning went into the garden to weep at his ease, holdingbefore his eyes his handkerchief moistened with tears, as long as he wasin sight of the hotel, but at the turning of a certain alley, people, ofwhom he little thought, saw him instantly put his handkerchief in hispocket and take out of it a book. This observation, which was repeatedlymade, soon became public in Paris, and was almost as soon forgotten. I myself had forgotten it; a circumstance in which I was concernedbrought it to my recollection. I was at the point of death in my bed, in the Rue de Grenelle, Grimm was in the country; he came one morning, quite out of breath, to see me, saying, he had arrived in town that veryinstant; and a moment afterwards I learned he had arrived the eveningbefore, and had been seen at the theatre. 

I heard many things of the same kind; but an observation, which I wassurprised not to have made sooner, struck me more than anything else. I had given to Grimm all my friends without exception, they were becomehis. I was so inseparable from him, that I should have had somedifficulty in continuing to visit at a house where he was not received. Madam de Crequi was the only person who refused to admit him into hercompany, and whom for that reason I have seldom since seen. Grimm on hispart made himself other friends, as well by his own means, as by those ofthe Comte de Friese. Of all these not one of them ever became my friend:he never said a word to induce me even to become acquainted with them, and not one of those I sometimes met at his apartments ever showed me theleast good will; the Comte de Friese, in whose house he lived, and withwhom it consequently would have been agreeable to me to form someconnection, not excepted, nor the Comte de Schomberg, his relation, withwhom Grimm was still more intimate. 

Add to this, my own friends, whom I made his, and who were all tenderlyattached to me before this acquaintance, were no longer so the moment itwas made. He never gave me one of his. I gave him all mine, and thesehe has taken from me. If these be the effects of friendship, what arethose of enmity?

Diderot himself told me several times at the beginning that Grimm in whomI had so much confidence, was not my friend. He changed his language themoment he was no longer so himself. 

The manner in which I had disposed of my children wanted not theconcurrence of any person. Yet I informed some of my friends of it, solely to make it known to them, and that I might not in their eyesappear better than I was. These friends were three in number: Diderot, Grimm, and Madam d'Epinay. Duclos, the most worthy of my confidence, wasthe only real friend whom I did not inform of it. He nevertheless knewwhat I had done. By whom? This I know not. It is not very probable theperfidy came from Madam d'Epinay, who knew that by following her example, had I been capable of doing it, I had in my power the means of a cruelrevenge. It remains therefore between Grimm and Diderot, then so muchunited, especially against me, and it is probable this crime was commonto them both. I would lay a wager that Duclos, to whom I never told mysecret, and who consequently was at liberty to make what use he pleasedof his information, is the only person who has not spoken of it again. 

Grimm and Diderot, in their project to take from me the governesses, hadused the greatest efforts to make Duclos enter into their views; but thishe refused to do with disdain. It was not until sometime afterwards thatI learned from him what had passed between them on the subject; but Ilearned at the time from Theresa enough to perceive there was some secretdesign, and that they wished to dispose of me, if not against my ownconsent, at least without my knowledge, or had an intention of makingthese two persons serve as instruments of some project they had in view. This was far from upright conduct. The opposition of Duclos is aconvincing proof of it. They who think proper may believe it to befriendship. 

This pretended friendship was as fatal to me at home as it was abroad. The long and frequent conversations with Madam le Vasseur, for, severalyears past, had made a sensible change in this woman's behavior to me, and the change was far from being in my favor. What was the subject ofthese singular conversations? Why such a profound mystery? Was theconversation of that old woman agreeable enough to take her into favor, and of sufficient importance to make of it so great a secret? During thetwo or three years these colloquies had, from time to time, beencontinued, they had appeared to me ridiculous; but when I thought of themagain, they began to astonish me. This astonishment would have beencarried to inquietude had I then known what the old creature waspreparing for me. 

Notwithstanding the pretended zeal for my welfare of which Grimm madesuch a public boast, difficult to reconcile with the airs he gave himselfwhen we were together, I heard nothing of him from any quarter the leastto my advantage, and his feigned commiseration tended less to do meservice than to render me contemptible. He deprived me as much as hepossibly could of the resource I found in the employment I had chosen, by decrying me as a bad copyist. I confess he spoke the truth; but inthis case it was not for him to do it. He proved himself in earnest byemploying another copyist, and prevailing upon everybody he could, bywhom I was engaged, to do the same. His intention might have beensupposed to be that of reducing me to a dependence upon him and hiscredit for a subsistence, and to cut off the latter until I was broughtto that degree of distress. 

All things considered, my reason imposed silence upon my formerprejudice, which still pleaded in his favor. I judged his character tobe at least suspicious, and with respect to his friendship I positivelydecided it to be false. I then resolved to see him no more, and informedMadam d'Epinay of the resolution I had taken, supporting, it with severalunanswerable facts, but which I have now forgotten. 

She strongly combated my resolution without knowing how to reply to thereasons on which it was founded. She had not concerted with him; but thenext day, instead of explaining herself verbally, she, with greataddress, gave me a letter they had drawn up together, and by which, without entering into a detail of facts, she justified him by hisconcentrated character, attributed to me as a crime my having suspectedhim of perfidy towards his friend, and exhorted me to come to anaccommodation with him. This letter staggered me. In a conversation weafterwards had together, and in which I found her better prepared thanshe had been the first time, I suffered myself to be quite prevailedupon, and was inclined to believe I might have judged erroneously. Inthis case I thought I really had done a friend a very serious injury, which it was my duty to repair. In short, as I had already done severaltimes with Diderot, and the Baron d'Holbach, half from inclination, andhalf from weakness, I made all the advances I had a right to require;I went to M. Grimm, like another George Dandin, to make him my apologiesfor the offence he had given me; still in the false persuasion, which, inthe course of my life has made me guilty of a thousand meannesses to mypretended friends, that there is no hatred which may not be disarmed bymildness and proper behavior; whereas, on the contrary, the hatred of thewicked becomes still more envenomed by the impossibility of findinganything to found it upon, and the sentiment of their own injustice isanother cause of offence against the person who is the object of it. I have, without going further than my own history, a strong proof of thismaxim in Grimm, and in Tronchin; both became my implacable enemies frominclination, pleasure and fancy, without having been able to charge mewith having done either of them the most trifling injury, and whoserage, like that of tigers, becomes daily more fierce by the facility ofsatiating it. 

 [I did not give the surname of Jongleur only to the latter until a long time after his enmity had been declared, and the persecutions he brought upon me at Geneva and elsewhere. I soon suppressed the name the moment I perceived I was entirely his victim. Mean vengeance is unworthy of my heart, and hatred never takes the least root in it. ]

I expected that Grimm, confused by my condescension and advances, wouldreceive me with open arms, and the most tender friendship. He receivedme as a Roman Emperor would have done, and with a haughtiness I never sawin any person but himself. I was by no means prepared for such areception. When, in the embarrassment of the part I had to act, andwhich was so unworthy of me, I had, in a few words and with a timid air, fulfilled the object which had brought me to him; before he received meinto favor, he pronounced, with a deal of majesty, an harangue he hadprepared, and which contained a long enumeration of his rare virtues, and especially those connected with friendship. He laid great stressupon a thing which at first struck me a great deal: this was his havingalways preserved the same friends. Whilst he was yet speaking, I said tomyself, it would be cruel for me to be the only exception to this rule. He returned to the subject so frequently, and with such emphasis, that Ithought, if in this he followed nothing but the sentiments of his heart, he would be less struck with the maxim, and that he made of it an artuseful to his views by procuring the means of accomplishing them. Untilthen I had been in the same situation; I had preserved all my firstfriends, those even from my tenderest infancy, without having lost one ofthem except by death, and yet I had never before made the reflection: itwas not a maxim I had prescribed myself. Since, therefore, the advantagewas common to both, why did he boast of it in preference, if he had notpreviously intended to deprive me of the merit? He afterwards endeavoredto humble me by proofs of the preference our common friends gave to me. With this I was as well acquainted as himself; the question was, by whatmeans he had obtained it? whether it was by merit or address? by exaltinghimself, or endeavoring to abase me? At last, when he had placed betweenus all the distance that he could add to the value of the favor he wasabout to confer, he granted me the kiss of peace, in a slight embracewhich resembled the accolade which the king gives to newmade knights. I was stupefied with surprise: I knew not what to say; not a word couldI utter. The whole scene had the appearance of the reprimand a preceptorgives to his pupil while he graciously spares inflicting the rod. I never think of it without perceiving to what degree judgments, foundedupon appearances to which the vulgar give so much weight, are deceitful, and how frequently audaciousness and pride are found in the guilty, andshame and embarrassment in the innocent. 

We were reconciled: this was a relief to my heart, which every kind ofquarrel fills with anguish. It will naturally be supposed that a likereconciliation changed nothing in his manners; all it effected was todeprive me of the right of complaining of them. For this reason I took aresolution to endure everything, and for the future to say not a word. 

So many successive vexations overwhelmed me to such a degree as to leaveme but little power over my mind. Receiving no answer from SaintLambert, neglected by Madam d'Houdetot, and no longer daring to open myheart to any person, I began to be afraid that by making friendship myidol, I should sacrifice my whole life to chimeras. After putting allthose with whom I had been acquainted to the test, there remained but twowho had preserved my esteem, and in whom my heart could confide: Duclos, of whom since my retreat to the Hermitage I had lost sight, and SaintLambert. I thought the only means of repairing the wrongs I had done thelatter, was to open myself to him without reserve, and I resolved toconfess to him everything by which his mistress should not be exposed. I have no doubt but this was another snare of my passions to keep menearer to her person; but I should certainly have had no reserve with herlover, entirely submitting to his direction, and carrying sincerity asfar as it was possible to do it. I was upon the point of writing to hima second letter, to which I was certain he would have returned an answer, when I learned the melancholy cause of his silence relative to the first. He had been unable to support until the end the fatigues of the campaign. Madam d'Epinay informed me he had had an attack of the palsy, and Madamd'Houdetot, ill from affliction, wrote me two or three days after fromParis, that he was going to Aix-la-Chapelle to take the benefit of thewaters. I will not say this melancholy circumstance afflicted me as itdid her; but I am of opinion my grief of heart was as painful as hertears. The pain of knowing him to be in such a state, increased by thefear least inquietude should have contributed to occasion it, affected memore than anything that had yet happened, and I felt most cruelly a wantof fortitude, which in my estimation was necessary to enable me tosupport so many misfortunes. Happily this generous friend did not longleave me so overwhelmed with affliction; he did not forget me, notwithstanding his attack; and I soon learned from himself that I hadill judged his sentiments, and been too much alarmed for his situation. It is now time I should come to the grand revolution of my destiny, tothe catastrophe which has divided my life in two parts so different fromeach other, and, from a very trifling cause, produced such terribleeffects. 

One day, little thinking of what was to happen, Madam d'Epinay sent forme to the Chevrette. The moment I saw her I perceived in her eyes andwhole countenance an appearance of uneasiness, which struck me the more, as this was not customary, nobody knowing better than she did how togovern her features and her movements. "My friend, " said she to me, "I am immediately going to set off for Geneva; my breast is in a badstate, and my health so deranged that I must go and consult Tronchin. "I was the more astonished at this resolution so suddenly taken, and atthe beginning of the bad season of the year, as thirty-six hours beforeshe had not, when I left her, so much as thought of it. I asked her whoshe would take with her. She said her son and M. De Linant; andafterwards carelessly added, "And you, dear, will not you go also?" As Idid not think she spoke seriously, knowing that at the season of the yearI was scarcely in a situation to go to my chamber, I joked upon theutility of the company, of one sick person to another. She herself hadnot seemed to make the proposition seriously, and here the matterdropped. The rest of our conversation ran upon the necessarypreparations for her journey, about which she immediately gave orders, being determined to set off within a fortnight. She lost nothing by myrefusal, having prevailed upon her husband to accompany her. 

A few days afterwards I received from Diderot the note I am going totranscribe. This note, simply doubled up, so that the contents wereeasily read, was addressed to me at Madam d'Epinay's, and sent to M. DeLinant, tutor to the son, and confidant to the mother. 

NOTE FROM DIDEROT. 

"I am naturally disposed to love you, and am born to give you trouble. Iam informed Madam d'Epinay is going to Geneva, and do not hear you are toaccompany her. My friend, you are satisfied with Madam d'Epinay, youmust go, with her; if dissatisfied you ought still less to hesitate. Doyou find the weight of the obligations you are under to her uneasy toyou? This is an opportunity of discharging a part of them, and relievingyour mind. Do you ever expect another opportunity like the present one, of giving her proofs of your gratitude? She is going to a country whereshe will be quite a stranger. She is ill, and will stand in need ofamusement and dissipation. The winter season too! Consider, my friend. Your ill state of health may be a much greater objection than I think itis; but are you now more indisposed than you were a month ago, or thanyou will be at the beginning of spring? Will you three months hence bein a situation to perform the journey more at your ease than at present?For my part I cannot but observe to you that were I unable to bear theshaking of the carriage I would take my staff and follow her. Have youno fears lest your conduct should be misinterpreted? You will besuspected of ingratitude or of a secret motive. I well know, that letyou do as you will you will have in your favor the testimony of yourconscience, but will this alone be sufficient, and is it permitted toneglect to a certain degree that which is necessary to acquire theapprobation of others? What I now write, my good friend, is to acquitmyself of what I think I owe to us both. Should my letter displease you, throw it into the fire and let it be forgotten. I salute, love andembrace you. "

Although trembling and almost blind with rage whilst I read this epistle, I remarked the address with which Diderot affected a milder and morepolite language than he had done in his former ones, wherein he neverwent further than "My dear, " without ever deigning to add the name offriend. I easily discovered the secondhand means by which the letter wasconveyed to me; the subscription, manner and form awkwardly betrayed themanoeuvre; for we commonly wrote to each other by post, or the messengerof Montmorency, and this was the first and only time he sent me hisletter by any other conveyance. 

As soon as the first transports of my indignation permitted me to write, I, with great precipitation, wrote him the following answer, which Iimmediately carried from the Hermitage, where I then was, to Chevrette, to show it to Madam d' Epinay; to whom, in my blind rage, I read thecontents, as well as the letter from Diderot. 

"You cannot, my dear friend, either know the magnitude of the obligationsI am under to Madam d'Epinay, to what a degree I am bound by them, whether or not she is desirous of my accompanying her, that this ispossible, or the reasons I may have for my noncompliance. I have noobjection to discuss all these points with you; but you will in themeantime confess that prescribing to me so positively what I ought to do, without first enabling yourself to judge of the matter, is, my dearphilosopher, acting very inconsiderately. What is still worse, Iperceive the opinion you give comes not from yourself. Besides my beingbut little disposed to suffer myself to be led by the nose under yourname by any third or fourth person, I observe in this secondary advicecertain underhand dealing, which ill agrees with your candor, and fromwhich you will on your account, as well as mine, do well in future toabstain. 

"You are afraid my conduct should be misinterpreted; but I defy a heartlike yours to think ill of mine. Others would perhaps speak better of meif I resembled them more. God preserve me from gaining theirapprobation! Let the vile and wicked watch over my conduct andmisinterpret my actions, Rousseau is not a man to be afraid of them, noris Diderot to be prevailed upon to hearken to what they say. 

"If I am displeased with your letter, you wish me to throw it into thefire, and pay no attention to the contents. Do you imagine that anythingcoming from you can be forgotten in such a manner? You hold, my dearfriend, my tears as cheap in the pain you give me, as you do my life andhealth, in the cares you exhort me to take. Could you but break yourselfof this, your friendship would be more pleasing to me, and I should beless to be pitied. "

On entering the chamber of Madam d'Epinay I found Grimm with her, withwhich I was highly delighted. I read to them, in a loud and clear voice, the two letters, with an intrepidity of which I should not have thoughtmyself capable, and concluded with a few observations not in the leastderogatory to it. At this unexpected audacity in a man generally timid, they were struck dumb with surprise; I perceived that arrogant man lookdown upon the ground, not daring to meet my eyes, which sparkled withindignation; but in the bottom of his heart he from that instant resolvedupon my destruction, and, with Madam d' Epinay, I am certain concertedmeasures to that effect before they separated. 

It was much about this time that I at length received, by Madamd'Houdetot, the answer from Saint Lambert, dated from Wolfenbuttle, a fewdays after the accident had happened to him, to my letter which had beenlong delayed upon the road. This answer gave me the consolation of whichI then stood so much in need; it was full of assurance of esteem andfriendship, and these gave me strength and courage to deserve them. Fromthat moment I did my duty, but had Saint Lambert been less reasonable, generous and honest, I was inevitably lost. 

The season became bad, and people began to quit the country. Madamd'Houdetot informed me of the day on which she intended to come and bidadieu to the valley, and gave me a rendezvous at Laubonne. This happenedto be the same day on which Madam d'Epinay left the Chevrette to go toParis for the purpose of completing preparations for her journey. Fortunately she set off in the morning, and I had still time to go anddine with her sister-in-law. I had the letter from Saint Lambert in mypocket, and read it over several times as I walked along, This letterserved me as a shield against my weakness. I made and kept to theresolution of seeing nothing in Madam d'Houdetot but my friend and themistress of Saint Lambert; and I passed with her a tete-a-fete of fourhours in a most delicious calm, infinitely preferable, even with respectto enjoyment, to the paroxysms of a burning fever, which, always, untilthat moment, I had had when in her presence. As she too well knew myheart not to be changed, she was sensible of the efforts I made toconquer myself, and esteemed me the more for them, and I had the pleasureof perceiving that her friendship for me was not extinguished. Sheannounced to me the approaching return of Saint Lambert, who, althoughwell enough recovered from his attack, was unable to bear the fatigues ofwar, and was quitting the service to come and live in peace with her. We formed the charming project of an intimate connection between usthree, and had reason to hope it would be lasting, since it was foundedon every sentiment by which honest and susceptible hearts could beunited; and we had moreover amongst us all the knowledge and talentsnecessary to be sufficient to ourselves without the aid of any foreignsupplement. Alas! in abandoning myself to the hope of so agreeable alife I little suspected that which awaited me. 

We afterwards spoke of my situation with Madam d'Epinay. I showed herthe letter from Diderot, with my answer to it; I related to hereverything that had passed upon the subject, and declared to her myresolution of quitting the Hermitage. 

This she vehemently opposed, and by reasons all powerful over my heart. She expressed to me how much she could have wished I had been of theparty to Geneva, foreseeing she should inevitably be considered as havingcaused the refusal, which the letter of Diderot seemed previously toannounce. However, as she was acquainted with my reasons, she did notinsist upon this point, but conjured me to avoid coming to an openrupture let it cost me what mortification it would, and to palliate myrefusal by reasons sufficiently plausible to put away all unjustsuspicions of her having been the cause of it. I told her the task sheimposed on me was not easy; but that, resolved to expiate my faults atthe expense of my reputation, I would give the preference to hers ineverything that honor permitted me to suffer. It will soon be seenwhether or not I fulfilled this engagement. 

My passion was so far from having lost any part of its force that I neverin my life loved my Sophia so ardently and tenderly as on that day, butsuch was the impression made upon me by the letter of Saint Lambert, thesentiment of my duty and the horror in which I held perfidy, that duringthe whole time of the interview my senses left me in peace, and I was notso much as tempted to kiss her hand. At parting she embraced me beforeher servants. This embrace, so different from those I had sometimesstolen from her under the foliage, proved I was become master of myself;and I am certain that had my mind, undisturbed, had time to acquire morefirmness, three months would have cured me radically. 

Here ends my personal connections with Madam d'Houdetot; connections ofwhich each has been able to judge by appearance according to thedisposition of his own heart, but in which the passion inspired me bythat amiable woman, the most lively passion, perhaps, man ever felt, willbe honorable in our own eyes by the rare and painful sacrifice we bothmade to duty, honor, love, and friendship. We each had too high anopinion of the other easily to suffer ourselves to do anything derogatoryto our dignity. We must have been unworthy of all esteem had we not seta proper value upon one like this, and the energy of my sentiments whichhave rendered us culpable, was that which prevented us from becoming so. 

Thus after a long friendship for one of these women, and the strongestaffection for the other, I bade them both adieu the same day, to onenever to see her more, to the other to see her again twice, uponoccasions of which I shall hereafter speak. 

After their departure, I found myself much embarrassed to fulfill so manypressing and contradictory duties, the consequences of my imprudence; hadI been in my natural situation, after the proposition and refusal of thejourney to Geneva, I had only to remain quiet, and everything was as itshould be. But I had foolishly made of it an affair which could notremain in the state it was, and an explanation was absolutely necessary, unless I quitted the Hermitage, which I had just promised Madamd'Houdetot not to do, at least for the present. Moreover she hadrequired me to make known the reasons for my refusal to my pretendedfriends, that it might not be imputed to her. Yet I could not state thetrue reason without doing an outrage to Madam d'Epinay, who certainly hada right to my gratitude for what she had done for me. Everything wellconsidered, I found myself reduced to the severe but indispensablenecessity of failing in respect, either to Madam d'Upinay, Madamd'Houdetot or to myself; and it was the last I resolved to make myvictim. This I did without hesitation, openly and fully, and with somuch generosity as to make the act worthy of expiating the faults whichhad reduced me to such an extremity. This sacrifice, taken advantage ofby my enemies, and which they, perhaps, did not expect, has ruined myreputation, and by their assiduity, deprived me of the esteem of thepublic; but it has restored to me my own, and given me consolation in mymisfortune. This, as it will hereafter appear, is not the last time Imade such a sacrifice, nor that advantages were taken of it to do me aninjury. 

Grimm was the only person who appeared to have taken no part in theaffair, and it was to him I determined to address myself. I wrote him along letter, in which I set forth the ridiculousness of considering it asmy duty to accompany Madam d' Epinay to Geneva, the inutility of themeasure, and the embarrassment even it would have caused her, besides theinconvenience to myself. I could not resist the temptation of lettinghim perceive in this letter how fully I was informed in what mannerthings were arranged, and that to me it appeared singular I should beexpected to undertake the journey whilst he himself dispensed with it, and that his name was never mentioned. This letter, wherein, on accountof my not being able clearly to state my reasons, I was often obliged towander from the text, would have rendered me culpable in the eyes of thepublic, but it was a model of reservedness and discretion for the peoplewho, like Grimm, were fully acquainted with the things I forbore tomention, and which justified my conduct. I did not even hesitate toraise another prejudice against myself in attributing the advice ofDiderot, to my other friends. This I did to insinuate that Madamd'Houdetot had been in the same opinion as she really was, and in notmentioning that, upon the reasons I gave her, she thought differently, I could not better remove the suspicion of her having connived at myproceedings than appearing dissatisfied with her behavior. 

This letter was concluded by an act of confidence which would have had aneffect upon any other man; for, in desiring Grimm to weigh my reasons andafterwards to give me his opinion, I informed him that, let this be whatit would, I should act accordingly, and such was my intention had he eventhought I ought to set off; for M. D'Epinay having appointed himself theconductor of his wife, my going with them would then have had a differentappearance; whereas it was I who, in the first place, was asked to takeupon me that employment, and he was out of the question until after myrefusal. 

The answer from Grimm was slow incoming; it was singular enough, on whichaccount I will here transcribe it. 

"The departure of Madam d'Epinay is postponed; her son is ill, and it isnecessary to wait until his health is re-established. I will considerthe contents of your letter. Remain quiet at your Hermitage. I willsend you my opinion as soon as this shall be necessary. As she willcertainly not set off for some days, there is no immediate occasion forit. In the meantime you may, if you think proper, make her your offers, although this to me seems a matter of indifference. For, knowing yoursituation as well as you do yourself, I doubt not of her returning toyour offer such an answer as she ought to do; and all the advantagewhich, in my opinion, can result from this, will be your having it inyour power to say to those by whom you may be importuned, that your notbeing of the travelling party was not for want of having made your offersto that effect. Moreover, I do not see why you will absolutely have itthat the philosopher is the speaking-trumpet of all the world, norbecause he is of opinion you ought to go, why you should imagine all yourfriends think as he does? If you write to Madam d'Epinay, her answerwill be yours to all your friends, since you have it so much at heart togive them all an answer. Adieu. I embrace Madam le Vasseur and theCriminal. "

 [M. Le Vasseur, whose wife governed him rather rudely, called her the Lieutenant Criminal. Grimm in a joke gave the same name to the daughter, and by way of abridgment was pleased to retrench the first word. ]

Struck with astonishment at reading this letter I vainly endeavored tofind out what it meant. How! instead of answering me with simplicity, he took time to consider of what I had written, as if the time he hadalready taken was not sufficient! He intimates even the state ofsuspense in which he wishes to keep me, as if a profound problem was tobe resolved, or that it was of importance to his views to deprive me ofevery means of comprehending his intentions until the moment he shouldthink proper to make them known. What therefore did he mean by theseprecautions, delays, and mysteries? Was this manner of acting consistentwith honor and uprightness? I vainly sought for some favorableinterpretation of his conduct; it was impossible to find one. Whateverhis design might be, were this inimical to me, his situation facilitatedthe execution of it without its being possible for me in mine to opposethe least obstacle. In favor in the house of a great prince, having anextensive acquaintance, and giving the tone to common circles of which hewas the oracle, he had it in his power, with his usual address, todispose everything in his favor; and I, alone in my Hermitage, farremoved from all society, without the benefit of advice, and having nocommunication with the world, had nothing to do but to remain in peace. All I did was to write to Madam d'Epinay upon the illness of her son, aspolite a letter as could be written, but in which I did not fall into thesnare of offering to accompany her to Geneva. 

After waiting for a long time in the most cruel uncertainty, into whichthat barbarous man had plunged me, I learned, at the expiration of eightor ten days, that Madam d'Epinay was setoff, and received from him asecond letter. It contained not more than seven or eight lines which Idid not entirely read. It was a rupture, but in such terms as the mostinfernal hatred only can dictate, and these became unmeaning by theexcessive degree of acrimony with which he wished to charge them. Heforbade me his presence as he would have forbidden me his states. Allthat was wanting to his letter to make it laughable, was to be read overwith coolness. Without taking a copy of it, or reading the whole of thecontents, I returned it him immediately, accompanied by the followingnote:

"I refused to admit the force of the just reasons I had of suspicion: Inow, when it is too late, am become sufficiently acquainted with yourcharacter. 

"This then is the letter upon which you took time to meditate: I returnit to you, it is not for me. You may show mine to the whole world andhate me openly; this on your part will be a falsehood the less. "

My telling he might show my preceding letter related to an article in hisby which his profound address throughout the whole affair will be judgedof. 

I have observed that my letter might inculpate me in the eyes of personsunacquainted with the particulars of what had passed. This he wasdelighted to discover; but how was he to take advantage of it withoutexposing himself? By showing the letter he ran the risk of beingreproached with abusing the confidence of his friend. 

To relieve himself from this embarrassment he resolved to break with mein the most violent manner possible, and to set forth in his letter thefavor he did me in not showing mine. He was certain that in myindignation and anger I should refuse his feigned discretion, and permithim to show my letter to everybody; this was what he wished for, andeverything turned out as he expected it would. He sent my letter allover Paris, with his own commentaries upon it, which, however, were notso successful as he had expected them to be. It was not judged that thepermission he had extorted to make my letter public exempted him from theblame of having so lightly taken me at my word to do me an injury. People continually asked what personal complaints he had against me toauthorize so violent a hatred. Finally, it was thought that if even mybehavior had been such as to authorize him to break with me, friendship, although extinguished, had rights which he ought to have respected. Butunfortunately the inhabitants of Paris are frivolous; remarks of themoment are soon forgotten; the absent and unfortunate are neglected; theman who prospers secures favor by his presence; the intriguing andmalicious support each other, renew their vile efforts, and the effectsof these, incessantly succeeding each other, efface everything by whichthey were preceded. 

Thus, after having so long deceived me, this man threw aside his mask;convinced that, in the state to which he had brought things, he no longerstood in need of it. Relieved from the fear of being unjust towards thewretch, I left him to his reflections, and thought no more of him. Aweek afterwards I received an answer from Madam d'Epinay, dated fromGeneva. I understood from the manner of her letter, in which for thefirst time in her life, she put on airs of state with me, that bothdepending but little upon the success of their measures, and consideringme a man inevitably lost, their intentions were to give themselves thepleasure of completing my destruction. 

In fact, my situation was deplorable. I perceived all my friendswithdrew themselves from me without knowing how or for why. Diderot, whoboasted of the continuation of his attachment, and who, for three monthspast, had promised me a visit, did not come. The winter began to makeits appearance, and brought with it my habitual disorders. Myconstitution, although vigorous, had been unequal to the combat of somany opposite passions. I was so exhausted that I had neither strengthnor courage sufficient to resist the most trifling indisposition. Had myengagements; and the continued remonstrances of Diderot and Madam deHoudetot then permitted me to quit the Hermitage, I knew not where to go, nor in what manner to drag myself along. I remained stupid andimmovable. The idea alone of a step to take, a letter to write, or aword to say, made me tremble. I could not however do otherwise thanreply to the letter of Madam d'Epinay without acknowledging myself to beworthy of the treatment with which she and her friend overwhelmed me. Idetermined upon notifying to her my sentiments and resolutions, notdoubting a moment that from humanity, generosity, propriety, and the goodmanner of thinking, I imagined I had observed in her, notwithstanding herbad one, she would immediately subscribe to them. My letter was asfollows:

 HERMITAGE 23d NOV. , 1757. 

"Were it possible to die of grief I should not now be alive. 

"But I have at length determined to triumph over everything. Friendship, madam, is extinguished between us, but that which no longer exists stillhas its rights, and I respect them. 

"I have not forgotten your goodness to me, and you may, on my part, expectas much gratitude as it is possible to have towards a person I no longercan love. All further explanation would be useless. I have in my favormy own conscience, and I return you your letter. 

"I wished to quit the Hermitage, and I ought to have done it. My friendspretend I must stay there until spring; and since my friends desire it Iwill remain there until that season if you will consent to my stay. "

After writing and despatching this letter all I thought of was remainingquiet at the Hermitage and taking care of my health; of endeavoring torecover my strength, and taking measures to remove in the spring withoutnoise or making the rupture public. But these were not the intentionseither of Grimm or Madam d'Epinay, as it will presently appear. 

A few days afterwards, I had the pleasure of receiving from Diderot thevisit he had so frequently promised, and in which he had as constantlyfailed. He could not have come more opportunely; he was my oldestfriend: almost the only one who remained to me; the pleasure I felt inseeing him, as things were circumstanced, may easily be imagined. Myheart was full, and I disclosed it to him. I explained to him severalfacts which either had not come to his knowledge, or had been disguisedor suppressed. I informed him, as far as I could do it with propriety, of all that had passed. I did not affect to conceal from him that withwhich he was but too well acquainted, that a passion equally unreasonableand unfortunate, had been the cause of my destruction; but I neveracknowledged that Madam d'Houdetot had been made acquainted with it, orat least that I had declared it to her. I mentioned to him the unworthymanoeuvres of Madam d' Epinay to intercept the innocent letters hersister-in-law wrote to me. I was determined he should hear theparticulars from the mouth of the persons whom she had attempted toseduce. Theresa related them with great precision; but what was myastonishment when the mother came to speak, and I heard her declare andmaintain that nothing of this had come to her knowledge? These were herwords from which she would never depart. Not four days before sheherself had recited to me all the particulars Theresa had just stated, and in presence of my friend she contradicted me to my face. This, tome, was decisive, and I then clearly saw my imprudence in having so longa time kept such a woman near me. I made no use of invective; I scarcelydeigned to speak to her a few words of contempt. I felt what I owed tothe daughter, whose steadfast uprightness was a perfect contrast to thebase monoeuvres of the mother. But from the instant my resolution wastaken relative to the old woman, and I waited for nothing but the momentto put it into execution. 

This presented itself sooner than I expected. On the 10th of December Ireceived from Madam d'Epinay the following answer to my preceding letter:

 GENEVA, 1st December, 1757. 

"After having for several years given you every possible mark offriendship all I can now do is to pity you. You are very unhappy. Iwish your conscience may be as calm as mine. This may be necessary tothe repose of your whole life. 

"Since you are determined to quit the Hermitage, and are persuaded thatyou ought to do it, I am astonished your friends have prevailed upon youto stay there. For my part I never consult mine upon my duty, and I havenothing further to say to you upon your own. "

Such an unforeseen dismission, and so fully pronounced, left me not amoment to hesitate. It was necessary to quit immediately, let theweather and my health be in what state they might, although I were tosleep in the woods and upon the snow, with which the ground was thencovered, and in defiance of everything Madam d'Houdetot might say; for Iwas willing to do everything to please her except render myself infamous. 

I never had been so embarrassed in my whole life as I then was; but myresolution was taken. I swore, let what would happen, not to sleep atthe Hermitage on the night of that day week. I began to prepare forsending away my effects, resolving to leave them in the open field ratherthan not give up the key in the course of the week: for I was determinedeverything should be done before a letter could be written to Geneva, andan answer to it received. I never felt myself so inspired with courage:I had recovered all my strength. Honor and indignation, upon which Madamd'Epinay had not calculated, contributed to restore me to vigor. Fortuneaided my audacity. M. Mathas, fiscal procurer, heard of myembarrasament. He sent to offer me a little house he had in his gardenof Mont Louis, at Montmorency. I accepted it with eagerness andgratitude. The bargain was soon concluded: I immediately sent topurchase a little furniture to add to that we already had. My effectsI had carted away with a deal of trouble, and a great expense:notwithstanding the ice and snow my removal was completed in a couple ofdays, and on the fifteenth of December I gave up the keys of theHermitage, after having paid the wages of the gardener, not being able topay my rent. 

With respect to Madam le Vasseur, I told her we must part; her daughterattempted to make me renounce my resolution, but I was inflexible. I sent her off, to Paris in a carriage of the messenger with all thefurniture and effects she and her daughter had in common. I gave hersome money, and engaged to pay her lodging with her children, orelsewhere to provide for her subsistence as much as it should be possiblefor me to do it, and never to let her want bread as long as I should haveit myself. 

Finally the day after my arrival at Mont Louis, I wrote to Madam d'Epinaythe following letter:

 MONTMORENCY, 17th December 1757. 

"Nothing, madam, is so natural and necessary as to leave your house themoment you no longer approve of my remaining there. Upon you refusingyour consent to my passing the rest of the winter at the Hermitage Iquitted it on the fifteenth of December. My destiny was to enter it inspite of myself and to leave it the same. I thank you for the residenceyou prevailed upon me to make there, and I would thank you still more hadI paid for it less dear. You are right in believing me unhappy; nobodyupon earth knows better than yourself to what a degree I must be so. Ifbeing deceived in the choice of our friends be a misfortune, it isanother not less cruel to recover from so pleasing an error. "

Such is the faithful narrative of my residence at the Hermitage, and ofthe reasons which obliged me to leave it. I could not break off therecital, it was necessary to continue it with the greatest exactness;this epoch of my life having had upon the rest of it an influence whichwill extend to my latest remembrance. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK X. 

The extraordinary degree of strength a momentary effervescence had givenme to quit the Hermitage, left me the moment I was out of it. I wasscarcely established in my new habitation before I frequently sufferedfrom retentions, which were accompanied by a new complaint; that of arupture, from which I had for some time, without knowing what it was, felt great inconvenience. I soon was reduced to the most cruel state. The physician Thieiry, my old friend, came to see me, and made meacquainted with my situation. The sight of all the apparatus of theinfirmities of years, made me severely feel that when the body is nolonger young, the heart is not so with impunity. The fine season did notrestore me, and I passed the whole year, 1758, in a state of languor, which made me think I was almost at the end of my career. I saw, withimpatience, the closing scene approach. Recovered from the chimeras offriendship, and detached from everything which had rendered lifedesirable to me, I saw nothing more in it that could make it agreeable;all I perceived was wretchedness and misery, which prevented me fromenjoying myself. I sighed after the moment when I was to be free andescape from my enemies. But I must follow the order of events. 

My retreat to Montmorency seemed to disconcert Madam d'Epinay; probablyshe did not expect it. My melancholy situation, the severity of theseason, the general dereliction of me by my friends, all made her andGrimm believe, that by driving me to the last extremity, they shouldoblige me to implore mercy, and thus, by vile meanness, render myselfcontemptible, to be suffered to remain in an asylum which honor commandedme to leave. I left it so suddenly that they had not time to prevent thestep from being taken, and they were reduced to the alternative of doubleor quit, to endeavor to ruin me entirely, or to prevail upon me toreturn. Grimm chose the former; but I am of opinion Madam d'Epinay wouldhave preferred the latter, and this from her answer to my last letter, in which she seemed to have laid aside the airs she had given herself inthe preceding ones, and to give an opening to an accommodation. The longdelay of this answer, for which she made me wait a whole month, sufficiently indicates the difficulty she found in giving it a properturn, and the deliberations by which it was preceded. She could not makeany further advances without exposing herself; but after her formerletters, and my sudden retreat from her house, it is impossible not to bestruck with the care she takes in this letter not to suffer an offensiveexpression to escape her. I will copy it at length to enable my readerto judge of what she wrote:

 GENEVA, January 17, 1758. 

"SIR: I did not receive your letter of the 17th of December untilyesterday. It was sent me in a box filled with different things, andwhich has been all this time upon the road. I shall answer only thepostscript. You may recollect, sir, that we agreed the wages of thegardener of the Hermitage should pass through your hands, the better tomake him feel that he depended upon you, and to avoid the ridiculous andindecent scenes which happened in the time of his predecessor. As aproof of this, the first quarter of his wages were given to you, and afew days before my departure we agreed I should reimburse you what youhad advanced. I know that of this you, at first, made some difficulty;but I had desired you to make these advances; it was natural I shouldacquit myself towards you, and this we concluded upon. Cahouet informsme that you refused to receive the money. There is certainly somemistake in the matter. I have given orders that it may again be offeredto you, and I see no reason for your wishing to pay my gardener, notwithstanding our conventions, and beyond the term even of yourinhabiting the Hermitage. I therefore expect, sir, that recollectingeverything I have the honor to state, you will not refuse to bereimbursed for the sums you have been pleased to advance for me. "

After what had passed, not having the least confidence in Madam d'Epinay, I was unwilling to renew my connection with her; I returned noanswer to this letter, and there our correspondence ended. Perceiving Ihad taken my resolution, she took hers; and, entering into all the viewsof Grimm and the Coterie Holbachique, she united her efforts with theirsto accomplish my destruction. Whilst they manoevured at Paris, she didthe same at Geneva. Grimm, who afterwards went to her there, completedwhat she had begun. Tronchin, whom they had no difficulty in gainingover, seconded them powerfully, and became the most violent of mypersecutors, without having against me, any more than Grimm had, theleast subject of complaint. They all three spread in silence that ofwhich the effects were seen there four years afterwards. 

They had more trouble at Paris, where I was better known to the citizens, whose hearts, less disposed to hatred, less easily received itsimpressions. The better to direct their blow, they began by giving outthat it was I who had left them. Thence, still feigning to be myfriends, they dexterously spread their malignant accusations bycomplaining of the injustice of their friend. Their auditors, thusthrown off their guard, listened more attentively to what was said of me, and were inclined to blame my conduct. The secret accusations of perfidyand ingratitude were made with greater precaution, and by that means withgreater effect. I knew they imputed to me the most atrocious crimeswithout being able to learn in what these consisted. All I could inferfrom public rumor was that this was founded upon the four followingcapital offences: my retiring to the country; my passion for Madamd'Houdetot; my refusing to accompany Madam d'Epinay to Geneva, and myleaving the Hermitage. If to these they added other griefs, they tooktheir measures so well that it has hitherto been impossible for me tolearn the subject of them. 

It is therefore at this period that I think I may fix the establishmentof a system, since adopted by those by whom my fate has been determined, and which has made such a progress as will seem miraculous to persons whoknow not with what facility everything which favors the malignity of manis established. I will endeavor to explain in a few words what to meappeared visible in this profound and obscure system. 

With a name already distinguished and known throughout all Europe, I hadstill preserved my primitive simplicity. My mortal aversion to all partyfaction and cabal had kept me free and independent, without any otherchain than the attachments of my heart. Alone, a stranger, withoutfamily or fortune, and unconnected with everything except my principlesand duties, I intrepidly followed the paths of uprightness, neverflattering or favoring any person at the expense of truth and justice. Besides, having lived for two years past in solitude, without observingthe course of events, I was unconnected with the affairs of the world, and not informed of what passed, nor desirous of being acquainted withit. I lived four leagues from Paris as much separated from that. Capital by my negligence as I should have been in the Island of Tinian bythe sea. 

Grimm, Diderot and D'Holbach were, on the contrary, in the centre of thevortex, lived in the great world, and divided amongst them almost all thespheres of it. The great wits, men of letters, men of long robe, andwomen, all listened to them when they chose to act in concert. Theadvantage three men in this situation united must have over a fourth inmine, cannot but already appear. It is true Diderot and D'Holbach wereincapable, at least I think so, of forming black conspiracies; one ofthem was not base enough, nor the other sufficiently able; but it was forthis reason that the party was more united. Grimm alone formed his planin his own mind, and discovered more of it than was necessary to inducehis associates to concur in the execution. The ascendency he had gainedover them made this quite easy, and the effect of the whole answered tothe superiority of his talents. 

It was with these, which were of a superior kind, that, perceiving theadvantage he might acquire from our respective situations, he conceivedthe project of overturning my reputation, and, without exposing himself, of giving me one of a nature quite opposite, by raising up about me anedifice of obscurity which it was impossible for me to penetrate, and bythat means throw a light upon his manoevures and unmask him. 

This enterprise was difficult, because it was necessary to palliate theiniquity in the eyes of those of whose assistance he stood in need. He had honest men to deceive, to alienate from me the good opinion ofeverybody, and to deprive me of all my friends. What say I? He had tocut off all communication with me, that not a single word of truth mightreach my ears. Had a single man of generosity come and said to me, "Youassume the appearance of virtue, yet this is the manner in which you aretreated, and these the circumstances by which you are judged: what haveyou to say?" truth would have triumphed and Grimm have been undone. Of this he was fully convinced; but he had examined his own heart andestimated men according to their merit. I am sorry, for the honor ofhumanity, that he judged with so much truth. 

In these dark and crooked paths his steps to be the more sure werenecessarily slow. He has for twelve years pursued his plan and the mostdifficult part of the execution of it is still to come; this is todeceive the public entirely. He is afraid of this public, and dares notlay his conspiracy open. 

 [Since this was written he has made the dangerous step with the fullest and most inconceivable success. I am of opinion it was Tronchin who inspired him with courage, and supplied him with the means. ]

But he has found the easy means of accompanying it with power, and thispower has the disposal of me. Thus supported he advances with lessdanger. The agents of power piquing themselves but little onuprightness, and still less on candor, he has no longer the indiscretionof an honest man to fear. His safety is in my being enveloped in animpenetrable obscurity, and in concealing from me his conspiracy, wellknowing that with whatever art he may have formed it, I could by a singleglance of the eye discover the whole. His great address consists inappearing to favor whilst he defames me, and in giving to his perfidy anair of generosity. 

I felt the first effects of this system by the secret accusations of theCoterie Holbachiens without its being possible for me to know in what theaccusations consisted, or to form a probable conjecture as to the natureof them. De Leyre informed me in his letters that heinous things wereattributed to me. Diderot more mysteriously told me the same thing, andwhen I came to an explanation with both, the whole was reduced to theheads of accusation of which I have already spoken. I perceived agradual increase of coolness in the letters from Madam d'Houdetot. ThisI could not attribute to Saint Lambert; he continued to write to me withthe same friendship, and came to see me after his return. It was alsoimpossible to think myself the cause of it, as we had separated wellsatisfied with each other, and nothing since that time had happened on mypart, except my departure from the Hermitage, of which she felt thenecessity. Therefore, not knowing whence this coolness, which sherefused to acknowledge, although my heart was not to be deceived, couldproceed, I was uneasy upon every account. I knew she greatly favored hersister-in-law and Grimm, in consequence of their connections with SaintLambert; and I was afraid of their machinations. This agitation openedmy wounds, and rendered my correspondence so disagreeable as quite todisgust her with it. I saw, as at a distance, a thousand cruelcircumstances, without discovering anything distinctly. I was in asituation the most insupportable to a man whose imagination is easilyheated. Had I been quite retired from the world, and known nothing ofthe matter I should have become more calm; but my heart still clung toattachments, by means of which my enemies had great advantages over me;and the feeble rays which penetrated my asylum conveyed to me nothingmore than a knowledge of the blackness of the mysteries which wereconcealed from my eyes. 

I should have sunk, I have not a doubt of it, under these torments, toocruel and insupportable to my open disposition, which, by theimpossibility of concealing my sentiments, makes me fear everything fromthose concealed from me, if fortunately objects sufficiently interestingto my heart to divert it from others with which, in spite of myself, myimagination was filled, had not presented themselves. In the last visitDiderot paid me, at the Hermitage, he had spoken of the article 'Geneva', which D'Alembert had inserted in the 'Encyclopedie'; he had informed methat this article, concerted with people of the first consideration, hadfor object the establishment of a theatre at Geneva, that measures hadbeen taken accordingly, and that the establishment would soon take place. As Diderot seemed to think all this very proper, and did not doubt of thesuccess of the measure, and as I had besides to speak to him upon toomany other subjects to touch upon that article, I made him no answer: butscandalized at these preparatives to corruption and licentiousness in mycountry, I waited with impatience for the volume of the 'Encyclopedie', in which the article was inserted; to see whether or not it would bepossible to give an answer which might ward off the blow. I received thevolume soon after my establishment at Mont Louis, and found the articlesto be written with much art and address, and worthy of the pen whence itproceeded. This, however, did not abate my desire to answer it, andnotwithstanding the dejection of spirits I then labored under, my griefsand pains, the severity of the season, and the inconvenience of my newabode, in which I had not yet had time to arrange myself, I set to workwith a zeal which surmounted every obstacle. 

In a severe winter, in the month of February, and in the situation I havedescribed, I went every day, morning and evening, to pass a couple ofhours in an open alcove which was at the bottom of the garden in which myhabitation stood. This alcove, which terminated an alley of a terrace, looked upon the valley and the pond of Montmorency, and presented to me, as the closing point of a prospect, the plain but respectable castle ofSt. Gratien, the retreat of the virtuous Catinat. It was in this place, then, exposed to freezing cold, that without being sheltered from thewind and snow, and having no other fire than that in my heart; Icomposed, in the space of three weeks, my letter to D'Alembert ontheatres. It was in this, for my 'Eloisa' was not then half written, that I found charms in philosophical labor. Until then virtuousindignation had been a substitute to Apollo, tenderness and a gentlenessof mind now became so. The injustice I had been witness to had irritatedme, that of which I became the object rendered me melancholy; and thismelancholy without bitterness was that of a heart too tender andaffectionate, and which, deceived by those in whom it had confided, wasobliged to remain concentred. Full of that which had befallen me, andstill affected by so many violent emotions, my heart added the sentimentof its sufferings to the ideas with which a meditation on my subject hadinspired me; what I wrote bore evident marks of this mixture. Withoutperceiving it I described the situation I was then in, gave portraits ofGrimm, Madam d'Epinay, Madam d' Houdetot, Saint Lambert and myself. Whatdelicious tears did I shed as I wrote! Alas! in these descriptionsthere are proofs but too evident that love, the fatal love of which Imade such efforts to cure myself, still remained in my heart. With allthis there was a certain sentiment of tenderness relative to myself; Ithought I was dying, and imagined I bid the public my last adieu. Farfrom fearing death, I joyfully saw it approach; but I felt some regret atleaving my fellow creatures without their having perceived my real merit, and being convinced how much I should have deserved their esteem had theyknown me better. These are the secret causes of the singular manner inwhich this work, opposite to that of the work by which it was preceded, is written. --[Discours sur l'Inegalite. Discourse on the Inequality ofMankind. ]

I corrected and copied the letter, and was preparing to print it when, after a long silence, I received one from Madam d'Houdetot, which broughtupon me a new affliction more painful than any I had yet suffered. Sheinformed me that my passion for her was known to all Paris, that I hadspoken of it to persons who had made it public, that this rumor, havingreached the ears of her lover, had nearly cost him his life; yet he didher justice, and peace was restored between them; but on his account, aswell as on hers, and for the sake of her reputation, she thought it herduty to break off all correspondence with me, at the same time assuringme that she and her friend were both interested in my welfare, that theywould defend me to the public, and that she herself would, from time totime, send to inquire after my health. 

"And thou also, Diderot, " exclaimed I, "unworthy friend!"

I could not, however, yet resolve to condemn him. My weakness was knownto others who might have spoken of it. I wished to doubt, but this wassoon out of my power. Saint Lambert shortly after performed an actionworthy of himself. Knowing my manner of thinking, he judged of the statein which I must be; betrayed by one part of my friends and forsaken bythe other. He came to see me. The first time he had not many moments tospare. He came again. Unfortunately, not expecting him, I was not athome. Theresa had with him a conversation of upwards of two hours, inwhich they informed each other of facts of great importance to us all. The surprise with which I learned that nobody doubted of my having livedwith Madam d'Epinay, as Grimm then did, cannot be equalled, except bythat of Saint Lambert, when he was convinced that the rumor was false. He, to the great dissatisfaction of the lady, was in the same situationwith myself, and the eclaircissements resulting from the conversationremoved from me all regret, on account of my having broken with herforever. Relative to Madam d'Houdetot, he mentioned severalcircumstances with which neither Theresa nor Madam d'Houdetot herselfwere acquainted; these were known to me only in the first instance, and Ihad never mentioned them except to Diderot, under the seal of friendship;and it was to Saint Lambert himself to whom he had chosen to communicatethem. This last step was sufficient to determine me. I resolved tobreak with Diderot forever, and this without further deliberation, excepton the manner of doing it; for I had perceived secret ruptures turned tomy prejudice, because they left the mask of friendship in possession ofmy most cruel enemies. 

The rules of good breeding, established in the world on this head, seemto have been dictated by a spirit of treachery and falsehood. To appearthe friend of a man when in reality we are no longer so, is to reserve toourselves the means of doing him an injury by surprising honest men intoan error. I recollected that when the illustrious Montesquieu broke withFather de Tournemine, he immediately said to everybody: "Listen neitherto Father Tournemine nor myself, when we speak of each other, for we areno longer friends. " This open and generous proceeding was universallyapplauded. I resolved to follow the example with Diderot; but whatmethod was I to take to publish the rupture authentically from myretreat, and yet without scandal? I concluded on inserting in the formof a note, in my work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus, whichdeclared the rupture and even the subject of it, in terms sufficientlyclear to such as were acquainted with the previous circumstances, butcould signify nothing to the rest of the world. I determined not tospeak in my work of the friend whom I renounced, except with the honoralways due to extinguished friendship. The whole may be seen in the workitself. 

There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune, and every act ofcourage seems to be a crime in adversity. For that which has beenadmired in Montesquieu, I received only blame and reproach. As soon asmy work was printed, and I had copies of it, I sent one to Saint Lambert, who, the evening before, had written to me in his own name and that ofMadam d' Houdetot, a note expressive of the most tender friendship. 

The following is the letter he wrote to me when he returned the copy Ihad sent him. 

 EAUBONNE, 10th October, 1758. 

"Indeed, sir, I cannot accept the present you have just made me. In thatpart of your preface where, relative to Diderot, you quote a passage fromEcclesiastes (he mistakes, it is from Ecclesiasticus) the book droppedfrom my hand. In the conversations we had together in the summer, youseemed to be persuaded Diderot was not guilty of the pretendedindiscretions you had imputed to him. You may, for aught I know to thecontrary, have reason to complain of him, but this does not give you aright to insult him publicly. You are not unacquainted with the natureof the persecutions he suffers, and you join the voice of an old friendto that of envy. I cannot refrain from telling you, sir, how much thisheinous act of yours has shocked me. I am not acquainted with Diderot, but I honor him, and I have a lively sense of the pain you give to a man, whom, at least not in my hearing, you have never reproached with anythingmore than a trifling weakness. You and I, sir, differ too much in ourprinciples ever to be agreeable to each other. Forget that I exist; thisyou will easily do. I have never done to men either good or evil of anature to be long remembered. I promise you, sir, to forget your personand to remember nothing relative to you but your talents. "

This letter filled me with indignation and affliction; and, in the excessof my pangs, feeling my pride wounded, I answered him by the followingnote:

 MONTMORUNCY, 11th October, 1758. 

"SIR: While reading your letter, I did you the honor to be surprised atit, and had the weakness to suffer it to affect me; but I find itunworthy of an answer. 

"I will no longer continue the copies of Madam d'Houdetot. If it be notagreeable to her to keep that she has, she may sent it me back and I willreturn her money. If she keeps it, she must still send for the rest ofher paper and the money; and at the same time I beg she will return methe prospectus which she has in her possession. Adieu, sir. "

Courage under misfortune irritates the hearts of cowards, but it ispleasing to generous minds. This note seemed to make Saint Lambertreflect with himself and to regret his having been so violent; but toohaughty in his turn to make open advances, he seized and perhapsprepared, the opportunity of palliating what he had done. 

A fortnight afterwards I received from Madam d'Epinay the followingletter:

 Thursday, 26th. 

"SIR: I received the book you had the goodness to send me, and which Ihave read with much pleasure. I have always experienced the samesentiment in reading all the works which have come from your pen. Receive my thanks for the whole. I should have returned you these inperson had my affairs permitted me to remain any time in yourneighborhood; but I was not this year long at the Chevrette. M. AndMadam Dupin come there on Sunday to dinner. I expect M. De SaintLambert, M. De Francueil, and Madam d'Houdetot will be of the party;you will do me much pleasure by making one also. All the persons who areto dine with me, desire, and will, as well as myself, be delighted topass with you a part of the day. I have the honor to be with the mostperfect consideration, " etc. 

This letter made my heart beat violently; after having for a year pastbeen the subject of conversation of all Paris, the idea of presentingmyself as a spectacle before Madam d'Houdetot, made me tremble, and I hadmuch difficulty to find sufficient courage to support that ceremony. Yet as she and Saint Lambert were desirous of it, and Madam d'Epinayspoke in the name of her guests without naming one whom I should not beglad to see, I did not think I should expose myself accepting a dinner towhich I was in some degree invited by all the persons who with myselfwere to partake of it. I therefore promised to go: on Sunday the weatherwas bad, and Madam D'Epinay sent me her carriage. 

My arrival caused a sensation. I never met a better reception. Anobserver would have thought the whole company felt how much I stood inneed of encouragement. None but French hearts are susceptible of thiskind of delicacy. However, I found more people than I expected to see. Amongst others the Comte d' Houdetot, whom I did not know, and his sisterMadam de Blainville, without whose company I should have been as wellpleased. She had the year before came several times to Eaubonne, and hersister-in-law had left her in our solitary walks to wait until shethought proper to suffer her to join us. She had harbored a resentmentagainst me, which during this dinner she gratified at her ease. Thepresence of the Comte d' Houdetot and Saint Lambert did not give me thelaugh on my side, and it may be judged that a man embarrassed in the mostcommon conversations was not very brilliant in that which then tookplace. I never suffered so much, appeared so awkward, or received moreunexpected mortifications. As soon as we had risen from table, Iwithdrew from that wicked woman; I had the pleasure of seeing SaintLambert and Madam de'Houdetot approach me, and we conversed together apart of the afternoon, upon things very indifferent it is true, but withthe same familiarity as before my involuntary error. This friendlyattention was not lost upon my heart, and could Saint Lambert have readwhat passed there, he certainly would have been satisfied with it. I cansafely assert that although on my arrival the presence of Madamd'Houdetot gave me the most violent palpitations, on returning from thehouse I scarcely thought of her; my mind was entirely taken up with SaintLambert. 

Notwithstanding the malignant sarcasms of Madam de Blainville, the dinnerwas of great service to me, and I congratulated myself upon not havingrefused the invitation. I not only discovered that the intrigues ofGrimm and the Holbachiens had not deprived me of my old acquaintance, but, what flattered me still more, that Madam d'Houdetot and SaintLambert were less changed than I had imagined, and I at length understoodthat his keeping her at a distance from me proceeded more from jealousythan from disesteem. [Such is the simplicity of my heart was my opinion when I wrote these confessions. ]

This was a consolation to me, and calmed my mind. Certain of not beingan object of contempt in the eyes of persons whom I esteemed, I workedupon my own heart with greater courage and success. If I did not quiteextinguish in it a guilty and an unhappy passion, I at least so wellregulated the remains of it that they have never since that moment ledme into the most trifling error. The copies of Madam d' Houdetot, whichshe prevailed upon me to take again, and my works, which I continued tosend her as soon as they appeared, produced me from her a few notes andmessages, indifferent but obliging. She did still more, as willhereafter appear, and the reciprocal conduct of her lover and myself, after our intercourse had ceased, may serve as an example of the mannerin which persons of honor separate when it is no longer agreeable tothem to associate with each other. 

Another advantage this dinner procured me was its being spoken of inParis, where it served as a refutation of the rumor spread by my enemies, that I had quarrelled with every person who partook of it, and especiallywith M. D'Epinay. When I left the Hermitage I had written him a verypolite letter of thanks, to which he answered not less politely, andmutual civilities had continued, as well between us as between me and M. De la Lalive, his brother-in-law, who even came to see me at Montmorency, and sent me some of his engravings. Excepting the two sisters-in-law ofMadam d'Houdetot, I have never been on bad terms with any person of thefamily. 

My letter to D'Alembert had great success. All my works had been verywell received, but this was more favorable to me. It taught the publicto guard against the insinuations of the Coterie Holbachique. When Iwent to the Hermitage, this Coterie predicted with its usual sufficiency, that I should not remain there three months. When I had stayed theretwenty months, and was obliged to leave it, I still fixed my residence inthe country. The Coterie insisted this was from a motive of pureobstinacy, and that I was weary even to death of my retirement; but that, eaten up with pride, I chose rather to become a victim of my stubbornnessthan to recover from it and return to Paris. The letter to D'Alembertbreathed a gentleness of mind which every one perceived not to beaffected. Had I been dissatisfied with my retreat, my style and mannerwould have borne evident marks of my ill-humor. This reigned in all theworks I had written in Paris; but in the first I wrote in the country notthe least appearance of it was to be found. To persons who knew how todistinguish, this remark was decisive. They perceived I was returned tomy element. 

Yet the same work, notwithstanding all the mildness it breathed, made meby a mistake of my own and my usual ill-luck, another enemy amongst menof letters. I had become acquainted with Marmontel at the house of M. Dela Popliniere, and his acquaintance had been continued at that of thebaron. Marmontel at that time wrote the 'Mercure de France'. As I hadtoo much pride to send my works to the authors of periodicalpublications, and wishing to send him this without his imagining it wasin consequence of that title, or being desirous he should speak of it inthe Mercure, I wrote upon the book that it was not for the author of theMercure, but for M. Marmontel. I thought I paid him a fine compliment;he mistook it for a cruel offence, and became my irreconcilable enemy. He wrote against the letter with politeness, it is true, but with abitterness easily perceptible, and since that time has never lost anopportunity of injuring me in society, and of indirectly ill-treating mein his works. Such difficulty is there in managing the irritableself-love of men of letters, and so careful ought every person to benot to leave anything equivocal in the compliments they pay them. 

Having nothing more to disturb me, I took advantage of my leisure andindependence to continue my literary pursuits with more coherence. Ithis winter finished my Eloisa, and sent it to Rey, who had it printedthe year following. I was, however, interrupted in my projects by acircumstance sufficiently disagreeable. I heard new preparations weremaking at the opera-house to give the 'Devin du Village'. Enraged atseeing these people arrogantly dispose of my property, I again took upthe memoir I had sent to M. D'Argenson, to which no answer had beenreturned, and having made some trifling alterations in it, I sent themanuscript by M. Sellon, resident from Geneva, and a letter with which hewas pleased to charge himself, to the Comte de St. Florentin, who hadsucceeded M. D'Argenson in the opera department. Duclos, to whom Icommunicated what I had done, mentioned it to the 'petits violons', whooffered to restore me, not my opera, but my freedom of the theatre, whichI was no longer in a situation to enjoy. Perceiving I had not from anyquarter the least justice to expect, I gave up the affair; and thedirectors of the opera, without either answering or listening to myreasons, have continued to dispose as of their own property, and to turnto their profit, the Devin du Village, which incontestably belong tonobody but myself. 

Since I had shaken off the yoke of my tyrants, I led a life sufficientlyagreeable and peaceful; deprived of the charm of too strong attachmentsI was delivered from the weight of their chains. Disgusted with thefriends who pretended to be my protectors, and wished absolutely todispose of me at will, and in spite of myself, to subject me to theirpretended good services, I resolved in future to have no otherconnections than those of simple benevolence. These, without the leastconstraint upon liberty, constitute the pleasure of society, of whichequality is the basis. I had of them as many as were necessary to enableme to taste of the charm of liberty without being subject to thedependence of it; and as soon as I had made an experiment of this mannerof life, I felt it was the most proper to my age, to end my days inpeace, far removed from the agitations, quarrels and cavillings in whichI had just been half submerged. 

During my residence at the Hermitage, and after my settlement atMontmorency, I had made in the neighborhood some agreeable acquaintance, and which did not subject me to any inconvenience. The principal ofthese was young Loiseau de Mauleon, who, then beginning to plead at thebar, did not yet know what rank he would one day hold there. I for mypart was not in the least doubt about the matter. I soon pointed out tohim the illustrious career in the midst of which he is now seen, andpredicted that, if he laid down to himself rigid rules for the choice ofcauses, and never became the defender of anything but virtue and justice, his genius, elevated by this sublime sentiment, would be equal to that ofthe greatest orators. He followed my advice, and now feels the goodeffects of it. His defence of M. De Portes is worthy of Demosthenes. Hecame every year within a quarter of a league of the Hermitage to pass thevacation at St. Brice, in the fife of Mauleon, belonging to his mother, and where the great Bossuet had formerly lodged. This is a fief, ofwhich a like succession of proprietors would render nobility difficult tosupport. 

I had also for a neighbor in the same village of St. Brice, thebookseller Guerin, a man of wit, learning, of an amiable disposition, andone of the first in his profession. He brought me acquainted with JeanNeaulme, bookseller of Amsterdam, his friend and correspondent, whoafterwards printed Emilius. 

I had another acquaintance still nearer than St. Brice, this was M. Maltor, vicar of Groslay, a man better adapted for the functions of astatesman and a minister, than for those of the vicar of a village, andto whom a diocese at least would have been given to govern if talentsdecided the disposal of places. He had been secretary to the Comte deLuc, and was formerly intimately acquainted with Jean Bapiste Rousseau. Holding in as much esteem the memory of that illustrious exile, as heheld the villain who ruined him in horror; he possessed curious anecdotesof both, which Segur had not inserted in the life, still in manuscript, of the former, and he assured me that the Comte de Luc, far from everhaving had reason to complain of his conduct, had until his last momentpreserved for him the warmest friendship. M. Maltor, to whom M. DeVintimille gave this retreat after the death of his patron, had formerlybeen employed in many affairs of which, although far advanced in years, he still preserved a distinct remembrance, and reasoned upon themtolerably well. His conversation, equally amusing and instructive, hadnothing in it resembling that of a village pastor: he joined the mannersof a man of the world to the knowledge of one who passes his life instudy. He, of all my permanent neighbors, was the person whose societywas the most agreeable to me. 

I was also acquainted at Montmorency with several fathers of the oratory, and amongst others Father Berthier, professor of natural philosophy; towhom, notwithstanding some little tincture of pedantry, I become attachedon account of a certain air of cordial good nature which I observed inhim. I had, however, some difficulty to reconcile this great simplicitywith the desire and the art he had of everywhere thrusting himself intothe company of the great, as well as that of the women, devotees, andphilosophers. He knew how to accommodate himself to every one. I wasgreatly pleased with the man, and spoke of my satisfaction to all myother acquaintances. Apparently what I said of him came to his ear. Heone day thanked me for having thought him a good-natured man. I observedsomething in his forced smile which, in my eyes, totally changed hisphysiognomy, and which has since frequently occurred to my mind. Icannot better compare this smile than to that of Panurge purchasing theSheep of Dindenaut. Our acquaintance had begun a little time after myarrival at the Hermitage, to which place he frequently came to see me. Iwas already settled at Montmorency when he left it to go and reside atParis. He often saw Madam le Vasseur there. One day, when I leastexpected anything of the kind, he wrote to me in behalf of that woman, informing me that Grimm offered to maintain her, and to ask my permissionto accept the offer. This I understood consisted in a pension of threehundred livres, and that Madam le Vasseur was to come and live at Deuil, between the Chevrette and Montmorency. I will not say what impressionthe application made on me. It would have been less surprising had Grimmhad ten thousand livres a year, or any relation more easy to comprehendwith that woman, and had not such a crime been made of my taking her tothe country, where, as if she had become younger, he was now pleased tothink of placing her. I perceived the good old lady had no other reasonfor asking my permission, which she might easily have done without, butthe fear of losing what I already gave her, should I think ill of thestep she took. Although this charity appeared to be very extraordinary, it did not strike me so much then as afterwards. But had I known eveneverything I have since discovered, I should still as readily have givenmy consent as I did and was obliged to do, unless I had exceeded theoffer of M. Grimm. Father Berthier afterwards cured me a little of myopinion of his good nature and cordiality, with which I had sounthinkingly charged him. 

This same Father Berthier was acquainted with two men, who, for whatreason I know not, were to become so with me; there was but littlesimilarity between their taste and mine. They were the children ofMelchisedec, of whom neither the country nor the family was known, nomore than, in all probability, the real name. They were Jansenists, andpassed for priests in disguise, perhaps on account of their ridiculousmanner of wearing long swords, to which they appeared to have beenfastened. The prodigious mystery in all their proceedings gave them theappearance of the heads of a party, and I never had the least doubt oftheir being the authors of the 'Gazette Ecclesiastique'. The one, tall, smooth-tongued, and sharping, was named Ferrand; the other, short, squat, a sneerer, and punctilious, was a M. Minard. They called each othercousin. They lodged at Paris with D'Alembert, in the house of his nursenamed Madam Rousseau, and had taken at Montmorency a little apartment topass the summers there. They did everything for themselves, and hadneither a servant nor runner; each had his turn weekly to purchaseprovisions, do the business of the kitchen, and sweep the house. Theymanaged tolerably well, and we sometimes ate with each other. I know notfor what reason they gave themselves any concern about me: for my part, my only motive for beginning an acquaintance with them was their playingat chess, and to make a poor little party I suffered four hours' fatigue. As they thrust themselves into all companies, and wished to intermeddlein everything, Theresa called them the gossips, and by this name theywere long known at Montmorency. 

Such, with my host M. Mathas, who was a good man, were my principalcountry acquaintance. I still had a sufficient number at Paris to livethere agreeably whenever I chose it, out of the sphere of men of letters, amongst whom Duclos, was the only friend I reckoned: for De Levre wasstill too young, and although, after having been a witness to themanoeuvres of the philosophical tribe against me, he had withdrawn fromit, at least I thought so, I could not yet forget the facility with whichhe made himself the mouthpiece of all the people of that description. 

In the first place I had my old and respectable friend Roguin. This wasa good old-fashioned friend for whom I was not indebted to my writingsbut to myself, and whom for that reason I have always preserved. I hadthe good Lenieps, my countryman, and his daughter, then alive, MadamLambert. I had a young Genevese, named Coindet, a good creature, careful, officious, zealous, who came to see me soon after I had gone toreside at the Hermitage, and, without any other introducer than himself, had made his way into my good graces. He had a taste for drawing, andwas acquainted with artists. He was of service to me relative to theengravings of the New Eloisa; he undertook the direction of the drawingsand the plates, and acquitted himself well of the commission. 

I had free access to the house of M. Dupin, which, less brilliant than inthe young days of Madam Dupin, was still, by the merit of the heads ofthe family, and the choice of company which assembled there, one of thebest houses in Paris. As I had not preferred anybody to them, and hadseparated myself from their society to live free and independent, theyhad always received me in a friendly manner, and I was always certain ofbeing well received by Madam Dupin. I might even have counted heramongst my country neighbors after her establishment at Clichy, to whichplace I sometimes went to pass a day or two, and where I should have beenmore frequently had Madam Dupin and Madam de Chenonceaux been upon betterterms. But the difficulty of dividing my time in the same house betweentwo women whose manner of thinking was unfavorable to each other, madethis disagreeable: however I had the pleasure of seeing her more at myease at Deuil, where, at a trifling distance from me, she had taken asmall house, and even at my own habitation, where she often came to seeme. 

I had likewise for a friend Madam de Crequi, who, having become devout, no longer received D'Alembert, Marmontel, nor a single man of letters, except, I believe the Abbe Trublet, half a hypocrite, of whom she wasweary. I, whose acquaintance she had sought lost neither her good wishesnor intercourse. She sent me young fat pullets from Mons, and herintention was to come and see me the year following had not a journey, upon which Madam de Luxembourg determined, prevented her. I here owe hera place apart; she will always hold a distinguished one in myremembrance. 

In this list I should also place a man whom, except Roguin, I ought tohave mentioned as the first upon it; my old friend and brotherpolitician, De Carrio, formerly titulary secretary to the embassy fromSpain to Venice, afterwards in Sweden, where he was charge des affaires, and at length really secretary to the embassy from Spain at Paris. Hecame and surprised me at Montmorency when I least expected him. He wasdecorated with the insignia of a Spanish order, the name of which I haveforgotten, with a fine cross in jewelry. He had been obliged, in hisproofs of nobility, to add a letter to his name, and to bear that of theChevalier de Carrion. I found him still the same man, possessing thesame excellent heart, and his mind daily improving, and becoming more andmore amiable. We would have renewed our former intimacy had not Coindetinterposed according to custom, taken advantage of the distance I was atfrom town to insinuate himself into my place, and, in my name, into hisconfidence, and supplant me by the excess of his zeal to render meservices. 

The remembrance of Carrion makes me recollect one of my countryneighbors, of whom I should be inexcusable not to speak, as I have tomake confession of an unpardonable neglect of which I was guilty towardshim: this was the honest M. Le Blond, who had done me a service atVenice, and, having made an excursion to France with his family, hadtaken a house in the country, at Birche, not far from Montmorency. 

 [When I wrote this, full of my blind confidence, I was far from suspecting the real motive and the effect of his journey to Paris. ]

As soon as I heard he was my neighbor, I, in the joy of my heart, andmaking it more a pleasure than a duty, went to pay him a visit. I setoff upon this errand the next day. I was met by people who were comingto see me, and with whom I was obliged to return. Two days afterwards Iset off again for the same purpose: he had dined at Paris with all hisfamily. A third time he was at home: I heard the voice of women, andsaw, at the door, a coach which alarmed me. I wished to see him, atleast for the first time, quite at my ease, that we might talk over whathad passed during our former connection. 

In fine, I so often postponed my visit from day to day, that the shame ofdischarging a like duty so late prevented me from doing it at all; afterhaving dared to wait so long, I no longer dared to present myself. Thisnegligence, at which M. Le Blond could not but be justly offended, gave, relative to him, the appearance of ingratitude to my indolence, and yet Ifelt my heart so little culpable that, had it been in my power to do M. Le Blond the least service, even unknown to himself, I am certain hewould not have found me idle. But indolence, negligence and delay inlittle duties to be fulfilled have been more prejudicial to me than greatvices. My greatest faults have been omissions: I have seldom done what Iought not to have done, and unfortunately it has still more rarelyhappened that I have done what I ought. 

Since I am now upon the subject of my Venetian acquaintance, I must notforget one which I still preserved for a considerable time after myintercourse with the rest had ceased. This was M. De Joinville, whocontinued after his return from Genoa to show me much friendship. He wasfond of seeing me and of conversing with me upon the affairs of Italy, and the follies of M. De Montaigu, of whom he of himself knew manyanecdotes, by means of his acquaintance in the office for foreign affairsin which he was much connected. I had also the pleasure of seeing at myhouse my old comrade Dupont who had purchased a place in the province ofwhich he was, and whose affairs had brought him to Paris. M. DeJoinville became by degrees so desirous of seeing me, that he in somemeasure laid me under constraint; and, although our places of residencewere at a great distance from each other, we had a friendly quarrel whenI let a week pass without going to dine with him. When he went toJoinville he was always desirous of my accompanying him; but having oncebeen there to pass a week I had not the least desire to return. M. DeJoinville was certainly an honest man, and even amiable in certainrespects but his understanding was beneath mediocrity; he was handsome, rather fond of his person and tolerably fatiguing. He had one of themost singular collections perhaps in the world, to which he gave much ofhis attention and endeavored to acquire it that of his friends, to whomit sometimes afforded less amusement than it did to himself. This was acomplete collection of songs of the court and Paris for upwards of fiftyyears past, in which many anecdotes were to be found that would have beensought for in vain elsewhere. These are memoirs for the history ofFrance, which would scarcely be thought of in any other country. 

One day, whilst we were still upon the very best terms, he received me socoldly and in a manner so different from that which was customary to him, that after having given him an opportunity to explain, and even havingbegged him to do it, I left his house with a resolution, in which I havepersevered, never to return to it again; for I am seldom seen where Ihave been once ill received, and in this case there was no Diderot whopleaded for M. De Joinville. I vainly endeavored to discover what I haddone to offend him; I could not recollect a circumstance at which hecould possibly have taken offence. I was certain of never having spokenof him or his in any other than in the most honorable manner; for he hadacquired my friendship, and besides my having nothing but favorablethings to say of him, my most inviolable maxim has been that of neverspeaking but in an honorable manner of the houses I frequented. 

At length, by continually ruminating. I formed the following conjecture:the last time we had seen each other, I had supped with him at theapartment of some girls of his acquaintance, in company with two or threeclerks in the office of foreign affairs, very amiable men, and who hadneither the manner nor appearance of libertines; and on my part, I canassert that the whole evening passed in making melancholy reflections onthe wretched fate of the creatures with whom we were. I did not payanything, as M. De Joinville gave the supper, nor did I make the girlsthe least present, because I gave them not the opportunity I had done tothe padoana of establishing a claim to the trifle I might have offered, We all came away together, cheerfully and upon very good terms. Withouthaving made a second visit to the girls, I went three or four daysafterwards to dine with M. De Joinville, whom I had not seen during thatinterval, and who gave me the reception of which I have spoken. Unableto suppose any other cause for it than some misunderstanding relative tothe supper, and perceiving he had no inclination to explain, I resolvedto visit him no longer, but I still continued to send him my works: hefrequently sent me his compliments, and one evening, meeting him in thegreen-room of the French theatre, he obligingly reproached me with nothaving called to see him, which, however, did not induce me to departfrom my resolution. Therefore this affair had rather the appearance of acoolness than a rupture. However, not having heard of nor seen him sincethat time, it would have been too late after an absence of several years, to renew my acquaintance with him. It is for this reason M. De Joinvilleis not named in my list, although I had for a considerable timefrequented his house. 

I will not swell my catalogue with the names of many other persons withwhom I was or had become less intimate, although I sometimes saw them inthe country, either at my own house or that of some neighbor, such forinstance as the Abbes de Condillac and De Malby, M. De Mairan, De laLalive, De Boisgelou, Vatelet, Ancelet, and others. I will also passlightly over that of M. De Margency, gentleman in ordinary of the king, an ancient member of the 'Coterie Holbachique', which he had quitted aswell as myself, and the old friend of Madam d'Epinay from whom he hadseparated as I had done; I likewise consider that of M. Desmahis, hisfriend, the celebrated but short-lived author of the comedy of theImpertinent, of much the same importance. The first was my neighbor inthe country, his estate at Margency being near to Montmorency. We wereold acquaintances, but the neighborhood and a certain conformity ofexperience connected us still more. The last died soon afterwards. Hehad merit and even wit, but he was in some degree the original of hiscomedy, and a little of a coxcomb with women, by whom he was not muchregretted. 

I cannot, however, omit taking notice of a new correspondence I enteredinto at this period, which has had too much influence over the rest of mylife not to make it necessary for me to mark its origin. The person inquestion is De Lamoignon de Malesherbes of the 'Cour des aides', thencensor of books, which office he exercised with equal intelligence andmildness, to the great satisfaction of men of letters. I had not oncebeen to see him at Paris; yet I had never received from him any otherthan the most obliging condescensions relative to the censorship, and Iknew that he had more than once very severely reprimanded persons who hadwritten against me. I had new proofs of his goodness upon the subject ofthe edition of Eloisa. The proofs of so great a work being veryexpensive from Amsterdam by post, he, to whom all letters were free, permitted these to be addressed to him, and sent them to me under thecountersign of the chancellor his father. When the work was printed hedid not permit the sale of it in the kingdom until, contrary to my wishesan edition had been sold for my benefit. As the profit of this would onmy part have been a theft committed upon Rey, to whom I had sold themanuscript, I not only refused to accept the present intended me, withouthis consent, which he very generously gave, but persisted upon dividingwith him the hundred pistoles (a thousand livres--forty pounds), theamount of it but of which he would not receive anything. For thesehundred pistoles I had the mortification, against which M. De Malesherbeshad not guarded me, of seeing my work horribly mutilated, and the sale ofthe good edition stopped until the bad one was entirely disposed of. 

I have always considered M. De Malesherbes as a man whose uprightness wasproof against every temptation. Nothing that has happened has even mademe doubt for a moment of his probity; but, as weak as he is polite, hesometimes injures those he wishes to serve by the excess of his zeal topreserve them from evil. He not only retrenched a hundred pages in theedition of Paris, but he made another retrenchment, which no person butthe author could permit himself to do, in the copy of the good edition hesent to Madam de Pompadour. It is somewhere said in that work that thewife of a coal-heaver is more respectable than the mistress of a prince. This phrase had occurred to me in the warmth of composition without anyapplication. In reading over the work I perceived it would be applied, yet in consequence of the very imprudent maxim I had adopted of notsuppressing anything, on account of the application which might be made, when my conscience bore witness to me that I had not made them at thetime I wrote, I determined not to expunge the phrase, and contentedmyself with substituting the word Prince to King, which I had firstwritten. This softening did not seem sufficient to M. De Malesherbes: heretrenched the whole expression in a new sheet which he had printed onpurpose and stuck in between the other with as much exactness as possiblein the copy of Madam de Pompadour. She was not ignorant of thismanoeuvre. Some good-natured people took the trouble to inform her ofit. For my part, it was not until a long time afterwards, and when Ibegan to feel the consequences of it, that the matter came to myknowledge. 

Is not this the origin of the concealed but implacable hatred of anotherlady who was in a like situation, without my knowing it, or even beingacquainted with her person when I wrote the passage? When the book waspublished the acquaintance was made, and I was very uneasy. I mentionedthis to the Chevalier de Lorenzy, who laughed at me, and said the ladywas so little offended that she had not even taken notice of the matter. I believed him, perhaps rather too lightly, and made myself easy whenthere was much reason for my being otherwise. 

At the beginning of the winter I received an additional mark of thegoodness of M. De Malesherbes of which I was very sensible, although Idid not think proper to take advantage of it. A place was vacant in the'Journal des Savans'. Margency wrote to me, proposing to me the place, as from himself. But I easily perceived from the manner of the letterthat he was dictated to and authorized; he afterwards told me he had beendesired to make me the offer. The occupations of this place were buttrifling. All I should have had to do would have been to make twoabstracts a month, from the books brought to me for that purpose, withoutbeing under the necessity of going once to Paris, not even to pay themagistrate a visit of thanks. By this employment I should have entered asociety of men of letters of the first merit; M. De Mairan, Clairaut, DeGuignes and the Abbe Barthelemi, with the first two of whom I had alreadymade an acquaintance, and that of the two others was very desirable. Infine, for this trifling employment, the duties of which I might socommodiously have discharged, there was a salary of eight hundred livres(thirty-three pounds); I was for a few hours undecided, and this from afear of making Margency angry and displeasing M. De Malesherbes. But atlength the insupportable constraint of not having it in my power to workwhen I thought proper, and to be commanded by time; and moreover thecertainty of badly performing the functions with which I was to chargemyself, prevailed over everything, and determined me to refuse a placefor which I was unfit. I knew that my whole talent consisted in acertain warmth of mind with respect to the subjects of what I had totreat, and that nothing but the love of that which was great, beautifuland sublime, could animate my genius. What would the subjects of theextracts I should have had to make from books, or even the booksthemselves, have signified to me? My indifference about them would havefrozen my pen, and stupefied my mind. People thought I could make atrade of writing, as most of the other men of letters did, instead ofwhich I never could write but from the warmth of imagination. Thiscertainly was not necessary for the 'Journal des Savans'. I thereforewrote to Margency a letter of thanks, in the politest terms possible, andso well explained to him my reasons, that it was not possible that eitherhe or M. De Malesherbes could imagine there was pride or ill-humor in myrefusal. They both approved of it without receiving me less politely, and the secret was so well kept that it was never known to the public. 

The proposition did not come in a favorable moment. I had some timebefore this formed the project of quitting literature, and especially thetrade of an author. I had been disgusted with men of letters byeverything that had lately befallen me, and had learned from experiencethat it was impossible to proceed in the same track without having someconnections with them. I was not much less dissatisfied with men of theworld, and in general with the mixed life I had lately led, half tomyself and half devoted to societies for which I was unfit. I felt morethan ever, and by constant experience, that every unequal association isdisadvantageous to the weaker person. Living with opulent people, and ina situation different from that I had chosen, without keeping a house asthey did, I was obliged to imitate them in many things; and littleexpenses, which were nothing to their fortunes, were for me not lessruinous than indispensable. Another man in the country-house of afriend, is served by his own servant, as well at table as in his chamber;he sends him to seek for everything he wants; having nothing directly todo with the servants of the house, not even seeing them, he gives themwhat he pleases, and when he thinks proper; but I, alone, and without aservant, was at the mercy of the servants of the house, of whom it wasnecessary to gain the good graces, that I might not have much to suffer;and being treated as the equal of their master, I was obliged to treatthem accordingly, and better than another would have done, because, infact, I stood in greater need of their services. This, where there arebut few domestics, may be complied with; but in the houses I frequentedthere were a great number, and the knaves so well understood theirinterests that they knew how to make me want the services of them allsuccessively. The women of Paris, who have so much wit, have no justidea of this inconvenience, and in their zeal to economize my purse theyruined me. If I supped in town, at any considerable distance from mylodgings, instead of permitting me to send for a hackney coach, themistress of the house ordered her horses to be put to and sent me home inher carriage. She was very glad to save me the twenty-four sous(shilling) for the fiacre, but never thought of the half-crown I gave toher coachman and footman. If a lady wrote to me from Paris to the Hermitage or to Montmorency, she regretted the four sous (two pence) thepostage of the letter would have cost me, and sent it by one of herservants, who came sweating on foot, and to whom I gave a dinner and halfa crown, which he certainly had well earned. If she proposed to me topass with her a week or a fortnight at her country-house, she still saidto herself, "It will be a saving to the poor man; during that time hiseating will cost him nothing. " She never recollected that I was thewhole time idle, that the expenses of my family, my rent, linen andclothes were still going on, that I paid my barber double that it cost memore being in her house than in my own, and although I confined mylittle largesses to the house in which I customarily lived, that thesewere still ruinous to me. I am certain I have paid upwards oftwenty-five crowns in the house of Madam d'Houdetot, at Raubonne, whereI never slept more than four or five times, and upwards of a thousandlivres (forty pounds) as well at Epinay as at the Chevrette, during thefive or six years I was most assiduous there. These expenses areinevitable to a man like me, who knows not how to provide anything forhimself, and cannot support the sight of a lackey who grumbles andserves him with a sour look. With Madam Dupin, even where I was one ofthe family, and in whose house I rendered many services to the servants, I never received theirs but for my money. In course of time it wasnecessary to renounce these little liberalities, which my situation nolonger permitted me to bestow, and I felt still more severely theinconvenience of associating with people in a situation different frommy own. 

Had this manner of life been to my taste, I should have been consoled fora heavy expense, which I dedicated to my pleasures; but to ruin myself atthe same time that I fatigued my mind, was insupportable, and I had sofelt the weight of this, that, profiting by the interval of liberty Ithen had, I was determined to perpetuate it, and entirely to renouncegreat companies, the composition of books, and all literary concerns, andfor the remainder of my days to confine myself to the narrow and peacefulsphere in which I felt I was born to move. 

The produce of this letter to D'Alembert, and of the New Elosia, had alittle improved the state of my finances, which had been considerablyexhausted at the Hermitage. Emilius, to which, after I had finishedEloisa, I had given great application, was in forwardness, and theproduce of this could not be less than the sum of which I was already inpossession. I intended to place this money in such a manner as toproduce me a little annual income, which, with my copying, might besufficient to my wants without writing any more. I had two other worksupon the stocks. The first of these was my 'Institutions Politiques'. I examined the state of this work, and found it required several years'labor. I had not courage enough to continue it, and to wait until it wasfinished before I carried my intentions into execution. Therefore, laying the book aside, I determined to take from it all I could, and toburn the rest; and continuing this with zeal without interruptingEmilius, I finished the 'Contrat Social'. 

The dictionary of music now remained. This was mechanical, and might betaken up at any time; the object of it was entirely pecuniary. Ireserved to myself the liberty of laying it aside, or of finishing it atmy ease, according as my other resources collected should render thisnecessary or superfluous. With respect to the 'Morale Sensitive', of which I had made nothing more than a sketch, I entirely gave it up. 

As my last project, if I found I could not entirely do without copying, was that of removing from Paris, where the affluence of my visitorsrendered my housekeeping expensive, and deprived me of the time I shouldhave turned to advantage to provide for it; to prevent in my retirementthe state of lassitude into which an author is said to fall when he haslaid down his pen, I reserved to myself an occupation which might fill upthe void in my solitude without tempting me to print anything more. I know not for what reason they had long tormented me to write thememoirs of my life. Although these were not until that time interestingas to the facts, I felt they might become so by the candor with which Iwas capable of giving them, and I determined to make of these the onlywork of the kind, by an unexampled veracity, that, for once at least, theworld might see a man such as he internally was. I had always laughed atthe false ingenuousness of Montaigne, who, feigning to confess hisfaults, takes great care not to give himself any, except such as areamiable; whilst I, who have ever thought, and still think myself, considering everything, the best of men, felt there is no human being, however pure he maybe, who does not internally conceal some odious vice. I knew I was described to the public very different from what I reallywas, and so opposite, that notwithstanding my faults, all of which I wasdetermined to relate, I could not but be a gainer by showing myself in myproper colors. This, besides, not being to be done without setting forthothers also in theirs and the work for the same reason not being of anature to appear during my lifetime, and that of several other persons, I was the more encouraged to make my confession, at which I should neverhave to blush before any person. I therefore resolved to dedicate myleisure to the execution of this undertaking, and immediately began tocollect such letters and papers as might guide or assist my memory, greatly regretting the loss of all I had burned, mislaid and destroyed. 

The project of absolute retirement, one of the most reasonable I had everformed, was strongly impressed upon my mind, and for the execution of itI was already taking measures, when Heaven, which prepared me a differentdestiny, plunged me into a another vortex. 

Montmorency, the ancient and fine patrimony of the illustrious family ofthat name, was taken from it by confiscation. It passed by the sister ofDuke Henry, to the house of Conde, which has changed the name ofMontmorency to that of Enguien, and the duchy has no other castle than anold tower, where the archives are kept, and to which the vassals come todo homage. But at Montmorency, or Enguien, there is a private house, built by Crosat, called 'le pauvre', which having the magnificence of themost superb chateaux, deserves and bears the name of a castle. Themajestic appearance of this noble edifice, the view from it, not equalledperhaps in any country; the spacious saloon, painted by the hand of amaster; the garden, planted by the celebrated Le Notre; all combined toform a whole strikingly majestic, in which there is still a simplicitythat enforces admiration. The Marechal Duke de Luxembourg who theninhabited this house, came every year into the neighborhood whereformerly his ancestors were the masters, to pass, at least, five or sixweeks as a private inhabitant, but with a splendor which did notdegenerate from the ancient lustre of his family. On the first journeyhe made to it after my residing at Montmorency, he and his lady sent tome a valet de chambre, with their compliments, inviting me to sup withthem as often as it should be agreeable to me; and at each time of theircoming they never failed to reiterate the same compliments andinvitation. This called to my recollection Madam Beuzenval sending me todine in the servants' hall. Times were changed; but I was still the sameman. I did not choose to be sent to dine in the servants' hall, and wasbut little desirous of appearing at the table of the great I should havebeen much better pleased had they left me as I was, without caressing meand rendering me ridiculous. I answered politely and respectfully toMonsieur and Madam de Luxembourg, but I did not accept their offers, andmy indisposition and timidity, with my embarrassment in speaking; makingme tremble at the idea alone of appearing in an assembly of people of thecourt. I did not even go to the castle to pay a visit of thanks, although I sufficiently comprehended this was all they desired, and thattheir eager politeness was rather a matter of curiosity than benevolence. 

However, advances still were made, and even became more pressing. The Countess de Boufflers, who was very intimate with the lady of themarechal, sent to inquire after my health, and to beg I would go and seeher. I returned her a proper answer, but did not stir from my house. At the journey of Easter, the year following, 1759, the Chevalier deLorenzy, who belonged to the court of the Prince of Conti, and wasintimate with Madam de Luxembourg, came several times to see me, and webecame acquainted; he pressed me to go to the castle, but I refused tocomply. At length, one afternoon, when I least expected anything of thekind, I saw coming up to the house the Marechal de Luxembourg, followedby five or six persons. There was now no longer any means of defence;and I could not, without being arrogant and unmannerly, do otherwise thanreturn this visit, and make my court to Madam la Marechale, from whom themarechal had been the bearer of the most obliging compliments to me. Thus, under unfortunate auspices, began the connections from which Icould no longer preserve myself, although a too well-founded foresightmade me afraid of them until they were made. 

I was excessively afraid of Madam de Luxembourg. I knew, she was amiableas to manner. I had seen her several times at the theatre, and with theDuchess of Boufflers, and in the bloom of her beauty; but she was said tobe malignant; and this in a woman of her rank made me tremble. I hadscarcely seen her before I was subjugated. I thought her charming, withthat charm proof against time and which had the most powerful action uponmy heart. I expected to find her conversation satirical and full ofpleasantries and points. It was not so; it was much better. Theconversation of Madam de Luxembourg is not remarkably full of wit; it hasno sallies, nor even finesse; it is exquisitely delicate, never striking, but always pleasing. Her flattery is the more intoxicating as it isnatural; it seems to escape her involuntarily, and her heart to overflowbecause it is too full. I thought I perceived, on my first visit, thatnotwithstanding my awkward manner and embarrassed expression, I was notdispleasing to her. All the women of the court know how to persuade usof this when they please, whether it be true or not, but they do not all, like Madam de Luxembourg, possess the art of rendering that persuasion soagreeable that we are no longer disposed ever to have a doubt remaining. From the first day my confidence in her would have been as full as itsoon afterwards became, had not the Duchess of Montmorency, herdaughter-in-law, young, giddy, and malicious also, taken it into herhead to attack me, and in the midst of the eulogiums of her mamma, andfeigned allurements on her own account, made me suspect I was onlyconsidered by them as a subject of ridicule. 

It would perhaps have been difficult to relieve me from this fear withthese two ladies had not the extreme goodness of the marechal confirmedme in the belief that theirs was not real. Nothing is more surprising, considering my timidity, than the promptitude with which I took him athis word on the footing of equality to which he would absolutely reducehimself with me, except it be that with which he took me at mine withrespect to the absolute independence in which I was determined to live. Both persuaded I had reason to be content with my situation, and that Iwas unwilling to change it, neither he nor Madam de Luxembourg seemed tothink a moment of my purse or fortune; although I can have no doubt ofthe tender concern they had for me, they never proposed to me a place noroffered me their interest, except it were once, when Madam de Luxembourgseemed to wish me to become a member of the French Academy. I alleged myreligion; this she told me was no obstacle, or if it was one she engagedto remove it. I answered, that however great the honor of becoming amember of so illustrious a body might be, having refused M. De Tressan, and, in some measure, the King of Poland, to become a member of theAcademy at Nancy, I could not with propriety enter into any other. Madamde Luxembourg did not insist, and nothing more was said upon the subject. This simplicity of intercourse with persons of such rank, and who had thepower of doing anything in my favor, M. De Luxembourg being, and highlydeserving to be, the particular friend of the king, affords a singularcontrast with the continual cares, equally importunate and officious, ofthe friends and protectors from whom I had just separated, and whoendeavored less to serve me than to render me contemptible. 

When the marechal came to see me at Mont Louis, I was uneasy at receivinghim and his retinue in my only chamber; not because I was obliged to makethem all sit down in the midst of my dirty plates and broken pots, but onaccount of the state of the floor, which was rotten and falling to ruin, and I was afraid the weight of his attendants would entirely sink it. Less concerned on account of my own danger than for that to which theaffability of the marechal exposed him, I hastened to remove him from itby conducting him, notwithstanding the coldness of the weather, to myalcove, which was quite open to the air, and had no chimney. When he wasthere I told him my reason for having brought him to it; he told it tohis lady, and they both pressed me to accept, until the floor wasrepaired, a lodging of the castle; or, if I preferred it, in a separateedifice called the Little Castle which was in the middle of the park. This delightful abode deserves to be spoken of. 

The park or garden of Montmorency is not a plain, like that of theChevrette. It is uneven, mountainous, raised by little hills andvalleys, of which the able artist has taken advantage; and thereby variedhis groves, ornaments, waters, and points of view, and, if I may sospeak, multiplied by art and genius a space in itself rather narrow. This park is terminated at the top by a terrace and the castle; at bottomit forms a narrow passage which opens and becomes wider towards thevalley, the angle of which is filled up with a large piece of water. Between the orangery, which is in this widening, and the piece of water, the banks of which are agreeably decorated, stands the Little Castle ofwhich I have spoken. This edifice, and the ground about it, formerlybelonged to the celebrated Le Brun, who amused himself in building anddecorating it in the exquisite taste of architectual ornaments which thatgreat painter had formed to himself. The castle has since been rebuilt, but still, according to the plan and design of its first master. It islittle and simple, but elegant. As it stands in a hollow between theorangery and the large piece of water, and consequently is liable to bedamp, it is open in the middle by a peristyle between two rows ofcolumns, by which means the air circulating throughout the whole edificekeeps it dry, notwithstanding its unfavorable situation. When thebuilding is seen from the opposite elevation, which is a point of view, it appears absolutely surrounded with water, and we imagine we havebefore our eyes an enchanted island, or the most beautiful of the threeBoromeans, called Isola Bella, in the greater lake. 

In this solitary edifice I was offered the choice of four completeapartments it contains, besides the ground floor, consisting of a dancingroom, billiard room and a kitchen. I chose the smallest over thekitchen, which also I had with it. It was charmingly neat, with blue andwhite furniture. In this profound and delicious solitude, in the midstof the woods, the singing of birds of every kind, and the perfume oforange flowers, I composed, in a continual ecstasy, the fifth book ofEmilius, the coloring of which I owe in a great measure to the livelyimpression I received from the place I inhabited. 

With what eagerness did I run every morning at sunrise to respire theperfumed air in the peristyle! What excellent coffee I took theretete-a-tete with my Theresa. My cat and dog were our company. Thisretinue alone would have been sufficient for me during my whole life, in which I should not have had one weary moment. I was there in aterrestrial paradise; I lived in innocence and tasted of happiness. 

At the journey of July, M. And Madam de Luxembourg showed me so muchattention, and were so extremely kind, that, lodged in their house, andoverwhelmed with their goodness, I could not do less than make them aproper return in assiduous respect near their persons; I scarcely quittedthem; I went in the morning to pay my court to Madam la Marechale; afterdinner I walked with the marechal; but did not sup at the castle onaccount of the numerous guests, and because they supped too late for me. Thus far everything was as it should be, and no harm would have been donecould I have remained at this point. But I have never known how topreserve a medium in my attachments, and simply fulfil the duties ofsociety. I have ever been everything or nothing. I was soon everything;and receiving the most polite attention from persons of the highest rank, I passed the proper bounds, and conceived for them a friendship notpermitted except among equals. Of these I had all the familiarity in mymanners, whilst they still preserved in theirs the same politeness towhich they had accustomed me. Yet I was never quite at my ease withMadam de Luxembourg. Although I was not quite relieved from my fearsrelative to her character, I apprehended less danger from it than fromher wit. It was by this especially that she impressed me with awe. I knew she was difficult as to conversation, and she had a right to beso. I knew women, especially those of her rank, would absolutely beamused, that it was better to offend than to weary them, and I judged byher commentaries upon what the people who went away had said what shemust think of my blunders. I thought of an expedient to spare me withher the embarrassment of speaking; this was reading. She had heard of myEloisa, and knew it was in the press; she expressed a desire to see thework; I offered to read it to her, and she accepted my offer. I went toher every morning at ten o'clock; M. De Luxembourg was present, and thedoor was shut. I read by the side of her bed, and so well proportionedmy readings that there would have been sufficient for the whole time shehad to stay, had they even not been interrupted. 

 [The loss of a great battle, which much afflicted the King, obliged M. De Luxembourg precipitately to return to court. ]

The success of this expedient surpassed my expectation. Madam deLuxembourg took a great liking to Julia and the author; she spoke ofnothing but me, thought of nothing else, said civil things to me frommorning till night, and embraced me ten times a day. She insisted on mealways having my place by her side at table, and when any great lordswished it she told them it was mine, and made them sit down somewhereelse. The impression these charming manners made upon me, who wassubjugated by the least mark of affection, may easily be judged of. I became really attached to her in proportion to the attachment sheshowed me. All my fear in perceiving this infatuation, and feeling thewant of agreeableness in myself to support it, was that it would bechanged into disgust; and unfortunately this fear was but too wellfounded. 

There must have been a natural opposition between her turn of mind andmine, since, independently of the numerous stupid things which at everyinstant escaped me in conversation, and even in my letters, and when Iwas upon the best terms with her, there were certain other things withwhich she was displeased without my being able to imagine the reason. I will quote one instance from among twenty. She knew I was writing forMadam d'Houdetot a copy of the New Eloisa. She was desirous to have oneon the same footing. This I promised her, and thereby making her one ofmy customers, I wrote her a polite letter upon the subject, at least suchwas my intention. Her answer, which was as follows, stupefied me withsurprise. 

 VERSAILLES, Tuesday. 

"I am ravished, I am satisfied: your letter has given me infinitepleasure, and I take the earliest moment to acquaint you with, and thankyou for it. 

"These are the exact words of your letter: 'Although you are certainly avery good customer, I have some pain in receiving your money: accordingto regular order I ought to pay for the pleasure I should have in workingfor you. ' I will say nothing more on the subject. I have to complain ofyour not speaking of your state of health: nothing interests me more. I love you with all my heart: and be assured that I write this to you ina very melancholy mood, for I should have much pleasure in telling it toyou myself. M. De Luxembourg loves and embraces you with all his heart. 

"On receiving the letter I hastened to answer it, reserving to myself morefully to examine the matter, protesting against all disobliginginterpretation, and after having given several days to this examinationwith an inquietude which may easily be conceived, and still without beingable to discover in what I could have erred, what follows was my finalanswer on the subject. 

 "MONTMORENCY, 8th December, 1759. 

"Since my last letter I have examined a hundred times the passage inquestion. I have considered it in its proper and natural meaning, aswell as in every other which may be given to it, and I confess to you, madam, that I know not whether it be I who owe to you excuses, or youfrom whom they are due to me. "

It is now ten years since these letters were written. I have since thattime frequently thought of the subject of them; and such is still mystupidity that I have hitherto been unable to discover what in thepassages, quoted from my letter, she could find offensive, or evendispleasing. 

I must here mention, relative to the manuscript copy of Eloisa Madam deLuxembourg wished to have, in what manner I thought to give it somemarked advantage which should distinguish it from all others. I hadwritten separately the adventures of Lord Edward, and had long beenundetermined whether I should insert them wholly, or in extracts, in thework in which they seemed to be wanting. I at length determined toretrench them entirely, because, not being in the manner of the rest, they would have spoiled the interesting simplicity, which was itsprincipal merit. I had still a stronger reason when I came to know Madamde Luxembourg: There was in these adventures a Roman marchioness, of abad character, some parts of which, without being applicable, might havebeen applied to her by those to whom she was not particularly known. I was therefore, highly pleased with the determination to which I hadcome, and resolved to abide by it. But in the ardent desire to enrichher copy with something which was not in the other, what should I fallupon but these unfortunate adventures, and I concluded on making anextract from them to add to the work; a project dictated by madness, ofwhich the extravagance is inexplicable, except by the blind fatalitywhich led me on to destruction. 

 'Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementet. '

I was stupid enough to make this extract with the greatest care andpains, and to send it her as the finest thing in the world; it is true, I at the same time informed her the original was burned, which was reallythe case, that the extract was for her alone, and would never be seen, except by herself, unless she chose to show it; which, far from proving, to her my prudence and discretion, as it was my intention to do, clearlyintimated what I thought of the application by which she might beoffended. My stupidity was such, that I had no doubt of her beingdelighted with what I had done. She did not make me the compliment uponit which I expected, and, to my great surprise, never once mentioned thepaper I had sent her. I was so satisfied with myself, that it was notuntil a long time afterwards, I judged, from other indications, of theeffect it had produced. 

I had still, in favor of her manuscript, another idea more reasonable, but which, by more distant effects, has not been much less prejudicial tome; so much does everything concur with the work of destiny, when thathurries on a man to misfortune. I thought of ornamenting the manuscriptwith the engravings of the New Eloisa, which were of the same size. Iasked Coindet for these engravings, which belonged to me by every kind oftitle, and the more so as I had given him the produce of the plates, which had a considerable sale. Coindet is as cunning as I am thecontrary. By frequently asking him for the engravings he came to theknowledge of the use I intended to make of them. He then, under pretenceof adding some new ornament, still kept them from me; and at lengthpresented them himself. 

 'Ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores. '

This gave him an introduction upon a certain footing to the Hotel deLuxembourg. After my establishment at the little castle he came ratherfrequently to see me, and always in the morning, especially when M. AndMadam de Luxembourg were at Montmorency. Therefore that I might pass theday with him, I did not go the castle. Reproaches were made me onaccount of my absence; I told the reason of them. I was desired to bringwith me M. Coindet; I did so. This was, what he had sought after. Therefore, thanks to the excessive goodness M. And Madam de Luxembourghad for me, a clerk to M. Thelusson, who was sometimes pleased to givehim his table when he had nobody else to dine with him, was suddenlyplaced at that of a marechal of France, with princes, duchesses, andpersons of the highest rank at court. I shall never forget, that one daybeing obliged to return early to Paris, the marechal said, after dinner, to the company, "Let us take a walk upon the road to St. Denis, and wewill accompany M. Coindet. " This was too much for the poor man; his headwas quite turned. For my part, my heart was so affected that I could notsay a word. I followed the company, weeping like a child, and having thestrongest desire to kiss the foot of the good marechal; but thecontinuation of the history of the manuscript has made me anticipate. I will go a little back, and, as far as my memory will permit, mark eachevent in its proper order. 

As soon as the little house of Mont Louis was ready, I had it neatlyfurnished and again established myself there. I could not break throughthe resolution I had made on quitting the Hermitage of always having myapartment to myself; but I found a difficulty in resolving to quit thelittle castle. I kept the key of it, and being delighted with thecharming breakfasts of the peristyle, frequently went to the castle tosleep, and stayed three or four days as at a country-house. I was atthat time perhaps better and more agreeably lodged than any privateindividual in Europe. My host, M. Mathas, one of the best men in theworld, had left me the absolute direction of the repairs at Mont Louis, and insisted upon my disposing of his workmen without his interference. I therefore found the means of making of a single chamber upon the firststory, a complete set of apartments consisting of a chamber, antechamber, and a water closet. Upon the ground-floor was the kitchen and thechamber of Theresa. The alcove served me for a closet by means of aglazed partition and a chimney I had made there. After my return to thishabitation, I amused myself in decorating the terrace, which was alreadyshaded by two rows of linden trees; I added two others to make a cabinetof verdure, and placed in it a table and stone benches: I surrounded itwith lilies, syringa and woodbines, and had a beautiful border of flowersparallel with the two rows of trees. This terrace, more elevated thanthat of the castle, from which the view was at least as fine, and where Ihad tamed a great number of birds, was my drawing-room, in which Ireceived M. And Madam de Luxembourg, the Duke of Villeroy, the Prince ofTingry, the Marquis of Armentieres, the Duchess of Montmorency, theDuchess of Bouffiers, the Countess of Valentinois, the Countess ofBoufflers, and other persons of the first rank; who, from the castledisdained not to make, over a very fatiguing mountain, the pilgrimage ofMont Louis. I owed all these visits to the favor of M. And Madam deLuxembourg; this I felt, and my heart on that account did them all duehomage. It was with the same sentiment that I once said to M. DeLuxembourg, embracing him: "Ah! Monsieur le Marechal, I hated the greatbefore I knew you, and I have hated them still more since you have shownme with what ease they might acquire universal respect. " Further thanthis I defy any person with whom I was then acquainted, to say I was everdazzled for an instant with splendor, or that the vapor of the incense Ireceived ever affected my head; that I was less uniform in my manner, less plain in my dress, less easy of access to people of the lowest rank, less familiar with neighbors, or less ready to render service to everyperson when I had it in my power so to do, without ever once beingdiscouraged by the numerous and frequently unreasonable importunitieswith which I was incessantly assailed. 

Although my heart led me to the castle of Montmorency, by my sincereattachment to those by whom it was inhabited, it by the same means drewme back to the neighborhood of it, there to taste the sweets of the equaland simple life, in which my only happiness consisted. Theresa hadcontracted a friendship with the daughter of one of my neighbors, a masonof the name of Pilleu; I did the same with the father, and after havingdined at the castle, not without some constraint, to please Madam deLuxembourg, with what eagerness did I return in the evening to sup withthe good man Pilleu and his family, sometimes at his own house and atothers, at mine. 

Besides my two lodgings in the country, I soon had a third at the Hotelde Luxembourg, the proprietors of which pressed me so much to go and seethem there, that I consented, notwithstanding my aversion to Paris, where, since my retiring to the Hermitage, I had been but twice, upon thetwo occasions of which I have spoken. I did not now go there except onthe days agreed upon, solely to supper, and the next morning I returnedto the country. I entered and came out by the garden which faces theboulevard, so that I could with the greatest truth, say I had not set myfoot upon the stones of Paris. 

In the midst of this transient prosperity, a catastrophe, which was to bethe conclusion of it, was preparing at a distance. A short time after myreturn to Mont Louis, I made there, and as it was customary, against myinclination, a new acquaintance, which makes another era in my privatehistory. Whether this be favorable or unfavorable, the reader willhereafter be able to judge. The person with whom I became acquainted wasthe Marchioness of Verdelin, my neighbor, whose husband had just boughta country-house at Soisy, near Montmorency. Mademoiselle d'Ars, daughterto the Comte d'Ars, a man of fashion, but poor, had married M. DeVerdelin, old, ugly, deaf, uncouth, brutal, jealous, with gashes in hisface, and blind of one eye, but, upon the whole, a good man when properlymanaged, and in possession of a fortune of from fifteen to twentythousand a year. This charming object, swearing, roaring, scolding, storming, and making his wife cry all day long, ended by doing whatevershe thought proper, and this to set her in a rage, because she knew howto persuade him that it was he who would, and she would not have it so. M. De Margency, of whom I have spoken, was the friend of madam, andbecame that of monsieur. He had a few years before let them his castleof Margency, near Eaubonne and Andilly, and they resided there preciselyat the time of my passion for Madam d'Houdetot. Madam d'Houdetot andMadam de Verdelin became acquainted with each other, by means of Madamd'Aubeterre their common friend; and as the garden of Margency was in theroad by which Madam d'Houdetot went to Mont Olympe, her favorite walk, Madam de Verdelin gave her a key that she might pass through it. Bymeans of this key I crossed it several times with her; but I did not likeunexpected meetings, and when Madam de Verdelin was by chance upon ourway I left them together without speaking to her, and went on before. This want of gallantry must have made on her an impression unfavorable tome. Yet when she was at Soisy she was anxious to have my company. Shecame several times to see me at Mont Louis, without finding me at home, and perceiving I did not return her visit, took it into her head, as ameans of forcing me to do it, to send me pots of flowers for my terrace. I was under the necessity of going to thank her; this was all she wanted, and we thus became acquainted. 

This connection, like every other I formed; or was led into contrary tomy inclination, began rather boisterously. There never reigned in it areal calm. The turn of mind of Madam de Verdelinwas too opposite tomine. Malignant expressions and pointed sarcasms came from her with somuch simplicity, that a continual attention too fatiguing for me wasnecessary to perceive she was turning into ridicule the person to whomshe spoke. One trivial circumstance which occurs to my recollection willbe sufficient to give an idea of her manner. Her brother had justobtained the command of a frigate cruising against the English. I spokeof the manner of fitting out this frigate without diminishing itsswiftness of sailing. "Yes, " replied she, in the most natural tone ofvoice, "no more cannon are taken than are necessary for fighting. "I seldom have heard her speak well of any of her absent friends withoutletting slip something to their prejudice. What she did not see with anevil eye she looked upon with one of ridicule, and her friend Margencywas not excepted. What I found most insupportable in her was theperpetual constraint proceeding from her little messages, presents andbillets, to which it was a labor for me to answer, and I had continualembarrassments either in thanking or refusing. However, by frequentlyseeing this lady I became attached to her. She had her troubles as wellas I had mine. Reciprocal confidence rendered our conversationsinteresting. Nothing so cordially attaches two persons as thesatisfaction of weeping together. We sought the company of each otherfor our reciprocal consolation, and the want of this has frequently mademe pass over many things. I had been so severe in my frankness with her, that after having sometimes shown so little esteem for her character, agreat deal was necessary to be able to believe she could sincerelyforgive me. 

The following letter is a specimen of the epistles I sometimes wrote toher, and it is to be remarked that she never once in any of her answersto them seemed to be in the least degree piqued. 

 MONTMORENCY, 5th November, 1760. 

"You tell me, madam, you have not well explained yourself, in order tomake me understand I have explained myself ill. You speak of yourpretended stupidity for the purpose of making me feel my own. You boastof being nothing more than a good kind of woman, as if you were afraid tobeing taken at your word, and you make me apologies to tell me I owe themto you. Yes, madam, I know it; it is I who am a fool, a good kind ofman; and, if it be possible, worse than all this; it is I who make a badchoice of my expressions in the opinion of a fine French lady, who paysas much attention to words, and speak as well as you do. But considerthat I take them in the common meaning of the language without knowing ortroubling my head about the polite acceptations in which they are takenin the virtuous societies of Paris. If my expressions are sometimesequivocal, I endeavored by my conduct to determine their meaning, " etc. The rest of the letter is much the same. 

Coindet, enterprising, bold, even to effrontery, and who was upon thewatch after all my friends, soon introduced himself in my name to thehouse of Madam de Verdelin, and, unknown to me, shortly became there morefamiliar than myself. This Coindet was an extraordinary man. Hepresented himself in my name in the houses of all my acquaintance, gaineda footing in them, and eat there without ceremony. Transported with zealto do me service, he never mentioned my name without his eyes beingsuffused with tears; but, when he came to see me, he kept the mostprofound silence on the subject of all these connections, and especiallyon that in which he knew I must be interested. Instead of telling mewhat he had heard, said, or seen, relative to my affairs, he waited formy speaking to him, and even interrogated me. He never knew anything ofwhat passed in Paris, except that which I told him: finally, althougheverybody spoke to me of him, he never once spoke to me of any person; hewas secret and mysterious with his friend only; but I will for thepresent leave Coindet and Madam de Verdelin, and return to them at aproper time. 

Sometime after my return to Mont Louis, La Tour, the painter, came to seeme, and brought with him my portrait in crayons, which a few years beforehe had exhibited at the salon. He wished to give me this portrait, whichI did not choose to accept. But Madam d'Epinay, who had given me hers, and would have had this, prevailed upon me to ask him for it. He hadtaken some time to retouch the features. In the interval happened myrupture with Madam d'Epinay; I returned her her portrait; and giving hermine being no longer in question, I put it into my chamber, in thecastle. M. De Luxembourg saw it there, and found it a good one; Ioffered it him, he accepted it, and I sent it to the castle. He and hislady comprehended I should be very glad to have theirs. They had themtaken in miniature by a very skilful hand, set in a box of rock crystal, mounted with gold, and in a very handsome manner, with which I wasdelighted, made me a present of both. Madam de Luxenbourg would neverconsent that her portrait should be on the upper part of the box. Shehad reproached me several times with loving M. De Luxembourg better thanI did her; I had not denied it because it was true. By this manner ofplacing her portrait she showed very politely, but very clearly, she hadnot forgotten the preference. 

Much about this time I was guilty of a folly which did not contribute topreserve me to her good graces. Although I had no knowledge of M. DeSilhoutte, and was not much disposed to like him, I had a great opinionof his administration. When he began to let his hand fall rather heavilyupon financiers, I perceived he did not begin his operation in afavorable moment, but he had my warmest wishes for his success; and assoon as I heard he was displaced I wrote to him, in my intrepid, heedlessmanner, the following letter, which I certainly do not undertake tojustify. 

 MONTMORENCY, 2d December, 1759. 

"Vouchsafe, sir, to receive the homage of a solitary man, who is notknown to you, but who esteems you for your talents, respects you for youradministration, and who did you the honor to believe you would not longremain in it. Unable to save the State, except at the expense of thecapital by which it has been ruined, you have braved the clamors of thegainers of money. When I saw you crush these wretches, I envied you yourplace; and at seeing you quit it without departing from your system, I admire you. Be satisfied with yourself, sir; the step you have takenwill leave you an honor you will long enjoy without a competitor. Themalediction of knaves is the glory of an honest man. "

Madam de Luxembourg, who knew I had written this letter, spoke to me ofit when she came into the country at Easter. I showed it to her and shewas desirous of a copy; this I gave her, but when I did it I did not knowshe was interested in under-farms, and the displacing of M. De Silhoutte. By my numerous follies any person would have imagined I wilfullyendeavored to bring on myself the hatred of an amiable woman who hadpower, and to whom, in truth, I daily became more attached, and was farfrom wishing to occasion her displeasure, although by my awkward mannerof proceeding, I did everything proper for that purpose. I think itsuperfluous to remark here, that it is to her the history of the opiateof M. Tronchin, of which I have spoken in the first part of my memoirs, relates; the other lady was Madam de Mirepoix. They have never mentionedto me the circumstance, nor has either of them, in the least, seemed tohave preserved a remembrance of it; but to presume that Madam deLuxembourg can possibly have forgotten it appears to me very difficult, and would still remain so, even were the subsequent events entirelyunknown. For my part, I fell into a deceitful security relative to theeffects of my stupid mistakes, by an internal evidence of my not havingtaken any step with an intention to offend; as if a woman could everforgive what I had done, although she might be certain the will had notthe least part in the matter. 

Although she seemed not to see or feel anything, and that I did notimmediately find either her warmth of friendship diminished or the leastchange in her manner, the continuation and even increase of a too wellfounded foreboding made me incessantly tremble, lest disgust shouldsucceed to infatuation. Was it possible for me to expect in a lady ofsuch high rank, a constancy proof against my want of address to supportit? I was unable to conceal from her this secret foreboding, which mademe uneasy, and rendered me still more disagreeable. This will be judgedof by the following letter, which contains a very singular prediction. 

N. B. This letter, without date in my rough copy, was written inOctober, 1760, at latest. 

"How cruel is your goodness? Why disturb the peace of a solitary mortalwho had renounced the pleasures of life, that he might no longer sufferthe fatigues of them. I have passed my days in vainly searching forsolid attachments. I have not been able to form any in the ranks towhich I was equal; is it in yours that I ought to seek for them? Neitherambition nor interest can tempt me: I am not vain, but little fearful; Ican resist everything except caresses. Why do you both attack me by aweakness which I must overcome, because in the distance by which we areseparated, the over-flowings of susceptible hearts cannot bring mine nearto you? Will gratitude be sufficient for a heart which knows not twomanners of bestowing its affections, and feels itself incapable ofeverything except friendship? Of friendship, madam la marechale! Ah!there is my misfortune! It is good in you and the marechal to make useof this expression; but I am mad when I take you at your word. You amuseyourselves, and I become attached; and the end of this prepares for menew regrets. How I do hate all your titles, and pity you on account ofyour being obliged to bear them? You seem to me to be so worthy oftasting the charms of private life! Why do not you reside at Clarens?I would go there in search of happiness; but the castle of Montmorency, and the Hotel de Luxembourg! Is it in these places Jean Jacques ought tobe seen? Is it there a friend to equality ought to carry the affectionsof a sensible heart, and who thus paying the esteem in which he is held, thinks he returns as much as he receives? You are good and susceptiblealso: this I know and have seen; I am sorry I was not sooner convinced ofit; but in the rank you hold, in the manner of living, nothing can make alasting impression; a succession of new objects efface each other so thatnot one of them remains. You will forget me, madam, after having made itimpossible for me to imitate, you. You have done a great deal to make meunhappy, to be inexcusable. "

I joined with her the marechal, to render the compliment less severe; forI was moreover so sure of him, that I never had a doubt in my mind of thecontinuation of his friendship. Nothing that intimidated me in madam lamarechale, ever for a moment extended to him. I never have had the leastmistrust relative to his character, which I knew to be feeble, butconstant. I no more feared a coldness on his part than I expected fromhim an heroic attachment. The simplicity and familiarity of our mannerswith each other proved how far dependence was reciprocal. We were bothalways right: I shall ever honor and hold dear the memory of this worthyman, and, notwithstanding everything that was done to detach him from me, I am as certain of his having died my friend as if I had been present inhis last moments. 

At the second journey to Montmorency, in the year 1760, the reading ofEloisa being finished, I had recourse to that of Emilius, to supportmyself in the good graces of Madam de Luxembourg; but this, whether thesubject was less to her taste; or that so much reading at length fatiguedher, did not succeed so well. However, as she reproached me withsuffering myself to be the dupe of booksellers, she wished me to leave toher care the printing the work, that I might reap from it a greateradvantage. I consented to her doing it, on the express condition of itsnot being printed in France, on which we had along dispute; I affirmingthat it was impossible to obtain, and even imprudent to solicit, a tacitpermission; and being unwilling to permit the impression upon any otherterms in the kingdom; she, that the censor could not make the leastdifficulty, according to the system government had adopted. She foundmeans to make M. De Malesherbes enter into her views. He wrote to me onthe subject a long letter with his own hand, to prove the profession offaith of the Savoyard vicar to be a composition which must everywheregain the approbation of its readers and that of the court, as things werethen circumstanced. I was surprised to see this magistrate, always soprudent, become so smooth in the business, as the printing of a book wasby that alone legal, I had no longer any objection to make to that of thework. Yet, by an extraordinary scruple, I still required it should beprinted in Holland, and by the bookseller Neaulme, whom, not satisfiedwith indicating him, I informed of my wishes, consenting the editionshould be brought out for the profit of a French bookseller, and that assoon as it was ready it should be sold at Paris, or wherever else itmight be thought proper, as with this I had no manner of concern. Thisis exactly what was agreed upon between Madam de Luxembourg and myself, after which I gave her my manuscript. 

Madam de Luxembourg was this time accompanied by her granddaughterMademoiselle de Boufflers, now Duchess of Lauzun. Her name was Amelia. She was a charming girl. She really had a maiden beauty, mildness andtimidity. Nothing could be more lovely than her person, nothing morechaste and tender than the sentiments she inspired. She was, besides, still a child under eleven years of age. Madam de Luxembourg, whothought her too timid, used every endeavor to animate her. She permittedme several times to give her a kiss, which I did with my usualawkwardness. Instead of saying flattering things to her, as any otherperson would have done, I remained silent and disconcerted, and I knownot which of the two, the little girl or myself, was most ashamed. 

I met her one day alone in the staircase of the little castle. She hadbeen to see Theresa, with whom her governess still was. Not knowing whatelse to say, I proposed to her a kiss, which, in the innocence of herheart, she did not refuse; having in the morning received one from me byorder of her grandmother, and in her presence. The next day, whilereading Emilius by the side of the bed of Madam de Luxembourg, I came toa passage in which I justly censure that which I had done the precedingevening. She thought the reflection extremely just, and said some verysensible things upon the subject which made me blush. How was I enragedat my incredible stupidity, which has frequently given me the appearanceof guilt when I was nothing more than a fool and embarrassed!A stupidity, which in a man known to be endowed with some wit, isconsidered as a false excuse. I can safely swear that in this kiss, aswell as in the others, the heart and thoughts of Mademoiselle Amelia werenot more pure than my own, and that if I could have avoided meeting her Ishould have done it; not that I had not great pleasure in seeing her, butfrom the embarrassment of not finding a word proper to say. Whence comesit that even a child can intimidate a man, whom the power of kings hasnever inspired with fear? What is to be done? How, without presence ofmind, am I to act? If I strive to speak to the persons I meet, I certainly say some stupid thing to them; if I remain silent, I am amisanthrope, an unsociable animal, a bear. Total imbecility would havebeen more favorable to me; but the talents which I have failed to improvein the world have become the instruments of my destruction, and of thatof the talents I possessed. 

At the latter end of this journey, Madam de Luxembourg did a good actionin which I had some share. Diderot having very imprudently offended thePrincess of Robeck, daughter of M. De Luxembourg, Palissot, whom sheprotected, took up the quarrel, and revenged her by the comedy of 'ThePhilosophers', in which I was ridiculed, and Diderot very roughlyhandled. The author treated me with more gentleness, less, I am ofopinion, on account of the obligation he was under to me, than from thefear of displeasing the father of his protectress, by whom he knew I wasbeloved. The bookseller Duchesne, with whom I was not at that timeacquainted, sent me the comedy when it was printed, and this I suspectwas by the order of Palissot, who, perhaps, thought I should have apleasure in seeing a man with whom I was no longer connected defamed. He was greatly deceived. When I broke with Diderot, whom I thought lessill-natured than weak and indiscreet, I still always preserved for hisperson an attachment, an esteem even, and a respect for our ancientfriendship, which I know was for a long time as sincere on his part as onmine. The case was quite different with Grimm; a man false by nature, who never loved me, who is not even capable of friendship, and a personwho, without the least subject of complaint, and solely to satisfy hisgloomy jealousy, became, under the mask of friendship, my most cruelcalumniator. This man is to me a cipher; the other will always be my oldfriend. 

My very bowels yearned at the sight of this odious piece: the reading ofit was insupportable to me, and, without going through the whole, Ireturned the copy to Duchesne with the following letter:

 MONTMORENCY, 21st, May, 1760. 

"In casting my eyes over the piece you sent me, I trembled at seeingmyself well spoken of in it. I do not accept the horrid present. I ampersuaded that in sending it me, you did not intend an insult; but you donot know, or have forgotten, that I have the honor to be the friend of arespectable man, who is shamefully defamed and calumniated in thislibel. "

Duchense showed the letter. Diderot, upon whom it ought to have had aneffect quite contrary, was vexed at it. His pride could not forgive methe superiority of a generous action, and I was informed his wifeeverywhere inveighed against me with a bitterness with which I was not inthe least affected, as I knew she was known to everybody to be a noisybabbler. 

Diderot in his turn found an avenger in the Abbe Morrellet, who wroteagainst Palissot a little work, imitated from the 'Petit Prophete', and entitled the Vision. In this production he very imprudently offendedMadam de Robeck, whose friends got him sent to the Bastile; though she, not naturally vindictive, and at that time in a dying state, I am certainhad nothing to do with the affair. 

D'Alembert, who was very intimately connected with Morrellet, wrote me aletter, desiring I would beg of Madam de Luxembourg to solicit hisliberty, promising her in return encomiums in the 'Encyclopedie';my answer to this letter was as follows:

"I did not wait the receipt of your letter before I expressed to Madam deLuxembourg the pain the confinement of the Abbe Morrellet gave me. Sheknows my concern, and shall be made acquainted with yours, and herknowing that the abbe is a man of merit will be sufficient to make herinterest herself in his behalf. However, although she and the marechalhonor me with a benevolence which is my greatest consolation, and thatthe name of your friend be to them a recommendation in favor of the AbbeMorrellet, I know not how far, on this occasion, it may be proper forthem to employ the credit attached to the rank they hold, and theconsideration due to their persons. I am not even convinced that thevengeance in question relates to the Princess Robeck so much as you seemto imagine; and were this even the case, we must not suppose that thepleasure of vengeance belongs to philosophers exclusively, and that whenthey choose to become women, women will become philosophers. 

"I will communicate to you whatever Madam de Luxembourg may say to meafter having shown her your letter. In the meantime, I think I know herwell enough to assure you that, should she have the pleasure ofcontributing to the enlargement of the Abbe Morrellet, she will notaccept the tribute of acknowledgment you promise her in the Encyclopedie, although she might think herself honored by it, because she does not dogood in the expectation of praise, but from the dictates of her heart. "

I made every effort to excite the zeal and commiseration of Madam deLuxembourg in favor of the poor captive, and succeeded to my wishes. She went to Versailles on purpose to speak to M. De St. Florentin, andthis journey shortened the residence at Montmorency, which the marechalwas obliged to quit at the same time to go to Rouen, whither the kingsent him as governor of Normandy, on account of the motions of theparliament, which government wished to keep within bounds. Madam deLuxembourg wrote me the following letter the day after her departure:

 VERSAILLES, Wednesday. 

"M. De Luxembourg set off yesterday morning at six o'clock. I do not yetknow that I shall follow him. I wait until he writes to me, as he is notyet certain of the stay it will be necessary for him to make. I haveseen M. De St. Florentin, who is as favorably disposed as possibletowards the Abbe Morrellet; but he finds some obstacles to his wisheswhich however, he is in hopes of removing the first time he has to dobusiness with the king, which will be next week. I have also desired asa favor that he might not be exiled, because this was intended; he was tobe sent to Nancy. This, sir, is what I have been able to obtain; but Ipromise you I will not let M. De St. Florentin rest until the affair isterminated in the manner you desire. Let me now express to you how sorryI am on account of my being obliged to leave you so soon, of which Iflatter myself you have not the least doubt. I love you with all myheart, and shall do so for my whole life. "

A few days afterwards I received the following note from D'Alembert, which gave me real joy. 

 August 1st. 

"Thanks to your cares, my dear philosopher, the abbe has left theBastile, and his imprisonment will have no other consequence. He issetting off for the country, and, as well as myself, returns you athousand thanks and compliments. 'Vale et me ama'. "

The abbe also wrote to me a few days afterwards a letter of thanks, whichdid not, in my opinion, seem to breathe a certain effusion of the heart, and in which he seemed in some measure to extenuate the service I hadrendered him. Some time afterwards, I found that he and D'Alembert had, to a certain degree, I will not say supplanted, but succeeded me in thegood graces of Madam de Luxembourg, and that I Had lost in them all theyhad gained. However, I am far from suspecting the Abbe Morrellet ofhaving contributed to my disgrace; I have too much esteem for him toharbor any such suspicion. With respect to D'Alembert, I shall atpresent leave him out of the question, and hereafter say of him what mayseem necessary. 

I had, at the same time, another affair which occasioned the last letterI wrote to Voltaire; a letter against which he vehemently exclaimed, asan abominable insult, although he never showed it to any person. I willhere supply the want of that which he refused to do. 

The Abbe Trublet, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, but whom I hadbut seldom seen, wrote to me on the 13th of June, 1760, informing me thatM. Formey, his friend and correspondent, had printed in his journal myletter to Voltaire upon the disaster at Lisbon. The abbe wished to knowhow the letter came to be printed, and in his jesuitical manner, asked memy opinion, without giving me his own on the necessity of reprinting it. As I most sovereignly hate this kind of artifice and strategem, Ireturned such thanks as were proper, but in a manner so reserved as tomake him feel it, although this did not prevent him from wheedling me intwo or three other letters until he had gathered all he wished to know. 

I clearly understood that, not withstanding all Trublet could say, Formeyhad not found the letter printed, and that the first impression of itcame from himself. I knew him to be an impudent pilferer, who, withoutceremony, made himself a revenue by the works of others. Although he hadnot yet had the incredible effrontery to take from a book alreadypublished the name of the author, to put his own in the place of it, andto sell the book for his own profit. 

 [In this manner he afterwards appropriated to himself Emilius. ]

But by what means had this manuscript fallen into his hands? That was aquestion not easy to resolve, but by which I had the weakness to beembarrassed. Although Voltaire was excessively honored by the letter, as in fact, notwithstanding his rude proceedings, he would have had aright to complain had I had it printed without his consent, I resolved towrite to him upon the subject. The second letter was as follows, towhich he returned no answer, and giving greater scope to his brutality, he feigned to be irritated to fury. 

 MONTMORENCY, 17th June, 1760. 

"I did not think, sir, I should ever have occasion to correspond withyou. But learning the letter I wrote to you in 1756 had been printed atBerlin, I owe you an account of my conduct in that respect, and willfulfil this duty with truth and simplicity. 

"The letter having really been addressed to you was not intended to beprinted. I communicated the contents of it, on certain conditions, tothree persons, to whom the right of friendship did not permit me torefuse anything of the kind, and whom the same rights still lesspermitted to abuse my confidence by betraying their promise. Thesepersons are Madam de Chenonceaux, daughter-in-law to Madam Dupin, theComtesse d'Houdetot, and a German of the name of Grimm. Madam deChenonceaux was desirous the letter should be printed, and asked myconsent. I told her that depended upon yours. This was asked of youwhich you refused, and the matter dropped. 

"However, the Abbe Trublet, with whom I have not the least connection, has just written to me from a motive of the most polite attention thathaving received the papers of the journal of M. Formey, he found in themthis same letter with an advertisement, dated on the 23d of October, 1759, in which the editor states that he had a few weeks before found itin the shops of the booksellers of Berlin, and, as it is one of thoseloose sheets which shortly disappear, he thought proper to give it aplace in his journal. 

"This, sir, is all I know of the matter. It is certain the letter hadnot until lately been heard of at Paris. It is also as certain that thecopy, either in manuscript or print, fallen into the hands of M. DeFormey, could never have reached them except by your means (which is notprobable) or of those of one of the three persons I have mentioned. Finally, it is well known the two ladies are incapable of such a perfidy. I cannot, in my retirement learn more relative to the affair. You have acorrespondence by means of which you may, if you think it worth thetrouble, go back to the source and verify the fact. 

"In the same letter the Abbe' Trublet informs me that he keeps the paperin reserve, and will not lend it without my consent, which most assuredlyI will not give. But it is possible this copy may not be the only one inParis. I wish, sir, the letter may not be printed there, and I will doall in my power to prevent this from happening; but if I cannot succeed, and that, timely perceiving it, I can have the preference, I will notthen hesitate to have it immediately printed. This to me appears justand natural. 

"With respect to your answer to the same letter, it has not beencommunicated to anyone, and you may be assured it shall not be printedwithout your consent, which I certainly shall not be indiscreet enough toask of you, well knowing that what one man writes to another is notwritten to the public. But should you choose to write one you wish tohave published, and address it to me, I promise you faithfully to add toit my letter and not to make to it a single word of reply. 

"I love you not, sir; you have done me, your disciple and enthusiasticadmirer; injuries which might have caused me the most exquisite pain. You have ruined Geneva, in return for the asylum it has afforded you;you have alienated from me my fellow-citizens, in return for eulogiums Imade of you amongst them; it is you who render to me the residence of myown country insupportable; it is you who will oblige me to die in aforeign land, deprived of all the consolations usually administered to adying person; and cause me, instead of receiving funeral rites, to bethrown to the dogs, whilst all the honors a man can expect will accompanyyou in my country. Finally I hate you because you have been desirous Ishould but I hate you as a man more worthy of loving you had you chosenit. Of all the sentiments with which my heart was penetrated for you, admiration, which cannot be refused your fine genius, and a partiality toyour writings, are those you have not effaced. If I can honor nothing inyou except your talents, the fault is not mine. I shall never be wantingin the respect due to them, nor in that which this respect requires. "

In the midst of these little literary cavillings, which still fortifiedmy resolution, I received the greatest honor letters ever acquired me, and of which I was the most sensible, in the two visits the Prince ofConti deigned to make to me, one at the Little Castle and the other atMont Louis. He chose the time for both of these when M. De Luxembourgwas not at Montmorency, in order to render it more manifest that he camethere solely on my account. I have never had a doubt of my owing thefirst condescensions of this prince to Madam de Luxembourg and Madam deBoufflers; but I am of opinion I owe to his own sentiments and to myselfthose with which he has since that time continually honored me. 

 [Remark the perseverance of this blind and stupid confidence in the midst of all the treatment which should soonest have undeceived me. It continued until my return to Paris in 1770. ]

My apartments at Mont Louis being small, and the situation of the alcovecharming, I conducted the prince to it, where, to complete thecondescension he was pleased to show me, he chose I should have the honorof playing with him a game of chess. I knew he beat the Chevalier deLorenzy, who played better than I did. However, notwithstanding thesigns and grimace of the chevalier and the spectators, which I feignednot to see, I won the two games we played: When they were ended, I saidto him in a respectful but very grave manner: "My lord, I honor yourserene highness too much not to beat you always at chess. " This greatprince, who had real wit, sense, and knowledge, and so was worthy not tobe treated with mean adulation, felt in fact, at least I think so, that Iwas the only person present who treated him like a man, and I have everyreason to believe he was not displeased with me for it. 

Had this even been the case, I should not have reproached myself withhaving been unwilling to deceive him in anything, and I certainly cannotdo it with having in my heart made an ill return for his goodness, butsolely with having sometimes done it with an ill grace, whilst he himselfaccompanied with infinite gracefulness the manner in which he showed methe marks of it. A few days afterwards he ordered a hamper of game to besent me, which I received as I ought. This in a little time wassucceeded by another, and one of his gamekeepers wrote me, by order ofhis highness, that the game it contained had been shot by the princehimself. I received this second hamper, but I wrote to Madam deBoufflers that I would not receive a third. This letter was generallyblamed, and deservedly so. Refusing to accept presents of game from aprince of the blood, who moreover sends it in so polite a manner, is lessthe delicacy of a haughty man, who wishes to preserve his independence, than the rusticity of a clown, who does not know himself. I have neverread this letter in my collection without blushing and reproaching myselffor having written it. But I have not undertaken my Confession with anintention of concealing my faults, and that of which I have just spokenis too shocking in my own eyes to suffer me to pass it over in silence. 

If I were not guilty of the offence of becoming his rival I was very neardoing it; for Madam de Boufflers was still his mistress, and I knewnothing of the matter. She came rather frequently to see me with theChevalier de Lorenzy. She was yet young and beautiful, affected to bewhimsical, and my mind was always romantic, which was much of the samenature. I was near being laid hold of; I believe she perceived it; thechevalier saw it also, at least he spoke to me upon the subject, and in amanner not discouraging. But I was this time reasonable, and at the ageof fifty it was time I should be so. Full of the doctrine I had justpreached to graybeards in my letter to D'Alembert, I should have beenashamed of not profiting by it myself; besides, coming to the knowledgeof that of which I had been ignorant, I must have been mad to havecarried my pretensions so far as to expose myself to such an illustriousrivalry. Finally, ill cured perhaps of my passion for Madam de Houdetot, I felt nothing could replace it in my heart, and I bade adieu to love forthe rest of my life. I have this moment just withstood the dangerousallurements of a young woman who had her views; and if she feigned toforget my twelve lustres I remember them. After having thus withdrawnmyself from danger, I am no longer afraid of a fall, and I answer formyself for the rest of my days. 

Madam de Boufflers, perceiving the emotion she caused in me, might alsoobserve I had triumphed over it. I am neither mad nor vain enough tobelieve I was at my age capable of inspiring her with the same feelings;but, from certain words which she let drop to Theresa, I thought I hadinspired her with a curiosity; if this be the case, and that she has notforgiven me the disappointment she met with, it must be confessed I wasborn to be the victim of my weaknesses, since triumphant love was soprejudicial to me, and love triumphed over not less so. 

Here finishes the collection of letters which has served me as a guide inthe last two books. My steps will in future be directed by memory only;but this is of such a nature, relative to the period to which I am nowcome, and the strong impression of objects has remained so perfectly uponmy mind, that lost in the immense sea of my misfortunes, I cannot forgetthe detail of my first shipwreck, although the consequences present to mebut a confused remembrance. I therefore shall be able to proceed in thesucceeding book with sufficient confidence. If I go further it will begroping in the dark. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK XI. 

Although Eloisa, which for a long time had been in the press, did notyet, at the end of the year, 1760, appear, the work already began to makea great noise. Madam de Luxembourg had spoken of it at court, and Madamde Houdetot at Paris. The latter had obtained from me permission forSaint Lambert to read the manuscript to the King of Poland, who had beendelighted with it. Duclos, to whom I had also given the perusal of thework, had spoken of it at the academy. All Paris was impatient to seethe novel; the booksellers of the Rue Saint Jacques, and that of thePalais Royal, were beset with people who came to inquire when it was tobe published. It was at length brought out, and the success it had, answered, contrary to custom, to the impatience with which it had beenexpected. The dauphiness, who was one of the first who read it, spoke ofit to, M. De Luxembourg as a ravishing performance. The opinions of menof letters differed from each other, but in those of any other classapprobation was general, especially with the women, who became sointoxicated with the book and the author, that there was not one in highlife with whom I might not have succeeded had I undertaken to do it. Of this I have such proofs as I will not commit to paper, and whichwithout the aid of experience, authorized my opinion. It is singularthat the book should have succeeded better in France than in the rest ofEurope, although the French, both men and women, are severely treated init. Contrary to my expectation it was least successful in Switzerland, and most so in Paris. Do friendship, love and virtue reign in thiscapital more than elsewhere? Certainly not; but there reigns in it anexquisite sensibility which transports the heart to their image, andmakes us cherish in others the pure, tender and virtuous sentiments we nolonger possess. Corruption is everywhere the same; virtue and moralityno longer exist in Europe; but if the least love of them still remains, it is in Paris that this will be found. --[I wrote this in 1769. ]

In the midst of so many prejudices and feigned passions, the realsentiments of nature are not to be distinguished from others, unless wewell know to analyze the human heart. A very nice discrimination, not tobe acquired except by the education of the world, is necessary to feelthe finesses of the heart, if I dare use the expression, with which thiswork abounds. I do not hesitate to place the fourth part of it upon anequality with the Princess of Cleves; nor to assert that had these twoworks been read nowhere but in the provinces, their merit would neverhave been discovered. It must not, therefore, be considered as a matterof astonishment, that the greatest success of my work was at court. Itabounds with lively but veiled touches of the pencil, which could not butgive pleasure there, because the persons who frequent it are moreaccustomed than others to discover them. A distinction must, however, bemade. The work is by no means proper for the species of men of wit whohave nothing but cunning, who possess no other kind of discernment thanthat which penetrates evil, and see nothing where good only is to befound. If, for instance, Eloisa had been published in a certain country, I am convinced it would not have been read through by a single person, and the work would have been stifled in its birth. 

I have collected most of the letters written to me on the subject of thispublication, and deposited them, tied up together, in the hands of Madamde Nadillac. Should this collection ever be given to the world, verysingular things will be seen, and an opposition of opinion, which showswhat it is to have to do with the public. The thing least kept in view, and which will ever distinguish it from every other work, is thesimplicity of the subject and the continuation of the interest, which, confined to three persons, is kept up throughout six volumes, withoutepisode, romantic adventure, or anything malicious either in the personsor actions. Diderot complimented Richardson on the prodigious variety ofhis portraits and the multiplicity of his persons. In fact, Richardsonhas the merit of having well characterized them all; but with respect totheir number, he has that in common with the most insipid writers ofnovels who attempt to make up for the sterility of their ideas bymultiplying persons and adventures. It is easy to awaken the attentionby incessantly presenting unheard of adventures and new faces, which passbefore the imagination as the figures in a magic lanthorn do before theeye; but to keep up that attention to the same objects, and without theaid of the wonderful, is certainly more difficult; and if, everythingelse being equal, the simplicity of the subject adds to the beauty of thework, the novels of Richardson, superior in so many other respects, cannot in this be compared to mine. I know it is already forgotten, and the cause of its being so; but it will be taken up again. All myfear was that, by an extreme simplicity, the narrative would befatiguing, and that it was not sufficiently interesting to engage theattention throughout the whole. I was relieved from this apprehension bya circumstance which alone was more flattering to my pride than all thecompliments made me upon the work. 

It appeared at the beginning of the carnival; a hawker carried it to thePrincess of Talmont--[It was not the princess, but some other lady, whose name I do not know. ]--on the evening of a ball night at the opera. After supper the Princess dressed herself for the ball, and until thehour of going there, took up the new novel. At midnight she ordered thehorses to be put into the carriage, and continued to read. The servantreturned to tell her the horses were put to; she made no answer. Herpeople perceiving she forgot herself, came to tell her it was twoo'clock. "There is yet no hurry, " replied the princess, still readingon. Some time afterwards, her watch having stopped, she rang to know thehour. She was told it was four o'clock. "That being the case, " shesaid, "it is too late to go to the ball; let the horses be taken off. "She undressed herself and passed the rest of the night in reading. 

Ever since I came to the knowledge of this circumstance, I have had aconstant desire to see the lady, not only to know from herself whether ornot what I have related be exactly true, but because I have alwaysthought it impossible to be interested in so lively a manner in thehappiness of Julia, without having that sixth and moral sense with whichso few hearts are endowed, and without which no person whatever canunderstand the sentiments of mine. 

What rendered the women so favorable to me was, their being persuadedthat I had written my own history, and was myself the hero of theromance. This opinion was so firmly established, that Madam de Polignacwrote to Madam de Verdelin, begging she would prevail upon me to show herthe portrait of Julia. Everybody thought it was impossible so stronglyto express sentiments without having felt them, or thus to describe thetransports of love, unless immediately from the feelings of the heart. This was true, and I certainly wrote the novel during the time myimagination was inflamed to ecstasy; but they who thought real objectsnecessary to this effect were deceived, and far from conceiving to whata degree I can at will produce it for imaginary beings. Without Madamd'Houdetot, and the recollection of a few circumstances in my youth, the amours I have felt and described would have been with fairy nymphs. I was unwilling either to confirm or destroy an error which wasadvantageous to me. The reader may see in the preface a dialogue, whichI had printed separately, in what manner I left the public in suspense. Rigorous people say, I ought to have explicity declared the truth. Formy part I see no reason for this, nor anything that could oblige me toit, and am of opinion there would have been more folly than candor in thedeclaration without necessity. 

Much about the same time the 'Paix Perpetuelle' made its appearance, of this I had the year before given the manuscript to a certain M. DeBastide, the author of a journal called Le Monde, into which he would atall events cram all my manuscripts. He was known to M. Duclos, and camein his name to beg I would help him to fill the Monde. He had heardspeak of Eloisa, and would have me put this into his journal; he was alsodesirous of making the same use of Emilius; he would have asked me forthe Social Contract for the same purpose, had he suspected it to bewritten. At length, fatigued with his importunities, I resolved uponletting him have the Paix Perpetuelle, which I gave him for twelve louis. Our agreement was, that he should print it in his journal; but as soon ashe became the proprietor of the manuscript, he thought proper to print itseparately, with a few retrenchments, which the censor required him tomake. What would have happened had I joined to the work my opinion ofit, which fortunately I did not communicate to M. De Bastide, nor was itcomprehended in our agreement? This remains still in manuscript amongstmy papers. If ever it be made public, the world will see how much thepleasantries and self-sufficient manner of M. De Voltaire on the subjectmust have made me, who was so well acquainted with the short-sightednessof this poor man in political matters, of which he took it into his headto speak, shake my sides with laughter. 

In the midst of my success with the women and the public, I felt I lostground at the Hotel de Luxembourg, not with the marechal, whose goodnessto me seemed daily to increase, but with his lady. Since I had hadnothing more to read to her, the door of her apartment was not sofrequently open to me, and during her stay at Montmorency, although Iregularly presented myself, I seldom saw her except at table. My placeeven there was not distinctly marked out as usual. As she no longeroffered me that by her side, and spoke to me but seldom, not having on mypart much to say to her, I was well satisfied with another, where I wasmore at my ease, especially in the evening; for I mechanically contractedthe habit of placing myself nearer and nearer to the marechal. 

Apropos of the evening: I recollect having said I did not sup at thecastle, and this was true, at the beginning of my acquaintance there; butas M. De Luxembourg did not dine, nor even sit down to table, it happenedthat I was for several months, and already very familiar in the family, without ever having eaten with him. This he had the goodness to remark, upon which I determined to sup there from time to time, when the companywas not numerous; I did so, and found the suppers very agreeable, as thedinners were taken almost standing; whereas the former were long, everybody remaining seated with pleasure after a long walk; and very goodand agreeable, because M. De Luxembourg loved good eating, and the honorsof them were done in a charming manner by madam de marechale. Withoutthis explanation it would be difficult to understand the end of a letterfrom M. De Luxembourg, in which he says he recollects our walks with thegreatest pleasure; especially, adds he, when in the evening we enteredthe court and did not find there the traces of carriages. The rake beingevery morning drawn over the gravel to efface the marks left by the coachwheels, I judged by the number of ruts of that of the persons who hadarrived in the afternoon. 

This year, 1761, completed the heavy losses this good man had sufferedsince I had had the honor of being known to him. As if it had beenordained that the evils prepared for me by destiny should begin by theman to whom I was most attached, and who was the most worthy of esteem. The first year he lost his sister, the Duchess of Villeroy; the second, his daughter, the Princess of Robeck; the third, he lost in the Duke ofMontmorency his only son; and in the Comte de Luxembourg, his grandson, the last two supporters of the branch of which he was, and of his name. He supported all these losses with apparent courage, but his heartincessantly bled in secret during the rest of his life, and his healthwas ever after upon the decline. The unexpected and tragical death ofhis son must have afflicted him the more, as it happened immediatelyafter the king had granted him for his child, and given him the promisefor his grandson, the reversion of the commission he himself then held ofthe captain of the Gardes de Corps. He had the mortification to see thelast, a most promising young man, perish by degrees from the blindconfidence of the mother in the physician, who giving the unhappy youthmedicines for food, suffered him to die of inanition. Alas! had myadvice been taken, the grandfather and the grandson would both still havebeen alive. What did not I say and write to the marechal, whatremonstrances did I make to Madam de Montmorency, upon the more thansevere regimen, which, upon the faith of physicians, she made her sonobserve! Madam de Luxembourg, who thought as I did, would not usurp theauthority of the mother; M. De Luxembourg, a man of mild and easycharacter, did not like to contradict her. Madam de Montmorency had inBorden a confidence to which her son at length became a victim. Howdelighted was the poor creature when he could obtain permission to cometo Mont Louis with Madam de Boufflers, to ask Theresa for some victualsfor his famished stomach! How did I secretly deplore the miseries ofgreatness in seeing this only heir to a immense fortune, a great name, and so many dignified titles, devour with the greediness of a beggar awretched morsel of bread! At length, notwithstanding all I could say anddo, the physician triumphed, and the child died of hunger. 

The same confidence in quacks, which destroyed the grandson, hastened thedissolution of the grandfather, and to this he added the pusillanimity ofwishing to dissimulate the infirmities of age. M. De Luxembourg had atintervals a pain in the great toe; he was seized with it at Montmorency, which deprived him of sleep, and brought on slight fever. I had courageenough to pronounce the word gout. Madam de Luxembourg gave me areprimand. The surgeon, valet de chambre of the marechal, maintained itwas not the gout, and dressed the suffering part with beaume tranquille. Unfortunately the pain subsided, and when it returned the same remedy washad recourse to. The constitution of the marechal was weakened, and hisdisorder increased, as did his remedies in the same proportion. Madam deLuxembourg, who at length perceived the primary disorder to be the gout, objected to the dangerous manner of treating it. Things were afterwardsconcealed from her, and M. De Luxembourg in a few years lost his life inconsequence of his obstinate adherence to what he imagined to be a methodof cure. But let me not anticipate misfortune: how many others have I torelate before I come to this!

It is singular with what fatality everything I could say and do seemed ofa nature to displease Madam de Luxembourg, even when I had it most atheart to preserve her friendship. The repeated afflictions which fellupon M. De Luxembourg still attached me to him the more, and consequentlyto Madam de Luxembourg; for they always seemed to me to be so sincerelyunited, that the sentiments in favor of the one necessarily extended tothe other. The marechal grew old. His assiduity at court, the caresthis brought on, continually hunting, fatigue, and especially that of theservice during the quarter he was in waiting, required the vigor of ayoung man, and I did not perceive anything that could support his in thatcourse of life; since, besides after his death, his dignities were to bedispersed and his name extinct, it was by no means necessary for him tocontinue a laborious life of which the principal object had been todispose the prince favorably to his children. One day when we three weretogether, and he complained of the fatigues of the court, as a man whohad been discouraged by his losses, I took the liberty to speak ofretirement, and to give him the advice Cyneas gave to Pyrrhus. Hesighed, and returned no positive answer. But the moment Madam deLuxembourg found me alone she reprimanded me severely for what I hadsaid, at which she seemed to be alarmed. She made a remark of which I sostrongly felt the justness that I determined never again to touch uponthe subject: this was, that the long habit of living at court made thatlife necessary, that it was become a matter of amusement for M. DeLuxembourg, and that the retirement I proposed to him would be less arelaxation from care than an exile, in which inactivity, weariness andmelancholy would soon put an end to his existence. Although she musthave perceived I was convinced, and ought to have relied upon the promiseI made her, and which I faithfully kept, she still seemed to doubt of it;and I recollect that the conversations I afterwards had with the marechalwere less frequent and almost always interrupted. 

Whilst my stupidity and awkwardness injured me in her opinion, personswhom she frequently saw and most loved, were far from being disposed toaid me in gaining what I had lost. The Abbe de Boufflers especially, ayoung man as lofty as it was possible for a man to be, never seemed welldisposed towards me; and besides his being the only person of the societyof Madam de Luxembourg who never showed me the least attention, I thoughtI perceived I lost something with her every time he came to the castle. It is true that without his wishing this to be the case, his presencealone was sufficient to produce the effect; so much did his graceful andelegant manner render still more dull my stupid propositi. During thefirst two years he seldom came to Montmorency, and by the indulgence ofMadam de Luxembourg I had tolerably supported myself, but as soon as hisvisits began to be regular I was irretrievably lost. I wished to takerefuge under his wing, and gain his friendship; but the same awkwardnesswhich made it necessary I should please him prevented me from succeedingin the attempt I made to do it, and what I did with that intentionentirely lost me with Madam de Luxembourg, without being of the leastservice to me with the abbe. With his understanding he might havesucceeded in anything, but the impossibility of applying himself, and histurn for dissipation, prevented his acquiring a perfect knowledge of anysubject. His talents are however various, and this is sufficient for thecircles in which he wishes to distinguish himself. He writes lightpoetry and fashionable letters, strums on the cithern, and pretends todraw with crayon. He took it into his head to attempt the portrait ofMadam de Luxembourg; the sketch he produced was horrid. She said it didnot in the least resemble her and this was true. The traitorous abbeconsulted me, and I like a fool and a liar, said there was a likeness. I wished to flatter the abbe, but I did not please the lady who noteddown what I had said, and the abbe, having obtained what he wanted, laughed at me in his turn. I perceived by the ill success of this mylate beginning the necessity of making another attempt to flatter 'invitaMinerva'. 

My talent was that of telling men useful but severe truths with energyand courage; to this it was necessary to confine myself. Not only I wasnot born to flatter, but I knew not how to commend. The awkwardness ofthe manner in which I have sometimes bestowed eulogium has done me moreharm than the severity of my censure. Of this I have to adduce oneterrible instance, the consequences of which have not only fixed my fatefor the rest of my life, but will perhaps decide on my reputationthroughout all posterity. 

During the residence of M. De Luxembourg at Montmorency, M. De Choiseulsometimes came to supper at the castle. He arrived there one day after Ihad left it. My name was mentioned, and M. De Luxembourg related to himwhat had happened at Venice between me and M. De Montaigu. M. DeChoiseul said it was a pity I had quitted that track, and that if I choseto enter it again he would most willingly give me employment. M. DeLuxembourg told me what had passed. Of this I was the more sensible as Iwas not accustomed to be spoiled by ministers, and had I been in a betterstate of health it is not certain that I should not have been guilty of anew folly. Ambition never had power over my mind except during the shortintervals in which every other passion left me at liberty; but one ofthese intervals would have been sufficient to determine me. This goodintention of M. De Choiseul gained him my attachment and increased theesteem which, in consequence of some operations in his administration, I had conceived for his talents; and the family compact in particular hadappeared to me to evince a statesman of the first order. He moreovergained ground in my estimation by the little respect I entertained forhis predecessors, not even excepting Madam de Pompadour, whom Iconsidered as a species of prime minister, and when it was reported thatone of these two would expel the other, I thought I offered up prayersfor the honor of France when I wished that M. De Choiseul might triumph. I had always felt an antipathy to Madam de Pompadour, even before herpreferment; I had seen her with Madam de la Popliniere when her name wasstill Madam d'Etioles. I was afterwards dissatisfied with her silence onthe subject of Diderot, and with her proceedings relative to myself, aswell on the subject of the 'Muses Galantes', as on that of the 'Devin duVillage', which had not in any manner produced me advantages proportionedto its success; and on all occasions I had found her but little disposedto serve me. This however did not prevent the Chevalier de Lorenzy fromproposing to me to write something in praise of that lady, insinuatingthat I might acquire some advantage by it. The proposition excited myindignation, the more as I perceived it did not come from himself, knowing that, passive as he was, he thought and acted according to theimpulsion he received. I am so little accustomed to constraint that itwas impossible for me to conceal from him my disdain, nor from anybodythe moderate opinion I had of the favorite; this I am sure she knew, andthus my own interest was added to my natural inclination in the wishes Iformed for M. De Choiseul. Having a great esteem for his talents, whichwas all I knew of him, full of gratitude for his kind intentions, andmoreover unacquainted in my retirement with his taste and manner ofliving, I already considered him as the avenger of the public and myself;and being at that time writing the conclusion of my Social Contract, I stated in it, in a single passage, what I thought of precedingministers, and of him by whom they began to be eclipsed. On thisoccasion I acted contrary to my most constant maxim; and besides, I didnot recollect that, in bestowing praise and strongly censuring in thesame article, without naming the persons, the language must be soappropriated to those to whom it is applicable, that the most ticklishpride cannot find in it the least thing equivocal. I was in this respectin such an imprudent security, that I never once thought it was possibleany one should make a false application. It will soon appear whether ornot I was right. 

One of my misfortunes was always to be connected with some female author. This I thought I might avoid amongst the great. I was deceived; it stillpursued me. Madam de Luxembourg was not, however; at least that I knowof, attacked with the mania of writing; but Madam de Boufflers was. Shewrote a tragedy in prose, which, in the first place, was read, handedabout, and highly spoken of in the society of the Prince Conti, and uponwhich, not satisfied with the encomiums she received, she wouldabsolutely consult me for the purpose of having mine. This she obtained, but with that moderation which the work deserved. She besides had withit the information I thought it my duty to give her, that her piece, entitled 'L'Esclave Genereux', greatly resembled the English tragedy of'Oroonoko', but little known in France, although translated into theFrench language. Madam de Bouffiers thanked me for the remark, but, however, assured me there was not the least resemblance between her pieceand the other. I never spoke of the plagiarisms except to herself, and Idid it to discharge a duty she had imposed on me; but this has not sinceprevented me from frequently recollecting the consequences of thesincerity of Gil Blas to the preaching archbishop. 

Besides the Abbe de Bouffiers, by whom I was not beloved, and Madam deBouffiers, in whose opinion I was guilty of that which neither women norauthors ever pardon, the other friends of Madam de Luxembourg neverseemed much disposed to become mine, particularly the President Henault, who, enrolled amongst authors, was not exempt from their weaknesses; alsoMadam du Deffand, and Mademoiselle de Lespinasse, both intimate withVoltaire and the friends of D'Alembert, with whom the latter at lengthlived, however upon an honorable footing, for it cannot be understood Imean otherwise. I first began to interest myself for Madam du Deffand, whom the loss of her eyes made an object of commiseration in mine; buther manner of living so contrary to my own, that her hour of going to bedwas almost mine for rising; her unbounded passion for low wit, theimportance she gave to every kind of printed trash, either complimentaryor abusive, the despotism and transports of her oracles, her excessiveadmiration or dislike of everything, which did not permit her to speakupon any subject without convulsions, her inconceivable prejudices, invincible obstinacy, and the enthusiasm of folly to which this carriedher in her passionate judgments; all disgusted me and diminished theattention I wished to pay her. I neglected her and she perceived it;this was enough to set her in a rage, and, although I was sufficientlyaware how much a woman of her character was to be feared, I preferredexposing myself to the scourge of her hatred rather than to that of herfriendship. 

My having so few friends in the society of Madam de Luxembourg would nothave been in the least dangerous had I had no enemies in the family. Of these I had but one, who, in my then situation, was as powerful as ahundred. It certainly was not M. De Villeroy, her brother; for he notonly came to see me, but had several times invited me to Villeroy;and as I had answered to the invitation with all possible politenessand respect, he had taken my vague manner of doing it as a consent, and arranged with Madam de Luxembourg a journey of a fortnight, in whichit was proposed to me to make one of the party. As the cares my healththen required did not permit me to go from home without risk, I prayedMadam de Luxembourg to have the goodness to make my apologies. Heranswer proves this was done with all possible ease, and M. De Villeroystill continued to show me his usual marks of goodness. His nephew andheir, the young Marquis of Villeroy, had not for me the same benevolence, nor had I for him the respect I had for his uncle. His harebrainedmanner rendered him insupportable to me, and my coldness drew upon me hisaversion. He insultingly attacked me one evening at table, and I had theworst of it because I am a fool, without presence of mind; and becauseanger, instead of rendering my wit more poignant, deprives me of thelittle I have. I had a dog which had been given me when he was quiteyoung, soon after my arrival at the Hermitage, and which I had calledDuke. This dog, not handsome, but rare of his kind, of which I had mademy companion and friend, a title which he certainly merited much morethan most of the persons by whom it was taken, became in great request atthe castle of Montmorency for his good nature and fondness, and theattachment we had for each other; but from a foolish pusillanimity I hadchanged his name to Turk, as if there were not many dogs called Marquis, without giving the least offence to any marquis whatsoever. The Marquisof Villeroy, who knew of the change of name, attacked me in such a mannerthat I was obliged openly at table to relate what I had done. Whateverthere might be offensive in the name of duke, it was not in my havinggiven but in my having taken it away. The worst of it all was, therewere many dukes present, amongst others M. De Luxembourg and his son; andthe Marquis de Villeroy, who was one day to have, and now has the title, enjoyed in the most cruel manner the embarrassment into which he hadthrown me. I was told the next day his aunt had severely reprimandedhim, and it may be judged whether or not, supposing her to have beenserious, this put me upon better terms with him. 

To enable me to support his enmity I had no person, neither at the Hotelde Luxembourg nor at the Temple, except the Chevalier de Lorenzy, whoprofessed himself my friend; but he was more that of D'Alembert, underwhose protection he passed with women for a great geometrician. He wasmore, over the cicisbe, or rather the complaisant chevalier of theCountess of Boufflers, a great friend also to D'Alembert, and theChevalier de Lorenzy was the most passive instrument in her hands. Thus, far from having in that circle any counter-balance to myinaptitude, to keep me in the good graces of Madam de Luxembourg, everybody who approached her seemed to concur in injuring me in her goodopinion. Yet, besides Emilius, with which she charged herself, she gaveme at the same time another mark of her benevolence, which made meimagine that, although wearied with my conversation, she would stillpreserve for me the friendship she had so many times promised me forlife. 

As soon as I thought I could depend upon this, I began to ease my heart, by confessing to her all my faults, having made it an inviolable maxim toshow myself to my friends such as I really was, neither better nor worse. I had declared to her my connection with Theresa, and everything that hadresulted from it, without concealing the manner in which I had disposedof my children. She had received my confessions favorably, and even toomuch so, since she spared me the censures I so much merited; and whatmade the greatest impression upon me was her goodness to Theresa, makingher presents, sending for her, and begging her to come and see her, receiving her with caresses, and often embracing her in public. Thispoor girl was in transports of joy and gratitude, of which I certainlypartook; the friendship Madam de Luxembourg showed me in hercondescensions to Theresa affected me much more than if they had beenmade immediately to myself. 

Things remained in this state for a considerable time; but at lengthMadam de Luxembourg carried her goodness so far as to have a desire totake one of my children from the hospital. She knew I had put a cipherinto the swaddling clothes of the eldest; she asked me for thecounterpart of the cipher, and I gave it to her. In this research sheemployed La Roche, her valet de chambre and confidential servant, whomade vain inquiries, although after only about twelve or fourteen years, had the registers of the foundling hospital been in order, or the searchproperly made, the original cipher ought to have been found. Howeverthis may be, I was less sorry for his want of success than I should havebeen had I from time to time continued to see the child from its birthuntil that moment. If by the aid of the indications given, another childhad been presented as my own, the doubt of its being so in fact, and thefear of having one thus substituted for it, would have contracted myaffections, and I should not have tasted of the charm of the realsentiment of nature. This during infancy stands in need of beingsupported by habit. The long absence of a child whom the father has seenbut for an instant, weakens, and at length annihilates paternalsentiment, and parents will never love a child sent to nurse, like thatwhich is brought up under their eyes. This reflection may extenuate myfaults in their effects, but it must aggravate them in their source. 

It may not perhaps be useless to remark that by the means of Theresa, thesame La Roche became acquainted with Madam le Vasseur, whom Grimm stillkept at Deuil, near La Chevrette, and not far from Montmorency. 

After my departure it was by means of La Roche that I continued to sendthis woman the money I had constantly sent her at stated times, and I amof opinion he often carried her presents from Madam de Luxembourg;therefore she certainly was not to be pitied, although she constantlycomplained. With respect to Grimm, as I am not fond of speaking ofpersons whom I ought to hate, I never mentioned his name to Madam deLuxembourg, except when I could not avoid it; but she frequently made himthe subject of conversation, without telling me what she thought of theman, or letting me discover whether or not he was of her acquaintance. Reserve with people I love and who are open with me being contrary to mynature, especially in things relating to themselves, I have since thattime frequently thought of that of Madam de Luxembourg; but never, exceptwhen other events rendered the recollection natural. 

Having waited a long time without hearing speak of Emilius, after I hadgiven it to Madam de Luxembourg, I at last heard the agreement was madeat Paris, with the bookseller Duchesne, and by him with Neaulme, ofAmsterdam. Madam de Luxembourg sent me the original and the duplicate ofmy agreement with Duchesne, that I might sign them. I discovered thewriting to be by the same hand as that of the letters of M. DeMalesherbes, which he himself did not write. The certainty that myagreement was made by the consent, and under the eye of that magistrate, made me sign without hesitation. Duchesne gave me for the manuscript sixthousand livres(two hundred and fifty pounds), half in specie, and one ortwo hundred copies. After having signed the two parts, I sent them bothto Madam de Luxembourg, according to her desire; she gave one toDuchesne, and instead of returning the other kept it herself, so that Inever saw it afterwards. 

My acquaintance with M. And Madam de Luxembourg, though it diverted me alittle from my plan of retirement, did not make me entirely renounce it. Even at the time I was most in favor with Madam de Luxembourg, I alwaysfelt that nothing but my sincere attachment to the marechal and herselfcould render to me supportable the people with whom they were connected, and all the difficulty I had was in conciliating this attachment with amanner of life more agreeable to my inclination, and less contrary to myhealth, which constraint and late suppers continually deranged, notwithstanding all the care taken to prevent it; for in this, as ineverything else, attention was carried as far as possible; thus, forinstance, every evening after supper the marechal, who went early to bed, never failed, notwithstanding everything that could be said to thecontrary, to make me withdraw at the same time. It was not until somelittle time before my catastrophe that, for what reason I know not, heceased to pay me that attention. Before I perceived the coolness ofMadam de Luxembourg, I was desirous, that I might not expose myself toit, to execute my old project; but not having the means to that effect, I was obliged to wait for the conclusion of the agreement for 'Emilius', and in the time I finished the 'Social Contract', and sent it to Rey, fixing the price of the manuscript at a thousand livres (forty-onepounds), which he paid me. 

I ought not perhaps to omit a trifling circumstance relative to thismanuscript. I gave it, well sealed up, to Du Voisin, a minister in thepays de Vaud and chaplain at the Hotel de Hollande, who sometimes came tosee me, and took upon himself to send the packet to Rey, with whom he wasconnected. The manuscript, written in a small letter, was but verytrifling, and did not fill his pocket. Yet, in passing the barriere, thepacket fell, I know not by what means, into the hands of the Commis, whoopened and examined it, and afterwards returned it to him, when he hadreclaimed it in the name of the ambassador. This gave him an opportunityof reading it himself, which he ingeniously wrote me he had done, speaking highly of the work, without suffering a word of criticism orcensure to escape him; undoubtedly reserving to himself to become theavenger of Christianity as soon as the work should appear. He resealedthe packet and sent it to Rey. Such is the substance of his narrative inthe letter in which he gave an account of the affair, and is all I everknew of the matter. 

Besides these two books and my dictionary of music, at which I still didsomething as opportunity offered, I had other works of less importanceready to make their appearance, and which I proposed to publish eitherseparately or in my general collection, should I ever undertake it. Theprincipal of these works, most of which are still in manuscript in thehands of De Peyrou, was an essay on the origin of Languages, which I hadread to M. De Malesherbes and the Chevalier de Lorenzy, who spokefavorably of it. I expected all the productions together would produceme a net capital of from eight to ten thousand livres (three to fourhundred pounds), which I intended to sink in annuities for my life andthat of Theresa; after which, our design, as I have already mentioned, was to go and live together in the midst of some province, withoutfurther troubling the public about me, or myself with any other projectthan that of peacefully ending my days and still continuing to do in myneighborhood all the good in my power, and to write at leisure thememoirs which I intended. 

Such was my intention, and the execution of it was facilitated by an actof generosity in Rey, upon which I cannot be silent. This bookseller, ofwhom so many unfavorable things were told me in Paris, is, notwithstanding, the only one with whom I have always had reason to besatisfied. It is true, we frequently disagreed as to the execution of myworks. He was heedless and I was choleric; but in matters of interestwhich related to them, although I never made with him an agreement inform, I always found in him great exactness and probity. He is also theonly person of his profession who frankly confessed to me he gainedlargely by my means; and he frequently, when he offered me a part of hisfortune, told me I was the author of it all. Not finding the means ofexercising his gratitude immediately upon myself, he wished at least togive me proofs of it in the person of my governante, upon whom he settledan annuity of three hundred livres (twelve pounds), expressing in thedeed that it was an acknowledgment for the advantages I had procured him. This he did between himself and me, without ostentation, pretension, ornoise, and had not I spoken of it to anybody, not a single person wouldever have known anything of the matter. I was so pleased with thisaction that I became attached to Rey, and conceived for him a realfriendship. Sometime afterwards he desired I would become godfather toone of his children; I consented, and a part of my regret in thesituation to which I am reduced, is my being deprived of the means ofrendering in future my attachment of my goddaughter useful to her and herparents. Why am I, who am so sensible of the modest generosity of thisbookseller, so little so of the noisy eagerness of many persons of thehighest rank, who pompously fill the world with accounts of the servicesthey say they wished to render me, but the good effects of which I neverfelt? Is it their fault or mine? Are they nothing more than vain; is myinsensibility purely ingratitude? Intelligent reader weigh anddetermine; for my part I say no more. 

This pension was a great resource to Theresa and considerable alleviationto me, although I was far from receiving from it a direct advantage, anymore than from the presents that were made her. 

She herself has always disposed of everything. When I kept her money Igave her a faithful account of it, without ever applying any part of thedeposit to our common expenses, not even when she was richer thanmyself. "What is mine is ours, " said I to her; "and what is thine isthine. " I never departed from this maxim. They who have had thebaseness to accuse me of receiving by her hands that which I refused totake with mine, undoubtedly judged of my heart by their own, and knew butlittle of me. I would willingly eat with her the bread she should haveearned, but not that she should have had given her. For a proof of thisI appeal to herself, both now and hereafter, when, according to thecourse of nature, she shall have survived me. Unfortunately, sheunderstands but little of economy in any respect, and is, besides, careless and extravagant, not from vanity nor gluttony, but solely fromnegligence. No creature is perfect here below, and since the excellentqualities must be accompanied with some detects; I prefer these to vices;although her defects are more prejudicial to us both. The efforts I havemade, as formerly I did for mamma, to accumulate something in advancewhich might some day be to her a never-failing resource, are not to beconceived; but my cares were always ineffectual. 

Neither of these women ever called themselves to an account, and, notwithstanding all my efforts, everything I acquired was dissipated asfast as it came. Notwithstanding the great simplicity of Theresa'sdress, the pension from Rey has never been sufficient to buy her clothes, and I have every year been under the necessity of adding something to itfor that purpose. We are neither of us born to be rich, and this Icertainly do not reckon amongst our misfortunes. 

The 'Social Contract' was soon printed. This was not the case with'Emilius', for the publication of which I waited to go into theretirement I meditated. Duchesne, from time to time, sent me specimensof impression to choose from; when I had made my choice, instead ofbeginning he sent me others. When, at length, we were fully determinedon the size and letter, and several sheets were already printed off, onsome trifling alteration I made in a proof, he began the whole again; andat the end of six months we were in less forwardness than on the firstday. During all these experiments I clearly perceived the work wasprinting in France as well as in Holland, and that two editions of itwere preparing at the same time. What could I do? The manuscript was nolonger mine. Far from having anything to do with the edition in France, I was always against it; but since, at length, this was preparing inspite of all opposition, and was to serve as a model to the other, it wasnecessary I should cast my eyes over it and examine the proofs, that mywork might not be mutilated. It was, besides, printed so much by theconsent of the magistrate, that it was he who, in some measure, directedthe undertaking; he likewise wrote to me frequently, and once came to seeme and converse on the subject upon an occasion of which I am going tospeak. 

Whilst Duchesne crept like a snail, Neaulme, whom he withheld, scarcelymoved at all. The sheets were not regularly sent him as they wereprinted. He thought there was some trick in the manoeuvre of Duchesne, that is, of Guy who acted for him; and perceiving the terms of theagreement to be departed from, he wrote me letter after letter full ofcomplaints, and it was less possible for me to remove the subject of themthan that of those I myself had to make. His friend Guerin, who at thattime came frequently to see my house, never ceased speaking to me aboutthe work, but always with the greatest reserve. He knew and he did notknow that it was printing in France, and that the magistrate had a handin it. In expressing his concern for my embarrassment, he seemed toaccuse me of imprudence without ever saying in what this consisted; heincessantly equivocated, and seemed to speak for no other purpose than tohear what I had to say. I thought myself so secure that I laughed at hismystery and circumspection as at a habit he had contracted with ministersand magistrates whose offices he much frequented. Certain of havingconformed to every rule with the work, and strongly persuaded that I hadnot only the consent and protection of the magistrate, but that the bookmerited and had obtained the favor of the minister, I congratulatedmyself upon my courage in doing good, and laughed at my pusillanimousfriends who seemed uneasy on my account. Duclos was one of these, and Iconfess my confidence in his understanding and uprightness might havealarmed me, had I had less in the utility of the work and in the probityof those by whom it was patronized. He came from the house of M. Bailleto see me whilst 'Emilius' was in the press; he spoke to me concerningit; I read to him the 'Profession of Faith of the Savoyard Vicar', to which he listened attentively and, as it seemed to me with pleasure. When I had finished he said: "What! citizen, this is a part of a worknow printing in Paris?"--"Yes, " answered I, and it ought to be printed atthe Louvre by order of the king. "--I confess it, " replied he; "but praydo not mention to anybody your having read to me this fragment. "

This striking manner of expressing himself surprised without alarming me. I knew Duclos was intimate with M. De Malesherbes, and I could notconceive how it was possible he should think so differently from him uponthe same subject. 

I had lived at Montmorency for the last four years without ever havinghad there one day of good health. Although the air is excellent, thewater is bad, and this may possibly be one of the causes whichcontributed to increase my habitual complaints. Towards the end of theautumn of 1767, I fell quite ill, and passed the whole winter insuffering almost without intermission. The physical ill, augmented by athousand inquietudes, rendered these terrible. For some time past mymind had been disturbed by melancholy forebodings without my knowing towhat these directly tended. I received anonymous letters of anextraordinary nature, and others, that were signed, much of the sameimport. I received one from a counsellor of the parliament of Paris, who, dissatisfied with the present constitution of things, and foreseeingnothing but disagreeable events, consulted me upon the choice of anasylum at Geneva or in Switzerland, to retire to with his family. Another was brought me from M. De -----, 'president a mortier' of theparliament of -----, who proposed to me to draw up for this Parliament, which was then at variance with the court, memoirs and remonstrances, andoffering to furnish me with all the documents and materials necessary forthat purpose. 

When I suffer I am subject to ill humor. This was the case when Ireceived these letters, and my answers to them, in which I flatly refusedeverything that was asked of me, bore strong marks of the effect they hadhad upon my mind. I do not however reproach myself with this refusal, as the letters might be so many snares laid by my enemies, and what wasrequired of me was contrary to the principles from which I was lesswilling than ever to swerve. But having it within my power to refusewith politeness I did it with rudeness, and in this consists my error. 

 [I knew, for instance, the President de ----- to be connected with the Encyclopedists and the Holbachiens]

The two letters of which I have just spoken will be found amongst mypapers. The letter from the chancellor did not absolutely surprise me, because I agreed with him in opinion, and with many others, that thedeclining constitution of France threatened an approaching destruction. The disasters of an unsuccessful war, all of which proceeded from a faultin the government; the incredible confusion in the finances; theperpetual drawings upon the treasury by the administration, which wasthen divided between two or three ministers, amongst whom reigned nothingbut discord, and who, to counteract the operations of each other, let thekingdom go to ruin; the discontent of the people, and of every other rankof subjects; the obstinacy of a woman who, constantly sacrificing herjudgment, if she indeed possessed any, to her inclinations, kept frompublic employment persons capable of discharging the duties of them, toplace in them such as pleased her best; everything occurred in justifyingthe foresight of the counsellor, that of the public, and my own. This, made me several times consider whether or not I myself should seek anasylum out of the kingdom before it was torn by the dissensions by whichit seemed to be threatened; but relieved from my fears by myinsignificance, and the peacefulness of my disposition, I thought that inthe state of solitude in which I was determined to live, no publiccommotion could reach me. I was sorry only that, in this state ofthings, M. De Luxembourg should accept commissions which tended to injurehim in the opinion of the persons of the place of which he was governor. I could have wished he had prepared himself a retreat there, in case thegreat machine had fallen in pieces, which seemed much to be apprehended;and still appears to me beyond a doubt, that if the reins of governmenthad not fallen into a single hand, the French monarchy would now be atthe last gasp. 

Whilst my situation became worse the printing of 'Emilius' went on moreslowly, and was at length suspended without my being able to learn thereason why; Guy did not deign to answer my letter of inquiry, and I couldobtain no information from any person of what was going forward. M. DeMalesherbes being then in the country. A misfortune never makes meuneasy provided I know in what it consists; but it is my nature to beafraid of darkness, I tremble at the appearance of it; mystery alwaysgives me inquietude, it is too opposite to my natural disposition, inwhich there is an openness bordering on imprudence. The sight of themost hideous monster would, I am of opinion, alarm me but little; but ifby night I were to see a figure in a white sheet I should be afraid ofit. My imagination, wrought upon by this long silence, was now employedin creating phantoms. I tormented myself the more in endeavoring todiscover the impediment to the printing of my last and best production, as I had the publication of it much at heart; and as I always carriedeverything to an extreme, I imagined that I perceived in the suspensionthe suppression of the work. Yet, being unable to discover either thecause or manner of it, I remained in the most cruel state of suspense. I wrote letter after letter to Guy, to M. De Malesherbes and to Madam deLuxembourg, and not receiving answers, at least when I expected them, myhead became so affected that I was not far from a delirium. I unfortunately heard that Father Griffet, a Jesuit, had spoken of'Emilius' and repeated from it some passages. My imagination instantlyunveiled to me the mystery of iniquity; I saw the whole progress of it asclearly as if it had been revealed to me. I figured to myself that theJesuits, furious on account of the contemptuous manner in which I hadspoken of colleges, were in possession of my work; that it was they whohad delayed the publication; that, informed by their friend Guerin of mysituation, and foreseeing my approaching dissolution, of which I myselfhad no manner of doubt, they wished to delay the appearance of the workuntil after that event, with an intention to curtail and mutilate it, andin favor of their own views, to attribute to me sentiments not my own. The number of facts and circumstances which occurred to my mind, inconfirmation of this silly proposition, and gave it an appearance oftruth supported by evidence and demonstration, is astonishing. I knewGuerin to be entirely in the interest of the Jesuits. I attributed tothem all the friendly advances he had made me; I was persuaded he had, by their entreaties, pressed me to engage with Neaulme, who had giventhem the first sheets of my work; that they had afterwards found means tostop the printing of it by Duchesne, and perhaps to get possession of themanuscript to make such alterations in it as they should think proper, that after my death they might publish it disguised in their own manner. I had always perceived, notwithstanding the wheedling of Father Berthier, that the Jesuits did not like me, not only as an Encyclopedist, butbecause all my principles were more in opposition to their maxims andinfluence than the incredulity of my colleagues, since atheistical anddevout fanaticism, approaching each other by their common enmity totoleration, may become united; a proof of which is seen in China, and inthe cabal against myself; whereas religion, both reasonable and moral, taking away all power over the conscience, deprives those who assume thatpower of every resource. I knew the chancellor was a great friend to theJesuits, and I had my fears less the son, intimidated by the father, should find himself under the necessity of abandoning the work he hadprotected. I besides imagined that I perceived this to be the case inthe chicanery employed against me relative to the first two volumes, inwhich alterations were required for reasons of which I could not feel theforce; whilst the other two volumes were known to contain things of sucha nature as, had the censor objected to them in the manner he did to thepassages he thought exceptionable in the others, would have requiredtheir being entirely written over again. I also understood, and M. DeMalesherbes himself told me of it, that the Abbe de Grave, whom he hadcharged with the inspection of this edition, was another partisan of theJesuits. I saw nothing but Jesuits, without considering that, upon thepoint of being suppressed, and wholly taken up in making their defence, they had something which interested them much more than the cavillingsrelative to a work in which they were not in question. I am wrong, however, in saying this did not occur to me; for I really thought of it, and M. De Malesherbes took care to make the observation to me the momenthe heard of my extravagant suspicions. But by another of thoseabsurdities of a man, who, from the bosom of obscurity, will absolutelyjudge of the secret of great affairs, with which he is totallyunacquainted. I never could bring myself to believe the Jesuits were indanger, and I considered the rumor of their suppression as an artfulmanoeuvre of their own to deceive their adversaries. Their pastsuccesses, which had been uninterrupted, gave me so terrible an idea ofthe power, that I already was grieved at the overthrow of the parliament. I knew M. De Choiseul had prosecuted his studies under the Jesuits, thatMadam de Pompadour was not upon bad terms with them, and that theirleague with favorites and ministers had constantly appeared advantageousto their order against their common enemies. The court seemed to remainneuter, and persuaded as I was that should the society receive a severecheck it would not come from the parliament, I saw in the inaction ofgovernment the ground of their confidence and the omen of their triumph. 

In fine, perceiving in the rumors of the day nothing more than art anddissimulation on their part, and thinking they, in their state ofsecurity, had time to watch over all their interests, I had had not theleast doubt of their shortly crushing Jansenism, the parliament and theEncyclopedists, with every other association which should not submit totheir yoke; and that if they ever suffered my work to appear, this wouldnot happen until it should be so transformed as to favor theirpretensions, and thus make use of my name the better to deceive myreaders. 

I felt my health and strength decline; and such was the horror with whichmy mind was filled, at the idea of dishonor to my memory in the work mostworthy of myself, that I am surprised so many extravagant ideas did notoccasion a speedy end to my existence. I never was so much afraid ofdeath as at this time, and had I died with the apprehensions I then hadupon my mind, I should have died in despair. At present, although Iperceived no obstacle to the execution of the blackest and most dreadfulconspiracy ever formed against the memory of a man, I shall die much morein peace, certain of leaving in my writings a testimony in my favor, andone which, sooner or later, will triumph over the calumnies of mankind. 

M. De Malesherbes, who discovered the agitation of my mind, and to whom Iacknowledged it, used such endeavors to restore me to tranquility asproved his excessive goodness of heart. Madam de Luxembourg aided him inhis good work, and several times went to Duchesne to know in what statethe edition was. At length the impression was again begun, and theprogress of it became more rapid than ever, without my knowing for whatreason it had been suspended. M. De Malesherbes took the trouble to cometo Montmorency to calm my mind; in this he succeeded, and the fullconfidence I had in his uprightness having overcome the derangement of mypoor head, gave efficacy to the endeavors he made to restore it. Afterwhat he had seen of my anguish and delirium, it was natural he shouldthink I was to be pitied; and he really commiserated my situation. Theexpressions, incessantly repeated, of the philosophical cabal by which hewas surrounded, occurred to his memory. When I went to live at theHermitage, they, as I have already remarked, said I should not remainthere long. When they saw I persevered, they charged me with obstinacyand pride, proceeding from a want of courage to retract, and insistedthat my life was there a burden to me; in short, that I was verywretched. M. De Malesherbes believed this really to be the case, andwrote to me upon the subject. This error in a man for whom I had so muchesteem gave me some pain, and I wrote to him four letters successively, in which I stated the real motives of my conduct, and made him fullyacquainted with my taste, inclination and character, and with the mostinterior sentiments of my heart. These letters, written hastily, almostwithout taking pen from paper, and which I neither copied, corrected, nor even read, are perhaps the only things I ever wrote with facility, which, in the midst of my sufferings, was, I think, astonishing. I sighed, as I felt myself declining, at the thought of leaving in themidst of honest men an opinion of me so far from truth; and by the sketchhastily given in my four letters, I endeavored, in some measure, tosubstitute them to the memoirs I had proposed to write. They areexpressive of my grief to M. De Malesherbes, who showed them in Paris, and are, besides, a kind of summary of what I here give in detail, and, on this account, merit preservation. The copy I begged of them someyears afterwards will be found amongst my papers. 

The only thing which continued to give me pain, in the idea of myapproaching dissolution, was my not having a man of letters for a friend, to whom I could confide my papers, that after my death he might take aproper choice of such as were worthy of publication. 

After my journey to Geneva, I conceived a friendship for Moulton; thisyoung man pleased me, and I could have wished him to receive my lastbreath. I expressed to him this desire, and am of opinion he wouldreadily have complied with it, had not his affairs prevented him from sodoing. Deprived of this consolation, I still wished to give him a markof my confidence by sending him the 'Profession of Faith of the SavoyardVicar' before it was published. He was pleased with the work, but didnot in his answer seem so fully to expect from it the effect of which Ihad but little doubt. He wished to receive from me some fragment which Ihad not given to anybody else. I sent him the funeral oration of thelate Duke of Orleans; this I had written for the Abbe Darty, who had notpronounced it, because, contrary to his expectation, another person wasappointed to perform that ceremony. 

The printing of Emilius, after having been again taken in hand, wascontinued and completed without much difficulty; and I remarked thissingularity, that after the curtailings so much insisted upon in thefirst two volumes, the last two were passed over without an objection, and their contents did not delay the publication for a moment. I had, however, some uneasiness which I must not pass over in silence. Afterhaving been afraid of the Jesuits, I begun to fear the Jansenists andphilosophers. An enemy to party, faction and cabal, I never heard theleast good of parties concerned in them. The gossips had quitted theirold abode and taken up their residence by the side of me, so that intheir chamber, everything said in mine, and upon the terrace, wasdistinctly heard; and from their garden it would have been easy to scalethe low wall by which it was separated from my alcove. This was becomemy study; my table was covered with proofsheets of Emilius and the SocialContract and stitching these sheets as they were sent to me, I had all myvolumes a long time before they were published. My negligence and theconfidence I had in M. Mathas, in whose garden I was shut up, frequentlymade me forget to lock the door at night, and in the morning I severaltimes found it wide open; this, however, would not have given me theleast inquietude had I not thought my papers seemed to have beenderanged. After having several times made the same remark, I became morecareful, and locked the door. The lock was a bad one, and the key turnedin it no more than half round. As I became more attentive, I found mypapers in a much greater confusion than they were when I left everythingopen. At length I missed one of my volumes without knowing what wasbecome of it until the morning of the third day, when I again found itupon the table. I never suspected either M. Mathas or his nephew M. DuMoulin, knowing myself to be beloved by both, and my confidence in themwas unbounded. That I had in the gossips began to diminish. Althoughthey were Jansenists, I knew them to have some connection withD' Alembert, and moreover they all three lodged in the same house. Thisgave me some uneasiness, and put me more upon my guard. I removed mypapers from the alcove to my chamber, and dropped my acquaintance withthese people, having learned they had shown in several houses the firstvolume of 'Emilius', which I had been imprudent enough to lend them. Although they continued until my departure to be my neighbors I never, after my first suspicions, had the least communication with them. The'Social Contract' appeared a month or two before 'Emilius'. Rey, whom Ihad desired never secretly to introduce into France any of my books, applied to the magistrate for leave to send this book by Rouen, to whichplace he sent his package by sea. He received no answer, and his bales, after remaining at Rouen several months, were returned to him, but notuntil an attempt had been made to confiscate them; this, probably, wouldhave been done had not he made a great clamor. Several persons, whosecuriosity the work had excited, sent to Amsterdam for copies, which werecirculated without being much noticed. Maulion, who had heard of this, and had, I believe, seen the work, spoke to me on the subject with an airof mystery which surprised me, and would likewise have made me uneasy if, certain of having conformed to every rule, I had not by virtue of mygrand maxim, kept my mind calm. I moreover had no doubt but M. DeChoiseul, already well disposed towards me, and sensible of the eulogiumof his administration, which my esteem for him had induced me to make inthe work, would support me against the malevolence of Madam de Pompadour. 

I certainly had then as much reason as ever to hope for the goodness ofM. De Luxembourg, and even for his assistance in case of need; for henever at any time had given me more frequent and more pointed marks ofhis friendship. At the journey of Easter, my melancholy state no longerpermitting me to go to the castle, he never suffered a day to passwithout coming to see me, and at length, perceiving my sufferings to beincessant, he prevailed upon me to determine to see Friar Come. Heimmediately sent for him, came with him, and had the courage, uncommon toa man of his rank, to remain with me during the operation which was crueland tedious. Upon the first examination, Come thought he found a greatstone, and told me so; at the second, he could not find it again. Afterhaving made a third attempt with so much care and circumspection that Ithought the time long, he declared there was no stone, but that theprostate gland was schirrous and considerably thickened. He besidesadded, that I had a great deal to suffer, and should live a long time. Should the second prediction be as fully accomplished as the first, mysufferings are far from being at an end. 

It was thus I learned after having been so many years treated fordisorders which I never had, that my incurable disease, without beingmortal, would last as long as myself. My imagination, repressed by thisinformation, no longer presented to me in prospective a cruel death inthe agonies of the stone. 

Delivered from imaginary evils, more cruel to me than those which werereal, I more patiently suffered the latter. It is certain I have sincesuffered less from my disorder than I had done before, and every time Irecollect that I owe this alleviation to M. De Luxembourg, his memorybecomes more dear to me. 

Restored, as I may say, to life, and more than ever occupied with theplan according to which I was determined to pass the rest of my days, allthe obstacle to the immediate execution of my design was the publicationof 'Emilius'. I thought of Touraine where I had already been and whichpleased me much, as well on account of the mildness of the climate, as onthat of the character of the inhabitants. 

 'La terra molle lieta a dilettosa Simile a se l'habitator produce. '

I had already spoken of my project to M. De Luxembourg, who endeavored todissuade me from it; I mentioned it to him a second time as a thingresolved upon. He then offered me the castle of Merlon, fifteen leaguesfrom Paris, as an asylum which might be agreeable to me, and where he andMadam de Luxembourg would have a real pleasure in seeing me settled. Theproposition made a pleasing impression on my mind. But the first thingnecessary was to see the place, and we agreed upon a day when themarechal was to send his valet de chambre with a carriage to take me toit. On the day appointed, I was much indisposed; the journey waspostponed, and different circumstances prevented me from ever making it. I have since learned the estate of Merlou did not belong to the marechalbut to his lady, on which account I was the less sorry I had not gone tolive there. 

'Emilius' was at length given to the public, without my having heardfurther of retrenchments or difficulties. Previous to the publication, the marechal asked me for all the letters M. De Malesherbes had writtento me on the subject of the work. My great confidence in both, and theperfect security in which I felt myself, prevented me from reflectingupon this extraordinary and even alarming request. I returned all theletters excepting one or two which, from inattention, were left betweenthe leaves of a book. A little time before this, M. De Malesherbes toldme he should withdraw the letters I had written to Duchesne during myalarm relative to the Jesuits, and, it must be confessed, these lettersdid no great honor to my reason. But in my answer I assured him I wouldnot in anything pass for being better than I was, and that he might leavethe letters where they were. I know not what he resolved upon. 

The publication of this work was not succeeded by the applause which hadfollowed that of all my other writings. No work was ever more highlyspoken of in private, nor had any literary production ever had lesspublic approbation. What was said and written to me upon the subject bypersons most capable of judging, confirmed me in my opinion that it wasthe best, as well as the most important of all the works I had produced. But everything favorable was said with an air of the most extraordinarymystery, as if there had been a necessity of keeping it a secret. Madamde Boufflers, who wrote to me that the author of the work merited astatue, and the homage of mankind, at the end of her letter desired itmight be returned to her. D'Alembert, who in his note said the work gaveme a decided superiority, and ought to place me at the head of men ofletters, did not sign what he wrote, although he had signed every note Ihad before received from him. Duclos, a sure friend, a man of veracity, but circumspect, although he had a good opinion of the work, avoidedmentioning it in his letters to me. La Condomine fell upon theConfession of Faith, and wandered from the subject. Clairaut confinedhimself to the same part; but he was not afraid of expressing to me theemotion which the reading of it had caused in him, and in the most directterms wrote to me that it had warmed his old imagination: of all those towhom I had sent my book, he was the only person who spoke freely what hethought of it. 

Mathas, to whom I also had given a copy before the publication, lent itto M. De Blaire, counsellor in the parliament of Strasbourg. M. DeBlaire had a country-house at St. Gratien, and Mathas, his oldacquaintance, sometimes went to see him there. He made him read Emiliusbefore it was published. When he returned it to him, M. De Blaireexpressed himself in the following terms, which were repeated to me thesame day: "M. Mathas, this is a very fine work, but it will in a shorttime be spoken of more than, for the author might be wished. " I laughedat the prediction, and saw in it nothing more than the importance of aman of the robe, who treats everything with an air of mystery. All thealarming observations repeated to me made no impression upon my mind, and, far from foreseeing the catastrophe so near at hand, certain of theutility and excellence of my work, and that I had in every respectconformed to established rules; convinced, as I thought I was that Ishould be supported by all the credit of M. De Luxembourg and the favorof the ministry, I was satisfied with myself for the resolution I hadtaken to retire in the midst of my triumphs, and at my return to crushthose by whom I was envied. 

One thing in the publication of the work alarmed me, less on account ofmy safety than for the unburdening of my mind. At the Hermitage and atMontmorency I had seen with indignation the vexations which the jealouscare of the pleasures of princes causes to be exercised on wretchedpeasants, forced to suffer the havoc made by game in their fields, without daring to take any other measure to prevent this devastation thanthat of making a noise, passing the night amongst the beans and peas, with drums, kettles and bells, to keep off the wild boars. As I had beena witness to the barbarous cruelty with which the Comte de Charoloistreated these poor people, I had toward the end of Emilius exclaimedagainst it. This was another infraction of my maxims, which has notremained unpunished. I was informed that the people of the Prince ofConti were but little less severe upon his, estates; I trembled less thatprince, for whom I was penetrated with respect and gratitude, should taketo his own account what shocked humanity had made me say on that ofothers, and feel himself offended. Yet, as my conscience fully acquittedme upon this article, I made myself easy, and by so doing acted wisely:at least, I have not heard that this great prince took notice of thepassage, which, besides, was written long before I had the honor of beingknown to him. 

A few days either before or after the publication of my work, for I donot exactly recollect the time, there appeared another work upon the samesubject, taken verbatim from my first volume, except a few stupid thingswhich were joined to the extract. The book bore the name of a Genevese, one Balexsert, and, according to the title-page, had gained the premiumin the Academy of Harlem. I easily imagined the academy and the premiumto be newly founded, the better to conceal the plagiarism from the eyesof the public; but I further perceived there was some prior intriguewhich I could not unravel; either by the lending of my manuscript, without which the theft could not have been committed, or for the purposeof forging the story of the pretended premium, to which it was necessaryto give some foundation. It was not until several years afterwards, thatby a word which escaped D'Ivernois, I penetrated the mystery anddiscovered those by whom Balexsert had been brought forward. 

The low murmurings which precede a storm began to be heard, and men ofpenetration clearly saw there was something gathering, relative to me andmy book, which would shortly break over my head. For my part mystupidity was such, that, far from foreseeing my misfortune, I did notsuspect even the cause of it after I had felt its effect. It wasartfully given out that while the Jesuits were treated with severity, no indulgence could be shown to books nor the authors of them in whichreligion was attacked. I was reproached with having put my name toEmilius, as if I had not put it to all my other works of which nothingwas said. Government seemed to fear it should be obliged to take somesteps which circumstances rendered necessary on account of my imprudence. Rumors to this effect reached my ears, but gave me not much uneasiness:it never even came into my head, that there could be the least thing inthe whole affair which related to me personally, so perfectlyirreproachable and well supported did I think myself; having besidesconformed to every ministerial regulation, I did not apprehend Madam deLuxembourg would leave me in difficulties for an error, which, if itexisted, proceeded entirely from herself. But knowing the manner ofproceeding in like cases, and that it was customary to punish booksellerswhile authors were favored; I had some uneasiness on account of poorDuchesne, whom I saw exposed to danger, should M. De Malesherbes abandonhim. 

My tranquility still continued. Rumors increased and soon changed theirnature. The public, and especially the parliament, seemed irritated bymy composure. In a few days the fermentation became terrible, and theobject of the menaces being changed, these were immediately addressed tome. The parliamentarians were heard to declare that burning books was ofno effect, the authors also should be burned with them; not a word wassaid of the booksellers. The first time these expressions, more worthyof an inquisitor of Goa than a senator, were related to me, I had nodoubt of their coming from the Holbachiques with an intention to alarm meand drive me from France. I laughed at their puerile manoeuvre, and saidthey would, had they known the real state of things, have thought of someother means of inspiring me with fear; but the rumor at length becamesuch that I perceived the matter was serious. M. And Madam de Luxembourghad this year come to Montmorency in the month of June, which, for theirsecond journey, was more early than common. I heard but little there ofmy new books, notwithstanding the noise they made in Paris; neither themarechal nor his lady said a single word to me on the subject. However, one morning, when M. De Luxembourg and I were together, he asked me if, in the 'Social Contract', I had spoken ill of M. De Choiseul. "I?" saidI, retreating a few steps with surprise; "no, I swear to you I have not;but on the contrary, I have made on him, and with a pen not given topraise, the finest eulogium a minister ever received. " I then showed himthe passage. "And in Emilius?" replied he. "Not a word, " said I;"there is not in it a single word which relates to him. "--"Ah!" said he, with more vivacity than was common to him, "you should have taken thesame care in the other book, or have expressed yourself more clearly!""I thought, " replied I, "what I wrote could not be misconstrued; myesteem for him was such as to make me extremely cautious not to beequivocal. "

He was again going to speak; I perceived him ready to open his mind: hestopped short and held his tongue. Wretched policy of a courtier, whichin the best of hearts, subjugates friendship itself!

This conversation although short, explained to me my situation, at leastin certain respects, and gave me to understand that it was against myselfthe anger of administration was raised. The unheard of fatality, whichturned to my prejudice all the good I did and wrote, afflicted my heart. Yet, feeling myself shielded in this affair by Madam de Luxembourg and M. De Malesherbes, I did not perceive in what my persecutors could depriveme of their protection. However, I, from that moment was convincedequity and judgment were no longer in question, and that no pains wouldbe spared in examining whether or not I was culpable. The storm becamestill more menacing. Neaulme himself expressed to me, in the excess ofhis babbling, how much he repented having had anything to do in thebusiness, and his certainty of the fate with which the book and theauthor were threatened. One thing, however, alleviated my fears: Madamde Luxembourg was so calm, satisfied and cheerful, that I concluded shemust necessarily be certain of the sufficiency of her credit, especiallyif she did not seem to have the least apprehension on my account;moreover, she said not to me a word either of consolation or apology, andsaw the turn the affair took with as much unconcern as if she had nothingto do with it or anything else that related to me. What surprised memost was her silence. I thought she should have said something on thesubject. Madam de Boufflers seemed rather uneasy. She appearedagitated, strained herself a good deal, assured me the Prince of Contiwas taking great pains to ward off the blow about to be directed againstmy person, and which she attributed to the nature of presentcircumstances, in which it was of importance to the parliament not toleave the Jesuits an opening whereby they might bring an accusationagainst it as being indifferent with respect to religion. She did not, however, seem to depend much either upon the success of her own effortsor even those of the prince. Her conversations, more alarming thanconsolatory, all tended to persuade me to leave the kingdom and go toEngland, where she offered me an introduction to many of her friends, amongst others one to the celebrated Hume, with whom she had long beenupon a footing of intimate friendship. Seeing me still unshaken, she hadrecourse to other arguments more capable of disturbing my tranquillity. She intimated that, in case I was arrested and interrogated, I should beunder the necessity of naming Madam de Luxembourg, and that herfriendship for me required, on my part, such precautions as werenecessary to prevent her being exposed. My answer was, that should whatshe seemed to apprehend come to pass, she need not be alarmed; that Ishould do nothing by which the lady she mentioned might become asufferer. She said such a resolution was more easily taken than adheredto, and in this she was right, especially with respect to me, determinedas I always have been neither to prejudice myself nor lie before judges, whatever danger there might be in speaking the truth. 

Perceiving this observation had made some impression upon my mind, without however inducing me to resolve upon evasion, she spoke of theBastile for a few weeks, as a means of placing me beyond the reach of thejurisdiction of the parliament, which has nothing to do with prisoners ofstate. I had no objection to this singular favor, provided it were notsolicited in my name. As she never spoke of it a second time, Iafterwards thought her proposition was made to sound me, and that theparty did not think proper to have recourse to an expedient which wouldhave put an end to everything. 

A few days afterwards the marechal received from the Cure de Dueil, thefriend of Grimm and Madam d'Epinay, a letter informing him, as from goodauthority, that the parliament was to proceed against me with thegreatest severity, and that, on a day which he mentioned, an order was tobe given to arrest me. I imagined this was fabricated by theHolbachiques; I knew the parliament to be very attentive to forms, and that on this occasion, beginning by arresting me before it wasjuridically known I avowed myself the author of the book was violatingthem all. I observed to Madam de Boufflers that none but persons accusedof crimes which tend to endanger the public safety were, on a simpleinformation ordered to be arrested lest they should escape punishment. But when government wish to punish a crime like mine, which merits honorand recompense, the proceedings are directed against the book, and theauthor is as much as possible left out of the question. 

Upon this she made some subtle distinction, which I have forgotten, toprove that ordering me to be arrested instead of summoning me to be heardwas a matter of favor. The next day I received a letter from Guy, whoinformed me that having in the morning been with the attorney-general, hehad seen in his office a rough draft of a requisition against Emilius andthe author. Guy, it is to be remembered, was the partner of Duchesne, who had printed the work, and without apprehensions on his own account, charitably gave this information to the author. The credit I gave to himmaybe judged of. 

It was, no doubt, a very probable story, that a bookseller, admitted toan audience by the attorney-general, should read at ease scattered roughdrafts in the office of that magistrate! Madam de Boufflers and othersconfirmed what he had said. By the absurdities which were incessantlyrung in my ears, I was almost tempted to believe that everybody I heardspeak had lost their senses. 

Clearly perceiving that there was some mystery, which no one thoughtproper to explain to me, I patiently awaited the event, depending upon myintegrity and innocence, and thinking myself happy, let the persecutionwhich awaited me be what it would, to be called to the honor of sufferingin the cause of truth. Far from being afraid and concealing myself, I went every day to the castle, and in the afternoon took my usual walk. On the eighth of June, the evening before the order was concluded on, Iwalked in company with two professors of the oratory, Father Alamanni andFather Mandard. We carried to Champeaux a little collation, which we atewith a keen appetite. We had forgotten to bring glasses, and suppliedthe want of them by stalks of rye, through which we sucked up the winefrom the bottle, piquing ourselves upon the choice of large tubes to viewith each other in pumping up what we drank. I never was more cheerfulin my life. 

I have related in what manner I lost my sleep during my youth. I hadsince that time contracted a habit of reading every night in my bed, until I found my eyes begin to grow heavy. I then extinguished my waxtaper, and endeavored to slumber for a few moments, which were in generalvery short. The book I commonly read at night was the Bible, which, inthis manner I read five or six times from the beginning to the end. Thisevening, finding myself less disposed to sleep than ordinary, I continuedmy reading beyond the usual hour, and read the whole book which finishesat the Levite of Ephraim, the Book of judges, if I mistake not, for sincethat time I have never once seen it. This history affected meexceedingly, and, in a kind of a dream, my imagination still ran on it, when suddenly I was roused from my stupor by a noise and light. Theresacarrying a candle, lighted M. La Roche, who perceiving me hastily raisemyself up, said: "Do not be alarmed; I come from Madam de Luxembourg, who, in her letter incloses you another from the Prince of Conti. "In fact, in the letter of Madam de Luxembourg I found another, which anexpress from the prince had brought her, stating that, notwithstandingall his efforts, it was determined to proceed against me with the utmostrigor. "The fermentation, " said he, "is extreme; nothing can ward offthe blow; the court requires it, and the parliament will absolutelyproceed; at seven o'clock in the morning an order will be made to arresthim, and persons will immediately be sent to execute it. I have obtaineda promise that he shall not be pursued if he makes his escape; but if hepersists in exposing himself to be taken this will immediately happen. "La Roche conjured me in behalf of Madam de Luxembourg to rise and go andspeak to her. It was two o'clock and she had just retired to bed. "She expects you, " added he, "and will not go to sleep without speakingto you. " I dressed myself in haste and ran to her. 

She appeared to be agitated; this was for the first time. Her distressaffected me. In this moment of surprise and in the night, I myself wasnot free from emotion; but on seeing her I forgot my own situation, andthought of nothing but the melancholy part she would have to act should Isuffer myself to be arrested; for feeling I had sufficient couragestrictly to adhere to truth, although I might be certain of its beingprejudicial or even destructive to me, I was convinced I had not presenceof mind, address, nor perhaps firmness enough, not to expose her should Ibe closely pressed. This determined me to sacrifice my reputation to hertranquillity, and to do for her that which nothing could have prevailedupon me to do for myself. The moment I had come to this resolution, I declared it, wishing not to diminish the magnitude of the sacrifice bygiving her the least trouble to obtain it. I am sure she could notmistake my motive, although she said not a word, which proved to me shewas sensible of it. I was so much shocked at her indifference that I, for a moment, thought of retracting; but the marechal came in, and Madamde Bouffiers arrived from Paris a few moments afterwards. They did whatMadam de Luxembourg ought to have done. I suffered myself to beflattered; I was ashamed to retract; and the only thing that remained tobe determined upon was the place of my retreat and the time of mydeparture. M. De Luxembourg proposed to me to remain incognito a fewdays at the castle, that we might deliberate at leisure, and take suchmeasures as should seem most proper; to this I would not consent, no morethan to go secretly to the temple. I was determined to set off the sameday rather than remain concealed in any place whatever. 

Knowing I had secret and powerful enemies in the kingdom, I thought, notwithstanding my attachment to France, I ought to quit it, the betterto insure my future tranquillity. My first intention was to retire toGeneva, but a moment of reflection was sufficient to dissuade me fromcommitting that act of folly; I knew the ministry of France, morepowerful at Geneva than at Paris, would not leave me more at peace in oneof these cities than in the other, were a resolution taken to torment me. I was also convinced the 'Discourse upon Inequality' had excited againstme in the council a hatred the more dangerous as the council dared notmake it manifest. I had also learned, that when the New Eloisa appeared, the same council had immediately forbidden the sale of that work, uponthe solicitation of Doctor Tronchin; but perceiving the example not to beimitated, even in Paris, the members were ashamed of what they had done, and withdrew the prohibition. 

I had no doubt that, finding in the present case a more favorableopportunity, they would be very careful to take advantage of it. Notwithstanding exterior appearances, I knew there reigned against me inthe heart of every Genevese a secret jealousy, which, in the firstfavorable moment, would publicly show itself. Nevertheless, the love ofmy country called me to it, and could I have flattered myself I shouldthere have lived in peace, I should not have hesitated; but neither honornor reason permitting me to take refuge as a fugitive in a place of whichI was a citizen, I resolved to approach it only, and to wait inSwitzerland until something relative to me should be determined upon inGeneva. This state of uncertainty did not, as it will soon appear, continue long. 

Madam de Boufflers highly disapproved this resolution, and renewed herefforts to induce me to go to England, but all she could say was of noeffect; I had never loved England nor the English, and the eloquence ofMadam de Boufflers, far from conquering my repugnancy, seemed to increaseit without my knowing why. Determined to set off the same day, I wasfrom the morning inaccessible to everybody, and La Roche, whom I sent tofetch my papers, would not tell Theresa whether or not I was gone. SinceI had determined to write my own memoirs, I had collected a great numberof letters and other papers, so that he was obliged to return severaltimes. A part of these papers, already selected, were laid aside, and Iemployed the morning in sorting the rest, that I might take with me suchonly as were necessary and destroy what remained. 

M. De Luxembourg, was kind enough to assist me in this business, which wecould not finish before it was necessary I should set off, and I had nottime to burn a single paper. The marechal offered to take upon himselfto sort what I should leave behind me, and throw into the fire everysheet that he found useless, without trusting to any person whomsoever, and to send me those of which he should make choice. I accepted hisoffer, very glad to be delivered from that care, that I might pass thefew hours I had to remain with persons so dear to me, from whom I wasgoing to separate forever. He took the key of the chamber in which I hadleft these papers; and, at my earnest solicitation, sent for my pooraunt, who, not knowing what had become of me, or what was to become ofherself, and in momentary expectation of the arrival of the officers ofjustice, without knowing how to act or what to answer them, was miserableto an extreme. La Roche accompanied her to the castle in silence; shethought I was already far from Montmorency; on perceiving me, she madethe place resound with her cries, and threw herself into my arms. Oh, friendship, affinity of sentiment, habit and intimacy. 

In this pleasing yet cruel moment, the remembrance of so many days ofhappiness, tenderness and peace, passed together augmented the grief of afirst separation after an union of seventeen years during which we hadscarcely lost sight of each other for a single day. 

The marechal who saw this embrace, could not suppress his tears. He withdrew. Theresa determined never more to leave me out of her sight. I made her feel the inconvenience of accompanying me at that moment, andthe necessity of her remaining to take care of my effects and collect mymoney. When an order is made to arrest a man, it is customary to seizehis papers and put a seal upon his effects, or to make an inventory ofthem and appoint a guardian to whose care they are intrusted. It wasnecessary Theresa should remain to observe what passed, and geteverything settled in the most advantageous manner possible. I promisedher she should shortly come to me; the marechal confirmed my promise;but I did not choose to tell her to what place I was going, that, in caseof being interrogated by the persons who came to take me into custody, she might with truth plead ignorance upon that head. In embracing herthe moment before we separated I felt within me a most extraordinaryemotion, and I said to her with an agitation which, alas! was but tooprophetic: "My dear girl, you must arm yourself with courage. You havepartaken of my prosperity; it now remains to you, since you have chosenit, to partake of my misery. Expect nothing in future but insult andcalamity in following me. The destiny begun for me by this melancholyday will pursue me until my latest hour. "

I had now nothing to think of but my departure. The officers were toarrive at ten o'clock. It was four in the afternoon when I set off, andthey were not yet come. It was determined I should take post. I had nocarriage, The marechal made me a present of a cabriolet, and lent mehorses and a postillion the first stage, where, in consequence of themeasures he had taken, I had no difficulty in procuring others. 

As I had not dined at table, nor made my appearance in the castle, theladies came to bid me adieu in the entresol where I had passed the day. Madam de Luxembourg embraced me several times with a melancholy air;but I did not in these embraces feel the pressing I had done in those shehad lavished upon me two or three years before. Madam de Boufflers alsoembraced me, and said to me many civil things. An embrace whichsurprised me more than all the rest had done was one from Madam deMirepoix, for she also was at the castle. Madam la Marechale de Mirepoixis a person extremely cold, decent, and reserved, and did not, at leastas she appeared to me, seem quite exempt from the natural haughtiness ofthe house of Lorraine. She had never shown me much attention. Whether, flattered by an honor I had not expected, I endeavored to enhance thevalue of it; or that there really was in the embrace a little of thatcommiseration natural to generous hearts, I found in her manner and looksomething energetical which penetrated me. I have since that timefrequently thought that, acquainted with my destiny, she could notrefrain from a momentary concern for my fate. 

The marechal did not open his mouth; he was as pale as death. He wouldabsolutely accompany me to the carriage which waited at the wateringplace. We crossed the garden without uttering a single word. I had akey of the park with which I opened the gate, and instead of putting itagain into my pocket, I held it out to the marechal without saying aword. He took it with a vivacity which surprised me, and which has sincefrequently intruded itself upon my thoughts. 

I have not in my whole life had a more bitter moment than that of thisseparation. Our embrace was long and silent: we both felt that this wasour last adieu. 

Between Barre and Montmorency I met, in a hired carriage, four men inblack, who saluted me smilingly. According to what Theresa has sincetold me of the officers of justice, the hour of their arrival and theirmanner of behavior, I have no doubt, that they were the persons I met, especially as the order to arrest me, instead of being made out at seveno'clock, as I had been told it would, had not been given till noon. Ihad to go through Paris. A person in a cabriolet is not much concealed. I saw several persons in the streets who saluted me with an air offamiliarity but I did not know one of them. The same evening I changedmy route to pass Villeroy. At Lyons the couriers were conducted to thecommandant. This might have been embarrassing to a man unwilling eitherto lie or change his name. I went with a letter from Madam de Luxembourgto beg M. De Villeroy would spare me this disagreeable ceremony. M. DeVilleroy gave me a letter of which I made no use, because I did not gothrough Lyons. This letter still remains sealed up amongst my papers. The duke pressed me to sleep at Villeroy, but I preferred returning tothe great road, which I did, and travelled two more stages the sameevening. 

My carriage was inconvenient and uncomfortable, and I was too muchindisposed to go far in a day. My appearance besides was notsufficiently distinguished for me to be well served, and in Francepost-horses feel the whip in proportion to the favorable opinion thepostillion has of his temporary master. By paying the guides generouslythought I should make up for my shabby appearance: this was still worse. They took me for a worthless fellow who was carrying orders, and, for thefirst time in my life, travelling post. From that moment I had nothingbut worn-out hacks, and I became the sport of the postillions. I endedas I should have begun by being patient, holding my tongue, and sufferingmyself to be driven as my conductors thought proper. 

I had sufficient matter of reflection to prevent me from being weary onthe road, employing myself in the recollection of that which had justhappened; but this was neither my turn of mind nor the inclination of myheart. The facility with which I forget past evils, however recent theymay be, is astonishing. The remembrance of them becomes feeble, and, sooner or later, effaced, in the inverse proportion to the greater degreeof fear with which the approach of them inspires me. My cruelimagination, incessantly tormented by the apprehension of evils still ata distance, diverts my attention, and prevents me from recollecting thosewhich are past. Caution is needless after the evil has happened, and itis time lost to give it a thought. I, in some measure, put a period tomy misfortunes before they happen: the more I have suffered at theirapproach the greater is the facility with which I forget them; whilst, onthe contrary, incessantly recollecting my past happiness, I, if I may sospeak, enjoy it a second time at pleasure. It is to this happydisposition I am indebted for an exemption from that ill humor whichferments in a vindictive mind, by the continual remembrance of injuriesreceived, and torments it with all the evil it wishes to do its enemy. Naturally choleric, I have felt all the force of anger, which in thefirst moments has sometimes been carried to fury, but a desire ofvengeance never took root within me. I think too little of the offenceto give myself much trouble about the offender. I think of the injury Ihave received from him on account of that he may do me a second time, butwere I certain he would never do me another the first would be instantlyforgotten. Pardon of offences is continually preached to us. I knew notwhether or not my heart would be capable of overcoming its hatred, for itnever yet felt that passion, and I give myself too little concern aboutmy enemies to have the merit of pardoning them. I will not say to what adegree, in order to torment me, they torment themselves. I am at theirmercy, they have unbounded power, and make of it what use they please. There is but one thing in which I set them at defiance: which is intormenting themselves about me, to force me to give myself the leasttrouble about them. 

The day after my departure I had so perfectly forgotten what had passed, the parliament, Madam de Pompadour, M. De Choiseul, Grimm, andD'Alembert, with their conspiracies, that had not it been for thenecessary precautions during the journey I should have thought no more ofthem. The remembrance of one thing which supplied the place of all thesewas what I had read the evening before my departure. I recollect, also, the pastorals of Gessner, which his translator Hubert had sent me alittle time before. These two ideas occurred to me so strongly, and wereconnected in such a manner in my mind, that I was determined to endeavorto unite them by treating after the manner of Gessner, the subject of theLevite of Ephraim. His pastoral and simple style appeared to me butlittle fitted to so horrid a subject, and it was not to be presumed thesituation I was then in would furnish me with such ideas as would enlivenit. However, I attempted the thing, solely to amuse myself in mycabriolet, and without the least hope of success. I had no sooner begunthan I was astonished at the liveliness of my ideas, and the facilitywith which I expressed them. In three days I composed the first threecantos of the little poem I finished at Motiers, and I am certain of nothaving done anything in my life in which there is a more interestingmildness of manners, a greater brilliancy of coloring, more simpledelineations, greater exactness of proportion, or more antique simplicityin general, notwithstanding the horror of the subject which in itself isabominable, so that besides every other merit I had still that of adifficulty conquered. If the Levite of Ephraim be not the best of myworks, it will ever be that most esteemed. I have never read, nor shallI ever read it again without feeling interiorly the applause of a heartwithout acrimony, which, far from being embittered by misfortunes, issusceptible of consolation in the midst of them, and finds within itselfa resource by which they are counterbalanced. Assemble the greatphilosophers, so superior in their books to adversity which they do notsuffer, place them in a situation similar to mine, and, in the firstmoments of the indignation of their injured honor, give them a like workto compose, and it will be seen in what manner they will acquitthemselves of the task. 

When I set of from Montmorency to go into Switzerland, I had resolved tostop at Yverdon, at the house of my old friend Roguin, who had severalyears before retired to that place, and had invited me to go and see him. I was told Lyons was not the direct road, for which reason I avoidedgoing through it. But I was obliged to pass through Besancon, afortified town, and consequently subject to the same inconvenience. Itook it into my head to turn about and to go to Salins, under thepretense of going to see M. De Marian, the nephew of M. Dupin, who had anemployment at the salt-works, and formerly had given me many invitationsto his house. The expedition succeeded: M. De Marian was not in theway, and, happily, not being obliged to stop, I continued my journeywithout being spoken to by anybody. 

The moment I was within the territory of Berne, I ordered the postillionto stop; I got out of my carriage, prostrated myself, kissed the ground, and exclaimed in a transport of joy: "Heaven, the protector of virtue bepraised, I touch a land of liberty!" Thus blind and unsuspecting in myhopes, have I ever been passionately attached to that which was to makeme unhappy. The man thought me mad. I got into the carriage, and a fewhours afterwards I had the pure and lively satisfaction of feeling myselfpressed within the arms of the respectable Rougin. Ah! let me breathefor a moment with this worthy host! It is necessary I should gainstrength and courage before I proceed further. I shall soon find that inmy way which will give employment to them both. It is not without reasonthat I have been diffuse in the recital of all the circumstances I havebeen able to recollect. Although they may seem uninteresting, yet, whenonce the thread of the conspiracy is got hold of, they may throw somelight upon the progress of it; and, for instance, without giving thefirst idea of the problem I am going to propose, afford some aid insolving it. 

Suppose that, for the execution of the conspiracy of which I was theobject, my absence was absolutely necessary, everything tending to thateffect could not have happened otherwise than it did; but if withoutsuffering myself to be alarmed by the nocturnal embassy of Madam deLuxembourg, I had continued to hold out, and, instead of remaining at thecastle, had returned to my bed and quietly slept until morning, should Ihave equally had an order of arrest made out against me? This is a greatquestion upon which the solution of many others depends, and for theexamination of it, the hour of the comminatory decree of arrest, and thatof the real decree may be remarked to advantage. A rude but sensibleexample of the importance of the least detail in the exposition of facts, of which the secret causes are sought for to discover them by induction. 

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK XII. 

With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the lasteight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possiblefor me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil intowhich I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving thehand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame andmisfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction ofmy heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a manwho complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have theinconceivable art of rendering the public unknown to itself, or withoutits perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy. Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of thetreatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall notbe able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, norassign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes areall given in the preceding books; and everything in which I aminterested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossiblefor me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different causesare combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst myreaders one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine themystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully readover a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each fact heshall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain suchinformation as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue tointrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover ofall. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime Ilose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through whichhis steps must be directed. 

During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of myfriend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour, and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed, I formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncleand his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age, delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition. I conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter. The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a manalready verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks ofgreat esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was setupon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and Iwas greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the greatdisproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, mademe join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was atlength broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan, his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who hasmade him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin hasnot yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in thecertainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of themost pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable, but in advising for the best. 

I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me atGeneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there, and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had beengiven at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by therepublic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this seconddecree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that Irefused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these werewell confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every law, beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest confusionin the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears; everything remainedquiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace, it was unfavorableto me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips and pedants like ascholar threatened with a flogging for not having said his catechism. 

These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raisedagainst me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All thegazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The Frenchespecially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much piquethemselves upon their attention and proper condescension to theunfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalizedthemselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, whileeach seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me. I was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. Thecontinuator of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece ofextravagance in attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no meansproof of his own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris wasafraid of incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a workof any kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vainthe cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believethe world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the'Perpetual Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of theSavoyard Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; theauthor of 'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I havebeen had I published the 'Treatise de l'Esprit', or any similar work?And yet, in the storm raised against the author of that book, the public, far from joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them byeulogium. Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with, and the treatment of the two authors in the different countries ofEurope, be compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to, a man of sense be found, and I will ask no more. 

I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield tothe solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous ofkeeping me there. M. De Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city, encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. Thecolonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilionhe had in his house between the court and the garden, that I compliedwith his request, and he immediately furnished it with everythingnecessary for my little household establishment. 

The banneret Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most assiduousattention, did not leave me for an instant during the whole day. I wasmuch flattered by his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. Theday on which I was to take possession of my new habitation was alreadyfixed, and I had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a stormwas raised against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, butI have never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excitedagainst me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to sufferme to remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff wasinformed of the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of themembers of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance, and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, underoppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in theirstates. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches hadrather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. Howeverthis may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the blow. Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to me, hegave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait itsarrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to knowwhere to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, andforeseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate itsneighbor. 

Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabitedbut completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the villageof Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I hadonly a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the moreopportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturallybe sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve as apretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that momentto divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me hesitate. The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly subject, added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me with anaversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct, seemed totread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of humanity. Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my alcove atMontmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a distich, thelast line of which was as follows:

 Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi. 

 [He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king. ]

This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium, from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the verseby which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody whocame to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de Lorenzyhad even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had no doubtbut D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to the prince. I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in 'Emilius', whereunder the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it was clearly seenwhom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped critics, because Madamde Boufflers had several times mentioned the subject to me. I was, therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink in the registers of theKing of Prussia, and besides, supposing his majesty to have theprinciples I had dared to attribute to him, he, for that reason, couldnot but be displeased with my writings and their author; for everybodyknows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants have never failed toconceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on reading my works, without being acquainted with my person. 

However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was farfrom thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves tothe base passions, and that these had but little power over strong minds, such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art ofreigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on thisoccasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. Ithought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalancehis love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantageof circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man whohad dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible. I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which Iimagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When JeanJacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink belowthe General of the Volsci?

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installingme at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named MadamGirardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was veryconvenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she witha good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I eat with heruntil Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed. 

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be afugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to meand partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. Ifelt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, andthat what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would infuture become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against mymisfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her griefwould add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, shewould make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead offeeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread, she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I wasdriven by fate. 

I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of my poormamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and whateverpleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to me, I willnot disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an error, if aninvoluntary change of the affections of the heart be one. I had longperceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no longer forme what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the moresensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the sameinconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma, and thiseffect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek forperfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing withany other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children, however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my heart atease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had neglectedduties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse at lengthbecame so strong that it almost forced from me a public confession of myfault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage is so clear, thatit is astonishing any person should, after reading it, have had thecourage to reproach me with my error. My situation was however still thesame, or something worse, by the animosity of my enemies, who sought tofind me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and unwilling to run the risk, I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to a similar mortification. I had besides remarked that a connection with women was prejudicial to myhealth; this double reason made me form resolutions to which I had butsometimes badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had moreconstantly adhered to them. It was in this interval I had remarkedTheresa's coolness; she had the same attachment to me from duty, but notthe least from love. Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable, and I imagined that, certain of the continuation of my cares wherever shemight be, she would choose to stay at Paris rather than to wander withme. Yet she had given such signs of grief at our parting, had requiredof me such positive promises that we should meet again, and, since mydeparture, had expressed to the Prince de Conti and M. De Luxembourg sostrong a desire of it, that, far from having the courage to speak to herof separation, I scarcely had enough to think of it myself; and afterhaving felt in my heart how impossible it was for me to do without her, all I thought of afterwards was to recall her to me as soon as possible. I wrote to her to this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two monthssince I had quitted her; but it was our first separation after a union ofso many years. We had both of us felt it most cruelly. What emotion inour first embrace! O how delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy!How does my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to shed themmore frequently?

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of Scotlandand governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the states ofhis Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He answeredme with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had expected fromhim. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet, lord of themanor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his excellency. The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous Scotchman, powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began between him andme the strong attachment, which on my part still remains the same, andwould be so on his, had not the traitors, who have deprived me of all theconsolation of life, taken advantage of my absence to deceive his old ageand depreciate me in his esteem. 

George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famousGeneral Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, hadquitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account ofhis attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he soonbecame disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked in theruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time in Spain, the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attachedhimself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King of Prussia, who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His majestyreceived a great return for this reception, in the services rendered himby Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious, the sincerefriendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy man, haughtyand republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of friendship, butto this it was so obedient, that with very different maxims he sawnothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him. The kingcharged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, toSpain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years, let himretire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful employment ofpassing there the remainder of his life in rendering the inhabitantshappy. 

The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how todistinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses. When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, theymistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, hislaconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because, wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how toflatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of theminister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for havingbeen unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing theusurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took thepart, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur hadnot entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the prejudiceswith which he was inspired by others, and of all the imputations broughtagainst him it was the most devoid of truth. My first sentiment onseeing this venerable old man, was that of tender commiseration, onaccount of his extreme leanness of body, years having already left himlittle else but skin and bone; but when I raised my eyes to his animated, open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled with confidence, whichabsorbed every other sentiment. He answered the very short compliment Imade him when I first came into his presence by speaking of somethingelse, as if I had already been a week in his house. He did not bid ussit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the manor, remainedstanding. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine and piercing eyeof his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling myself entirelyat ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side upon the sofa. Bythe familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived the liberty I tookgave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This is not aNeuchatelois. 

Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when theheart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm byhis attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came tosee me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed theretwo days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for eachother that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier, where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there atleast once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and thenreturned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my host. Theemotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage toRaubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more pleasing thanthat with which I approached Columbier. 

What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, whilethinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charmingphilosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and hecalled me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an ideaof the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of thewant we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together. He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, andfor a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which Ilodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at myease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of mylife to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwardsspoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father!How is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarouswretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of yourfriendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me, who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed. My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he isstill a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination, and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself tobe deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singularand foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the peoplehe sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expectit; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by capriceand not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comesinto his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese, desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personalapplication to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gavehim a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. Onreceiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission tothe bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves alanguage which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner ofmy lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, renderedhim still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards hadproofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor didit affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions, yet inhis manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his manners ingeneral. Of this I will give one instance relative to a matter of nogreat importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier being too longfor me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by setting off afterdinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The landlord of thehouse where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlin a favorof importance to him, begged I would request his excellency to ask it inhis behalf. "Most willingly, " said I, and took him with me. I left himin the antechamber, and mentioned the matter to his lordship, whoreturned me no answer. After passing with him the whole morning, I sawas I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz, who was fatigued todeath with waiting. Thinking the governor had forgotten what I had saidto him, I again spoke of the business before we sat down to table, butstill received no answer. I thought this manner of making me feel I wasimportunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man in waiting, held mytongue. On my return the next day I was much surprised at the thanks hereturned me for the good dinner his excellency had given him afterreceiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lordship sent him therescript he had solicited, dispatched by the minister, and signed by theking, and this without having said a word either to myself or Sandozconcerning the business, about which I thought he did not wish to givehimself the least concern. 

I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds myrecollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of mylife, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief ofheart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it wasimpossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that infuture I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without givingthem a regular arrangement. 

I was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of myasylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom, asit will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king notonly approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must relateeverything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, ratherembarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute itproperly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money intoprovisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish mewith wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added, and perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me alittle house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would fixupon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the lastoffer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without acceptingeither, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector, and becameso sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I interested myselfas much in his glory as until then I had thought his successes unjust. At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by an illumination ina very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with which I decoratedthe house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I had the vindictivehaughtiness to spend almost as much money as he had wished to give me. The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the highest pinnacle ofmilitary and political fame, he would think of acquiring that of anothernature, by reanimating his states, encouraging in them commerce andagriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with a new people, maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming the arbitrator, after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a situation to sheathhis sword without danger, certain that no sovereign would oblige himagain to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was afraid he wouldprofit but little by the advantages he had gained, and that he would begreat only by halves. I dared to write to him upon the subject, and witha familiarity of a nature to please men of his character, conveying tohim the sacred voice of truth, which but few kings are worthy to hear. The liberty I took was a secret between him and myself. I did notcommunicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I sent my letter to theking sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch without asking whatit contained. His majesty returned me no answer and the marshal goingsoon after to Berlin, the king told him he had received from me ascolding. By this I understood my letter had been ill received, and thefrankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the rusticity of a pedant. In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps I did not say what wasnecessary, nor in the manner proper to the occasion. All I can answerfor is the sentiment which induced me to take up the pen. 

Shortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possibleassurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took theArmenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it. I had formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, wherethe frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made memore clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience ofan Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had atMontmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress, troubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet, before I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion ofM. De Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination. I therefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of thestorm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it untilI should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months afterwardsthat, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could properly, and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers, especiallyafter having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me I might wearit even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the waistcoat, caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this dress attendeddivine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to visit hislordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner made me noother compliment than that which consisted in saying "Salaam aliakum, "i. E. , "Peace be with you;" the common Turkish salutation; after whichnothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my newdress. 

Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading aquiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I havenever felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction; myimagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up myattention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seatedopposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue, isthe only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking andrambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet andeyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of theweather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment eachother, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live like asavage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the women, I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat down towork at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the bettersupport the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time with myfemale neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very amiableand not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois, daughterof the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as to induceme to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from which shederived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and the servicesshe received from me on occasions of importance, so that now a worthy andvirtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to me for herreason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I receivedfrom her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy winter, through out the whole of which when my sufferings were most cruel, shecame to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she made very shortfor us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual openness of heart. She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and these names, which westill give to each other, will, I hope, continue to be as dear to her asthey are to me. That my laces might be of some utility, I gave them tomy young female friends at their marriages, upon condition of theirsuckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had one upon theseterms, and well deserved it by her observance of them; Isabella herselfalso received another, which, by intention she as fully merited. She hasnot been happy enough to be able to pursue her inclination. When I sentthe laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of them a letter; the firsthas been shown about in the world; the second has not the same celebrity:friendship proceeds with less noise. 

Amongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will notenter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had ahouse upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was notanxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon badterms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet, as he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under thenecessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimesdined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. DuPerou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his nameover in silence. 

M. Du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whosesuccessor, M. Le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left awidow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of hersecond husband. 

Du Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother, hadbeen carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him. Hehad acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himselfupon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance, yellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored thisopinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This renderedhis motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond ofdisputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad. I was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker, aman of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a friend. He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the leastcompliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had alreadyformed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and stillless of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said wasjust. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neitherthe elevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but hehad all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. Idid not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment fromesteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totallyforgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich. 

For a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go toNeuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury. Why did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness uponwhich I must not be silent. 

Although protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while Iavoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of thepublic, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happenedin France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would havebeen afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by notimitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers ofthat city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of stateagainst me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressedthemselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited mybook, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying, that had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been sufferedto do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupidhypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animatedthe people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from settingforth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live atMotiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have measuredme the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear price. Theywould have it that I was obliged to them for the protection the kinggranted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to deprive me ofit. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all the injurythey could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power, they made amerit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in suffering meto stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their vain efforts, but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had the weakness to beunwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded for almost two years, as if it was not doing too much honor to such wretches, to pay attentionto their proceedings, which, good or bad, could not be imputed to them, because they never act but from a foreign impulse. Besides, mindswithout sense or knowledge, whose objects of esteem are influence, powerand money, and far from imagining even that some respect is due totalents, and that it is dishonorable to injure and insult them. 

A certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had beendeprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, thehusband of Isabella: "I am told this Rousseau has great wit, --bring himto me that I may see whether he has or not. " The disapprobation of sucha man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls. 

After the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even atNeuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had, however, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he hadgiven me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer isindiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after mysolemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestantcountry, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as inthe duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion intowhich I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the otherhand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing myself to arefusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the tumult excitedat Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe (the ministers), he would, without difficulty administer to me the sacrament in hischurch. The time of communion approaching, I wrote to M. De Montmollin, the minister, to prove to him my desire of communicating, and declaringmyself heartily united to the Protestant church; I also told him, inorder to avoid disputing upon articles of faith, that I would not hearkento any particular explanation of the point of doctrine. After takingthese steps I made myself easy, not doubting but M. De Montmollin wouldrefuse to admit me without the preliminary discussion to which I refusedto consent, and that in this manner everything would be at an end withoutany fault of mine. I was deceived: when I least expected anything of thekind, M. De Montmollin came to declare to me not only that he admitted meto the communion under the condition which I had proposed, but that heand the elders thought themselves much honored by my being one of theirflock. I never in my whole life felt greater surprise or received fromit more consolation. Living always alone and unconnected, appeared to mea melancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so manyproscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be ableto say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to thecommunion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears oftenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him towhose table I was drawing near. 

Sometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam deBoufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means ofD'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, thefirst this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency, she rebuked me severely for having written to M. De Montmollin, andespecially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meantby her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declaredmyself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollandewithout incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to mediverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct myconscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of thepurity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and Ianswered her without anger, stating to her my reasons. 

Calumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benignauthors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly. For my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without givingmyself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was acensure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could theSorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to acertainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was notone. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of whatconsequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singularcare, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw thispublication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne, byway of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the case. But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all I couldbring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have beenbetter placed in a madhouse than they were in the college. 

I was more affected by another publication, because it came from a manfor whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though Ipitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by thearchbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty Iowed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;the case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I hadalways detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I nevercombat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must becertain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I hadno doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although theywere at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old principle ofcrushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow my ancientmaxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work which Ithink I did completely. 

I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wantingto determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means ofsubsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my oldprojects had been overturned by the dissolution of my householdarrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale orsquandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since mydeparture. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished. Two or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without myhaving the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literarypursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned. Persuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that thepublic, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, allmy endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolutionshould take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a resourcefrom amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect I tookup my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far advanced asto leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My books whichI had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my papers sent meby the same conveyance, furnished me with the means of beginning mymemoirs to which I was determined to give my whole attention. I began bytranscribing the letters into a book, by which my memory might be guidedin the order of fact and time. I had already selected those I intendedto keep for this purpose, and for ten years the series was notinterrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I found aninterruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six months, from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put into myselection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d' Epinay, Madam de Chenonceaux, etc. , which filled up the void and were missing. What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon my paperswhilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was notconceivable, and I had seen M. De Luxembourg take the key of the chamberin which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, andall those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had beenunder the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be putin order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked themover for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those whichought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I perceivedthe vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly been takenaway. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could notcomprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and atthe time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could notbe interesting to any person. They contained nothing more thancavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendshipfrom M. De Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was thenupon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? Towhat use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwardsthat I suspected the nature of the theft. The deficiency being no longerdoubtful, I looked over my rough drafts to see whether or not it was theonly one. I found several, which on account of the badness of my memory, made me suppose others in the multitude of my papers. Those I remarkedwere that of the 'Morale Sensitive', and the extract of the adventures ofLord Edward. The last, I confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg. La Roche, her valet de chambre, had sent me the papers, and I could thinkof nobody but herself to whom this fragment could be of consequence; butwhat concern could the other give her, any more than the rest of theletters missing, with which, even with evil intentions, nothing to myprejudice could be done, unless they were falsified? As for themarechal, with whose friendship for me, and invariable integrity, I wasperfectly acquainted, I never could suspect him for a moment. The mostreasonable supposition, after long tormenting my mind in endeavoring todiscover the author of the theft, that which imputed it to D'Alembert, who, having thrust himself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, mighthave found means to turn over these papers, and take from amongst themsuch manuscripts and letters as he might have thought proper, either forthe purpose of endeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or toappropriate those he should find useful to his own private purposes. Iimagined that, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might havesupposed it to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, withwhich he would have armed himself against me in a manner easy to beimagined. Certain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketchand determined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave mebut little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand hadcommitted upon me without having complained of these pilferings. 

 [I had found in his 'Elemens de Musique' (Elements of Music) several things taken from what I had written for the 'Encyclopedie', and which were given to him several years before the publication of his elements. I know not what he may have had to do with a book entitled 'Dictionaire des Beaux Arts' (Dictionary of the Fine Arts) but I found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and this long before the same articles were printed in the Encyclopedie. ]

In a very little time I thought no more of the trick that had beenplayed me than if nothing had happened, and began to collect thematerials I had left for the purpose of undertaking my projectedconfessions. 

I had long thought the company of ministers, or at least the citizens andburgesses of Geneva, would remonstrate against the infraction of theedict in the decree made against me. Everything remained quiet, at leastto all exterior appearance; for discontent was general, and ready, on thefirst opportunity, openly to manifest itself. My friends, or personscalling themselves such, wrote letter after letter exhorting me to comeand put myself at their head, assuring me of public separation from thecouncil. The fear of the disturbance and troubles which might be causedby my presence, prevented me from acquiescing with their desires, and, faithful to the oath I had formerly made, never to take the least part inany civil dissension in my country, I chose rather to let the offenceremain as it was, and banish myself forever from the country, than toreturn to it by means which were violent and dangerous. It is true, I expected the burgesses would make legal remonstrances against aninfraction in which their interests were deeply concerned; but no suchsteps were taken. They who conducted the body of citizens sought lessthe real redress of grievances than an opportunity to render themselvesnecessary. They caballed but were silent, and suffered me to bebespattered by the gossips and hypocrites set on to render me odious inthe eyes of the populace, and pass upon them their boistering for a zealin favor of religion. 

After having, during a whole year, vainly expected that some one wouldremonstrate against an illegal proceeding, and seeing myself abandoned bymy fellow-citizens, I determined to renounce my ungrateful country inwhich I never had lived, from which I had not received either inheritanceor services, and by which, in return for the honor I had endeavored to doit, I saw myself so unworthily treated by unanimous consent, since they, who should have spoken, had remained silent. I therefore wrote to thefirst syndic for that year, to M. Favre, if I remember right, a letter inwhich I solemnly gave up my freedom of the city of Geneva, carefullyobserving in it, however, that decency and moderation, from which I havenever departed in the acts of haughtiness which, in my misfortunes, thecruelty of my enemies have frequently forced upon me, This step opened the eyes of the citizens, who feeling they had neglectedtheir own interests by abandoning my defence, took my part when it wastoo late. They had wrongs of their own which they joined to mine, andmade these the subject of several well-reasoned representations, whichthey strengthened and extended, as the refusal of the council, supportedby the ministry of France, made them more clearly perceive the projectformed to impose on them a yoke. These altercations produced severalpamphlets which were undecisive, until that appeared entitled 'Lettresecrites de la Campagne', a work written in favor of the council, withinfinite art, and by which the remonstrating party, reduced to silence, was crushed for a time. This production, a lasting monument of the raretalents of its author, came from the Attorney-General Tronchin, a man ofwit and an enlightened understanding, well versed in the laws andgovernment of the republic. 'Siluit terra'. 

The remonstrators, recovered from their first overthrow, undertook togive an answer, and in time produced one which brought them off tolerablywell. But they all looked to me, as the only person capable of combatinga like adversary with hope of success. I confess I was of their opinion, and excited by my former fellow-citizens, who thought it was my duty toaid them with my pen, as I had been the cause of their embarrassment, Iundertook to refute the 'Lettres ecrites de la Campagne', and parodiedthe title of them by that of 'Lettres ecrites de la Montagne, ' which Igave to mine. I wrote this answer so secretly, that at a meeting I hadat Thonon, with the chiefs of the malcontents to talk of their affairs, and where they showed me a sketch of their answer, I said not a word ofmine, which was quite ready, fearing obstacles might arise relative tothe impression of it, should the magistrate or my enemies hear of what Ihad done. This work was, however known in France before the publication;but government chose rather to let it appear, than to suffer me to guessat the means by which my secret had been discovered. Concerning this Iwill state what I know, which is but trifling: what I have conjecturedshall remain with myself. 

I received, at Motiers, almost as many visits as at the Hermitage andMontmorency; but these, for the most part were a different kind. Theywho had formerly come to see me were people who, having taste, talents, and principles, something similar to mine, alleged them as the causes oftheir visits, and introduced subjects on which I could converse. AtMotiers the case was different, especially with the visitors who camefrom France. They were officers or other persons who had no taste forliterature, nor had many of them read my works, although, according totheir own accounts, they had travelled thirty, forty, sixty, and even ahundred leagues to come and see me, and admire the illustrious man, thevery celebrated, the great man, etc. For from the time of my settling atMotiers, I received the most impudent flattery, from which the esteem ofthose with whom I associated had formerly sheltered me. As but few of mynew visitors deigned to tell me who or what they were, and as they hadneither read nor cast their eye over my works, nor had their researchesand mine been directed to the same objects, I knew not what to speak tothem upon: I waited for what they had to say, because it was for them toknow and tell me the purpose of their visit. It will naturally beimagined this did not produce conversations very interesting to me, although they, perhaps, were so to my visitors, according to theinformation they might wish to acquire; for as I was without suspicion, I answered without reserve, to every question they thought proper to askme, and they commonly went away as well informed as myself of theparticulars of my situation. 

I was, for example, visited in this manner by M. De Feins, equerry to thequeen, and captain of cavalry, who had the patience to pass several daysat Motiers, and to follow me on foot even to La Ferriere, leading hishorse by the bridle, without having with me any point of union, exceptour acquaintance with Mademoiselle Fel, and that we both played at'bilboquet'. [A kind of cup and ball. ]

Before this I had received another visit much more extraordinary. Twomen arrived on foot, each leading a mule loaded with his little baggage, lodging at the inn, taking care of their mules and asking to see me. Bythe equipage of these muleteers they were taken for smugglers, and thenews that smugglers were come to see me was instantly spread. Theirmanner of addressing me sufficiently showed they were persons of anotherdescription; but without being smugglers they might be adventurers, andthis doubt kept me for some time on my guard. They soon removed myapprehensions. One was M. De Montauban, who had the title of Comte de laTour du Pin, gentleman to the dauphin; the other, M. Dastier deCarpentras, an old officer who had his cross of St. Louis in his pocket, because he could not display it. These gentlemen, both very amiable, were men of sense, and their manner of travelling, so much to my owntaste, and but little like that of French gentlemen, in some measuregained them my attachment, which an intercourse with them served toimprove. Our acquaintance did not end with the visit; it is still keptup, and they have since been several times to see me, not on foot, thatwas very well for the first time; but the more I have seen of thesegentlemen the less similarity have I found between their taste and mine;I have not discovered their maxims to be such as I have ever observed, that my writings are familiar to them, or that there is any real sympathybetween them and myself. What, therefore, did they want with me? Whycame they to see me with such an equipage? Why repeat their visit? Whywere they so desirous of having me for their host? I did not at thattime propose to myself these questions; but they have sometimes occurredto me since. 

Won by their advances, my heart abandoned itself without reserve, especially to M. Dastier, with whose open countenance I was moreparticularly pleased. I even corresponded with him, and when Idetermined to print the 'Letters from the Mountains', I thought ofaddressing myself to him, to deceive those by whom my packet was waitedfor upon the road to Holland. He had spoken to me a good deal, andperhaps purposely, upon the liberty of the press at Avignon; he offeredme his services should I have anything to print there: I took advantageof the offer and sent him successively by the post my first sheets. After having kept these for some time, he sent them back to me, "Because, " said he, "no bookseller dared to sell them;" and I was obligedto have recourse to Rey taking care to send my papers, one after theother, and not to part with those which succeeded until I had advice ofthe reception of those already sent. Before the work was published, I found it had been seen in the office of the ministers, and D'Escherny, of Neuchatel, spoke to me of the book, entitled 'Del' Homme de laMonlagne', which D'Holbach had told him was by me. I assured him, and itwas true, that I never had written a book which bore that title. Whenthe letters appeared he became furious, and accused me of falsehood;although I had told him truth. By this means I was certain my manuscripthad been read; as I could not doubt the fidelity of Rey, the mostrational conjecture seemed to be, that my packets had been opened at thepost-house. 

Another acquaintance I made much about the same time, but which was begunby letters, was that with M. Laliand of Nimes, who wrote to me fromParis, begging I would send him my profile; he said he was in want of itfor my bust in marble, which Le Moine was making for him to be placed inhis library. If this was a pretence invented to deceive me, it fullysucceeded. I imagined that a man who wished to have my bust in marble inhis library had his head full of my works, consequently of my principles, and that he loved me because his mind was in unison with mine. It wasnatural this idea should seduce me. I have since seen M. Laliand. Ifound him very ready to render me many trifling services, and to concernhimself in my little affairs, but I have my doubts of his having, in thefew books he ever read, fallen upon any one of those I have written. Ido not know that he has a library, or that such a thing is of any use tohim; and for the bust he has a bad figure in plaster, by Le Moine, fromwhich has been engraved a hideous portrait that bears my name, as if itbore to me some resemblance. 

The only Frenchman who seemed to come to see me, on account of mysentiments, and his taste for my works, was a young officer of theregiment of Limousin, named Seguier de St. Brisson. He made a figure inParis, where he still perhaps distinguishes himself by his pleasingtalents and wit. He came once to Montmorency, the winter which precededmy catastrophe. I was pleased with his vivacity. He afterwards wrote tome at Motiers, and whether he wished to flatter me, or that his head wasturned with Emilius, he informed me he was about to quit the service tolive independently, and had begun to learn the trade of a carpenter. Hehad an elder brother, a captain in the same regiment, the favorite of themother, who, a devotee to excess, and directed by I know not whathypocrite, did not treat the youngest son well, accusing him ofirreligion, and what was still worse, of the unpardonable crime of beingconnected with me. These were the grievances, on account of which he wasdetermined to break with his mother, and adopt the manner of life ofwhich I have just spoken, all to play the part of the young Emilius. Alarmed at his petulance, I immediately wrote to him, endeavoring to makehim change his resolution, and my exhortations were as strong as I couldmake them. They had their effect. He returned to his duty, to hismother, and took back the resignation he had given the colonel, who hadbeen prudent enough to make no use of it, that the young man might havetime to reflect upon what he had done. St. Brisson, cured of thesefollies, was guilty of another less alarming, but, to me, not lessdisagreeable than the rest: he became an author. He successivelypublished two or three pamphlets which announced a man not devoid oftalents, but I have not to reproach myself with having encouraged him bymy praises to continue to write. 

Some time afterwards he came to see me, and we made together a pilgrimageto the island of St. Pierre. During this journey I found him differentfrom what I saw of him at Montmorency. He had, in his manner, somethingaffected, which at first did not much disgust me, although I have sincethought of it to his disadvantage. He once visited me at the hotel deSt. Simon, as I passed through Paris on my way to England. I learnedthere what he had not told me, that he lived in the great world, andoften visited Madam de Luxembourg. Whilst I was at Trie, I never heardfrom him, nor did he so much as make inquiry after me, by means of hisrelation Mademoiselle Seguier, my neighbor. This lady never seemedfavorably disposed towards me. In a word, the infatuation of M. De St. Brisson ended suddenly, like the connection of M. De Feins: but this manowed me nothing, and the former was under obligations to me, unless thefollies I prevented him from committing were nothing more thanaffectation; which might very possibly be the case. 

I had visits from Geneva also. The Delucs, father and son, successivelychose me for their attendant in sickness. The father was taken ill onthe road, the son was already sick when he left Geneva; they both came tomy house. Ministers, relations, hypocrites, and persons of everydescription came from Geneva and Switzerland, not like those from France, to laugh at and admire me, but to rebuke and catechise me. The onlyperson amongst them, who gave me pleasure, was Moultou, who passed withme three or four days, and whom I wished to remain much longer; the mostpersevering of all, the most obstinate, and who conquered me byimportunity, was a M. D'Ivernois, a merchant at Geneva, a French refugee, and related to the attorney-general of Neuchatel. This man came fromGeneva to Motiers twice a year, on purpose to see me, remained with meseveral days together from morning to night, accompanied me in my walks, brought me a thousand little presents, insinuated himself in spite of meinto my confidence, and intermeddled in all my affairs, notwithstandingthere was not between him and myself the least similarity of ideas, inclination, sentiment, or knowledge. I do not believe he ever read abook of any kind throughout, or that he knows upon what subject mine arewritten. When I began to herbalize, he followed me in my botanicalrambles, without taste for that amusement, or having anything to say tome or I to him. He had the patience to pass with me three days in apublic house at Goumoins, whence, by wearying him and making him feel howmuch he wearied me, I was in hopes of driving him away. I could not, however, shake his incredible perseverance, nor by any means discover themotive of it. 

Amongst these connections, made and continued by force, I must not omitthe only one that was agreeable to me, and in which my heart was reallyinterested: this was that I had with a young Hungarian who came to liveat Neuchatel, and from that place to Motiers, a few months after I hadtaken up my residence there. He was called by the people of the countrythe Baron de Sauttern, by which name he had been recommended from Zurich. He was tall, well made, had an agreeable countenance, and mild and socialqualities. He told everybody, and gave me also to understand that hecame to Neuchatel for no other purpose, than that of forming his youth tovirtue, by his intercourse with me. His physiognomy, manner, andbehavior, seemed well suited to his conversation, and I should havethought I failed in one of the greatest duties had I turned my back upona young man in whom I perceived nothing but what was amiable, and whosought my acquaintance from so respectable a motive. My heart knows nothow to connect itself by halves. He soon acquired my friendship, and allmy confidence, and we were presently inseparable. He accompanied me inall my walks, and become fond of them. I took him to the marechal, whoreceived him with the utmost kindness. As he was yet unable to explainhimself in French, he spoke and wrote to me in Latin, I answered inFrench, and this mingling of the two languages did not make ourconversations either less smooth or lively. He spoke of his family, hisaffairs, his adventures, and of the court of Vienna, with the domesticdetails of which he seemed well acquainted. In fine, during two yearswhich we passed in the greatest intimacy, I found in him a mildness ofcharacter proof against everything, manners not only polite but elegant, great neatness of person, an extreme decency in his conversation, in aword, all the marks of a man born and educated a gentleman, and whichrendered him in my eyes too estimable not to make him dear to me. 

At the time we were upon the most intimate and friendly terms, D' Ivernois wrote to me from Geneva, putting me upon my guard against theyoung Hungarian who had taken up his residence in my neighborhood;telling me he was a spy whom the minister of France had appointed towatch my proceedings. This information was of a nature to alarm me themore, as everybody advised me to guard against the machinations ofpersons who were employed to keep an eye upon my actions, and to enticeme into France for the purpose of betraying me. To shut the mouths, oncefor all, of these foolish advisers, I proposed to Sauttern, withoutgiving him the least intimation of the information I had received, a journey on foot to Pontarlier, to which he consented. As soon as wearrived there I put the letter from D'Ivernois into his hands, and aftergiving him an ardent embrace, I said: "Sauttern has no need of a proof ofmy confidence in him, but it is necessary I should prove to the publicthat I know in whom to place it. " This embrace was accompanied with apleasure which persecutors can neither feel themselves, nor take awayfrom the oppressed. 

I will never believe Sauttern was a spy, nor that he betrayed me: but Iwas deceived by him. When I opened to him my heart without reserve, heconstantly kept his own shut, and abused me by lies. He invented I knownot what kind of story, to prove to me his presence was necessary in hisown country. I exhorted him to return to it as soon as possible. Hesetoff, and when I thought he was in Hungary, I learned he was atStrasbourgh. This was not the first time he had been there. He hadcaused some disorder in a family in that city; and the husband knowing Ireceived him in my house, wrote to me. I used every effort to bring theyoung woman back to the paths of virtue, and Sauttern to his duty. 

When I thought they were perfectly detached from each other, they renewedtheir acquaintance, and the husband had the complaisance to receive theyoung man at his house; from that moment I had nothing more to say. I found the pretended baron had imposed upon me by a great number oflies. His name was not Sauttern, but Sauttersheim. With respect to thetitle of baron, given him in Switzerland, I could not reproach him withthe impropriety, because he had never taken it; but I have not a doubt ofhis being a gentleman, and the marshal, who knew mankind, and had been inHungary, always considered and treated him as such. 

He had no sooner left my neighborhood, than the girl at the inn where heeat, at Motiers, declared herself with child by him. She was so dirty acreature, and Sauttern, generally esteemed in the country for his conductand purity of morals, piqued himself so much upon cleanliness, thateverybody was shocked at this impudent pretension. The most amiablewomen of the country, who had vainly displayed to him their charms, werefurious: I myself was almost choked with indignation. I used everyeffort to get the tongue of this impudent woman stopped, offering to payall expenses, and to give security for Sauttersheim. I wrote to him inthe fullest persuasion, not only that this pregnancy could not relate tohim, but that it was feigned, and the whole a machination of his enemiesand mine. I wished him to return and confound the strumpet, and those bywhom she was dictated to. The pusillanimity of his answer surprised me. He wrote to the master of the parish to which the creature belonged, andendeavored to stifle the matter. Perceiving this, I concerned myself nomore about it, but I was astonished that a man who could stoop so lowshould have been sufficiently master of himself to deceive me by hisreserve in the closest familiarity. 

From Strasbourgh, Sauttersheim went to seek his fortune in Paris, andfound there nothing but misery. He wrote to me acknowledging his error. My compassion was excited by the recollection of our former friendship, and I sent him a sum of money. The year following, as I passed throughParis, I saw him much in the same situation; but he was the intimatefriend of M. De Laliand, and I could not learn by what means he hadformed this acquaintance, or whether it was recent or of long standing. Two years afterwards Sauttersheim returned to Strasbourgh, whence hewrote to me and where he died. This, in a few words, is the history ofour connection, and what I know of his adventures; but while I mourn thefate of the unhappy young man, I still, and ever shall, believe he wasthe son of people of distinction, and the impropriety of his conduct wasthe effect of the situations to which he was reduced. 

Such were the connections and acquaintance I acquired at Motiers. Howmany of these would have been necessary to compensate the cruel losses Isuffered at the same time. 

The first of these was that of M. De Luxembourg, who, after having beenlong tormented by the physicians, at length became their victim, by beingtreated for the gout which they would not acknowledge him to have, as fora disorder they thought they could cure. 

According to what La Roche, the confidential servant of Madam deLuxembourg, wrote to me relative to what had happened, it is by thiscruel and memorable example that the miseries of greatness are to bedeplored. 

The loss of this good nobleman afflicted me the more, as he was the onlyreal friend I had in France, and the mildness of his character was suchas to make me quite forget his rank, and attach myself to him as hisequal. Our connection was not broken off on account of my having quittedthe kingdom; he continued to write to me as usual. 

I nevertheless thought I perceived that absence, or my misfortune, hadcooled his affection for me. It is difficult to a courtier to preservethe same attachment to a person whom he knows to be in disgrace withcourts. I moreover suspected the great ascendancy Madam de Luxembourghad over his mind, had been unfavorable to me, and that she had takenadvantage of our separation to injure me in his esteem. For her part, notwithstanding a few affected marks of regard, which daily became lessfrequent, she less concealed the change in her friendship. She wrote tome four or five times into Switzerland, after which she never wrote to meagain, and nothing but my prejudice, confidence and blindness, could haveprevented my discovering in her something more than a coolness towardsme. 

Guy the bookseller, partner with Duchesne, who, after I had leftMontmorency, frequently went to the hotel de Luxembourg, wrote to me thatmy name was in the will of the marechal. There was nothing in thiseither incredible or extraordinary, on which account I had no doubt ofthe truth of the information. I deliberated within myself whether or notI should receive the legacy. Everything well considered, I determined toaccept it, whatever it might be, and to do that honor to the memory of anhonest man, who, in a rank in which friendship is seldom found, had had areal one for me. I had not this duty to fulfill. I heard no more of thelegacy, whether it were true or false; and in truth I should have feltsome pain in offending against one of the great maxims of my system ofmorality, in profiting by anything at the death of a person whom I hadonce held dear. During the last illness of our friend Mussard, Leneipsproposed to me to take advantage of the grateful sense he expressed forour cares, to insinuate to him dispositions in our favor. "Ah! my dearLeneips, " said I, "let us not pollute by interested ideas the sad butsacred duties we discharge towards our dying friend. I hope my name willnever be found in the testament of any person, at least not in that of afriend. " It was about this time that my lord marshal spoke to me of his, of what he intended to do in it for me, and that I made him the answer ofwhich I have spoken in the first part of my memoirs. 

My second loss, still more afflicting and irreparable, was that of thebest of women and mothers, who, already weighed down with years, andoverburthened with infirmities and misery, quitted this vale of tears forthe abode of the blessed, where the amiable remembrance of the good wehave done here below is the eternal reward of our benevolence. Go, gentle and beneficent shade, to those of Fenelon, Berneg, Catinat, andothers, who in a more humble state have, like them, opened their heartsto pure charity; go and taste of the fruit of your own benevolence, andprepare for your son the place he hopes to fill by your side. Happy inyour misfortunes that Heaven, in putting to them a period, has spared youthe cruel spectacle of his! Fearing, lest I should fill her heart withsorrow by the recital of my first disasters, I had not written to hersince my arrival in Switzerland; but I wrote to M. De Conzie, to inquireafter her situation, and it was from him I learned she had ceased toalleviate the sufferings of the afflicted, and that her own were at anend. I myself shall not suffer long; but if I thought I should not seeher again in the life to come, my feeble imagination would less delightin the idea of the perfect happiness I there hope to enjoy. 

My third and last loss, for since that time I have not had a friend tolose, was that of the lord marshal. He did not die but tired of servingthe ungratful, he left Neuchatel, and I have never seen him since. He still lives, and will, I hope, survive me: he is alive, and thanks tohim all my attachments on earth are not destroyed. There is one manstill worthy of my friendship; for the real value of this consists morein what we feel than in that which we inspire; but I have lost thepleasure I enjoyed in his, and can rank him in the number of those onlywhom I love, but with whom I am no longer connected. He went to Englandto receive the pardon of the king, and acquired the possession of theproperty which formerly had been confiscated. We did not separatewithout an intention of again being united, the idea of which seemed togive him as much pleasure as I received from it. He determined to resideat Keith Hall, near Aberdeen, and I was to join him as soon as he wassettled there: but this project was too flattering to my hopes to give meany of its success. He did not remain in Scotland. The affectionatesolicitations of the King of Prussia induced him to return to Berlin, and the reason of my not going to him there will presently appear. 

Before this departure, foreseeing the storm which my enemies began toraise against me, he of his own accord sent me letters of naturalization, which seemed to be a certain means of preventing me from being drivenfrom the country. The community of the Convent of Val de Traversfollowed the example of the governor, and gave me letters of Communion, gratis, as they were the first. Thus, in every respect, become acitizen, I was sheltered from legal expulsion, even by the prince; but ithas never been by legitimate means, that the man who, of all others, hasshown the greatest respect for the laws, has been persecuted. I do notthink I ought to enumerate, amongst the number of my losses at this time, that of the Abbe Malby. Having lived sometime at the house of hismother, I have been acquainted with the abbe, but not very intimately, and I have reason to believe the nature of his sentiments with respect tome changed after I acquired a greater celebrity than he already had. Butthe first time I discovered his insincerity was immediately after thepublication of the 'Letters from the Mountain'. A letter attributed tohim, addressed to Madam Saladin, was handed about in Geneva, in which hespoke of this work as the seditious clamors of a furious demagogue. 

The esteem I had for the Abbe Malby, and my great opinion of hisunderstanding, did not permit me to believe this extravagant letter waswritten by him. I acted in this business with my usual candor. I senthim a copy of the letter, informing him he was said to be the author ofit. He returned me no answer. This silence astonished me: but what wasmy surprise when by a letter I received from Madam de Chenonceaux, I learned the Abbe was really the author of that which was attributed tohim, and found himself greatly embarrassed by mine. For even supposingfor a moment that what he stated was true, how could he justify so publican attack, wantonly made, without obligation or necessity, for the solepurpose of overwhelming in the midst of his greatest misfortunes, a manto whom he had shown himself a well-wisher, and who had not done anythingthat could excite his enmity? In a short time afterwards the 'Dialoguesof Phocion', in which I perceived nothing but a compilation, withoutshame or restraint, from my writings, made their appearance. 

In reading this book I perceived the author had not the least regard forme, and that in future I must number him among my most bitter enemies. I do not believe he has ever pardoned me for the Social Contract, farsuperior to his abilities, or the Perpetual Peace; and I am, besides, ofopinion that the desire he expressed that I should make an extract fromthe Abby de St. Pierre, proceeded from a supposition in him that I shouldnot acquit myself of it so well. 

The further I advance in my narrative, the less order I feel myselfcapable of observing. The agitation of the rest of my life has derangedin my ideas the succession of events. These are too numerous, confused, and disagreeable to be recited in due order. The only strong impressionthey have left upon my mind is that of the horrid mystery by which thecause of them is concealed, and of the deplorable state to which theyhave reduced me. My narrative will in future be irregular, and accordingto the events which, without order, may occur to my recollection. I remember about the time to which I refer, full of the idea of myconfessions, I very imprudently spoke of them to everybody, neverimagining it could be the wish or interest, much less within the powerof any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in the way of thisundertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would not have renderedme more discreet, as from the nature of my disposition it is totallyimpossible for me to conceal either my thoughts or feelings. Theknowledge of this enterprise was, as far as I can judge, the cause of thestorm that was raised to drive me from Switzerland, and deliver me intothe hands of those by whom I might be prevented from executing it. 

I had another project in contemplation which was not looked upon with amore favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first: this was ageneral edition of my works. I thought this edition of them necessary toascertain what books, amongst those to which my name was affixed, werereally written by me, and to furnish the public with the means ofdistinguishing them from the writings falsely attributed to me by myenemies, to bring me to dishonor and contempt. This was besides a simpleand an honorable means of insuring to myself a livelihood, and the onlyone that remained to me. As I had renounced the profession of an author, my memoirs not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime; as I nolonger gained a farthing in any manner whatsoever, and constantly livedat a certain expense, I saw the end of my resources in that of theproduce of the last things I had written. This reason had induced me tohasten the finishing of my Dictionary of Music, which still wasincomplete. I had received for it a hundred louis(guineas) and a lifeannuity of three hundred livres; but a hundred louis could not last longin the hands of a man who annually expended upwards of sixty, andthree-hundred livres (twelve guineas) a year was but a trifling sum toone upon whom parasites and beggarly visitors lighted like a swarm offlies. 

A company of merchants from Neuchatel came to undertake the generaledition, and a printer or bookseller of the name of Reguillat, fromLyons, thrust himself, I know not by what means, amongst them to directit. The agreement was made upon reasonable terms, and sufficient toaccomplish my object. I had in print and manuscript, matter for sixvolumes in quarto. I moreover agreed to give my assistance in bringingout the edition. The merchants were, on their part, to pay me a thousandcrowns (one hundred and twenty-five pounds) down, and to assign me anannuity of sixteen hundred livres (sixty-six pounds) for life. 

The agreement was concluded but not signed, when the Letters from theMountain appeared. The terrible explosion caused by this infernal work, and its abominable author, terrified the company, and the undertaking wasat an end. 

I would compare the effect of this last production to that of the Letteron French Music, had not that letter, while it brought upon me hatred, and exposed me to danger, acquired me respect and esteem. But after theappearance of the last work, it was a matter of astonishment at Genevaand Versailles that such a monster as the author of it should be sufferedto exist. The little council, excited by Resident de France, anddirected by the attorney-general, made a declaration against my work, by which, in the most severe terms, it was declared to be unworthy ofbeing burned by the hands of the hangman, adding, with an address whichbordered upon the burlesque, there was no possibility of speaking of oranswering it without dishonor. I would here transcribe the curious. Piece of composition, but unfortunately I have it not by me. I ardentlywish some of my readers, animated by the zeal of truth and equity, wouldread over the Letters from the Mountain: they will, I dare hope, feel thestoical moderation which reigns throughout the whole, after all the crueloutrages with which the author was loaded. But unable to answer theabuse, because no part of it could be called by that name nor to thereasons because these were unanswerable, my enemies pretended to appeartoo much enraged to reply: and it is true, if they took the invinciblearguments it contains, for abuse, they must have felt themselves roughlytreated. 

The remonstrating party, far from complaining of the odious declaration, acted according to the spirit of it, and instead of making a trophy ofthe Letters from the Mountain, which they veiled to make them serve as ashield, were pusillanimous enough not to do justice or honor to thatwork, written to defend them, and at their own solicitation. They didnot either quote or mention the letters, although they tacitly drew fromthem all their arguments, and by exactly following the advice with whichthey conclude, made them the sole cause of their safety and triumph. They had imposed on me this duty: I had fulfilled it, and unto the endhad served their cause and the country. I begged of them to abandon me, and in their quarrels to think of nobody but themselves. They took me atmy word, and I concerned myself no more about their affairs, further thanconstantly to exhort them to peace, not doubting, should they continue tobe obstinate, of their being crushed by France; this however did nothappen; I know the reason why it did not, but this is not the place toexplain what I mean. 

The effect produced at Neuchatel by the Letters from the Mountain was atfirst very mild. I sent a copy of them to M. De Montmollin, who receivedit favorably, and read it without making any objection. He was ill aswell as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in a friendly manner tosee me, and conversed on general subjects. A rumor was however begun;the book was burned I know not where. From Geneva, Berne, and perhapsfrom Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed to Neuchatel, andespecially to Val de Travers, where, before even the ministers had takenany apparent Steps, an attempt was secretly made to stir up the people, I ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by the people of thatcountry in which I have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leavingabout me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing to do anyservice in my power, and which was consistent with justice, making myselfperhaps too familiar with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it waspossible for me to do it, all distinction which might excite the leastjealousy. This, however, did not prevent the populace, secretly stirredup against me, by I know not whom, from being by degrees irritatedagainst me, even to fury, nor from publicly insulting me, not only in thecountry and upon the road, but in the street. Those to whom I hadrendered the greatest services became most irritated against me, and evenpeople who still continued to receive my benefactions, not daring toappear, excited others, and seemed to wish thus to be revenged of me fortheir humiliation, by the obligations they were under for the favors Ihad conferred upon them. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention to whatwas passing, and did not yet come forward. But as the time of communionapproached, he came to advise me not to present myself at the holy table, assuring me, however, he was not my enemy, and that he would leave meundisturbed. I found this compliment whimsical enough; it brought to myrecollection the letter from Madam de Boufflers, and I could not conceiveto whom it could be a matter of such importance whether I communicated ornot. Considering this condescension on my part as an act of cowardice, and moreover, being unwilling to give to the people a new pretext underwhich they might charge me with impiety, I refused the request of theminister, and he went away dissatisfied, giving me to understand I shouldrepent of my obstinacy. 

He could not of his own authority forbid me the communion: that of theConsistory, by which I had been admitted to it, was necessary, and aslong as there was no objection from that body I might present myselfwithout the fear of being refused. Montmollin procured from the Classe(the ministers) a commission to summon me to the Consistory, there togive an account of the articles of my faith, and to excommunicate meshould I refuse to comply. This excommunication could not be pronouncedwithout the aid of the Consistory also, and a majority of the voices. But the peasants, who under the appellation of elders, composed thisassembly, presided over and governed by their minister, might naturallybe expected to adopt his opinion, especially in matters of the clergy, which they still less understood than he did. I was therefore summoned, and I resolved to appear. 

What a happy circumstance and triumph would this have been to me could Ihave spoken, and had I, if I may so speak, had my pen in my mouth! Withwhat superiority, with what facility even, should I have overthrown thispoor minister in the midst of his six peasants! The thirst after powerhaving made the Protestant clergy forget all the principles of thereformation, all I had to do to recall these to their recollection and toreduce them to silence, was to make comments upon my first 'Letters fromthe Mountain', upon which they had the folly to animadvert. 

My text was ready, and I had only to enlarge on it, and my adversary wasconfounded. I should not have been weak enough to remain on thedefensive; it was easy to me to become an assailant without his evenperceiving it, or being able to shelter himself from my attack. Thecontemptible priests of the Classe, equally careless and ignorant, had ofthemselves placed me in the most favorable situation I could desire tocrush them at pleasure. But what of this? It was necessary I shouldspeak without hesitation, and find ideas, turn of expression, and wordsat will, preserving a presence of mind, and keeping myself collected, without once suffering even a momentary confusion. For what could Ihope, feeling as I did, my want of aptitude to express myself with ease?I had been reduced to the most mortifying silence at Geneva, before anassembly which was favorable to me, and previously resolved to approve ofeverything I should say. Here, on the contrary, I had to do with acavalier who, substituting cunning to knowledge, would spread for me ahundred snares before I could perceive one of them, and was resolutelydetermined to catch me in an error let the consequence be what it would. The more I examined the situation in which I stood, the greater danger Iperceived myself exposed to, and feeling the impossibility ofsuccessfully withdrawing from it, I thought of another expedient. I meditated a discourse which I intended to pronounce before theConsistory, to exempt myself from the necessity of answering. The thingwas easy. I wrote the discourse and began to learn it by memory, with aninconceivable ardor. Theresa laughed at hearing me mutter andincessantly repeat the same phrases, while endeavoring to cram them intomy head. I hoped, at length, to remember what I had written: I knew thechatelain as an officer attached to the service of the prince, would bepresent at the Consistory, and that notwithstanding the manoeuvres andbottles of Montmollin, most of the elders were well disposed towards me. I had, moreover, in my favor, reason, truth, and justice, with theprotection of the king, the authority of the council of state, and thegood wishes of every real patriot, to whom the establishment of thisinquisition was threatening. In fine, everything contributed toencourage me. 

On the eve of the day appointed, I had my discourse by rote, and recitedit without missing a word. I had it in my head all night: in the morningI had forgotten it. I hesitated at every word, thought myself before theassembly, became confused, stammered, and lost my presence of mind. Infine, when the time to make my appearance was almost at hand, my couragetotally failed me. I remained at home and wrote to the Consistory, hastily stating my reasons, and pleaded my disorder, which really, in thestate to which apprehension had reduced me, would scarcely have permittedme to stay out the whole sitting. 

The minister, embarrassed by my letter, adjourned the Consistory. In theinterval, he of himself, and by his creatures, made a thousand efforts toseduce the elders, who, following the dictates of their consciences, rather than those they received from him, did not vote according to hiswishes, or those of the class. Whatever power his arguments drawn fromhis cellar might have over this kind of people, he could not gain one ofthem, more than the two or three who were already devoted to his will, and who were called his 'ames damnees'. --[damned souls]--The officer ofthe prince, and the Colonel Pury, who, in this affair, acted with greatzeal, kept the rest to their duty, and when Montmollin wished to proceedto excommunication, his Consistory, by a majority of voices, flatlyrefused to authorize him to do it. Thus reduced to the last expedient, that of stirring up the people against me, he, his colleagues, andother persons, set about it openly, and were so successful, thatnot-withstanding the strong and frequent rescripts of the king, and theorders of the council of state, I was at length obliged to quit thecountry, that I might not expose the officer of the king to be himselfassassinated while he protected me. 

The recollection of the whole of this affair is so confused, that it isimpossible for me to reduce to or connect the circumstances of it. I remember a kind of negotiation had been entered into with the class, in which Montmollin was the mediator. He feigned to believe it wasfeared I should, by my writings, disturb the peace of the country, inwhich case, the liberty I had of writing would be blamed. He had givenme to understand that if I consented to lay down my pen, what was pastwould be forgotten. I had already entered into this engagement withmyself, and did not hesitate in doing it with the class, butconditionally and solely in matters of religion. He found means to havea duplicate of the agreement upon some change necessary to be made in it. The condition having been rejected by the class; I demanded back thewriting, which was returned to me, but he kept the duplicate, pretendingit was lost. After this, the people, openly excited by the ministers, laughed at the rescripts of the king, and the orders of the council ofstate, and shook off all restraint. I was declaimed against from thepulpit, called antichrist, and pursued in the country like a mad wolf. My Armenian dress discovered me to the populace; of this I felt the cruelinconvenience, but to quit it in such circumstances, appeared to me anact of cowardice. I could not prevail upon myself to do it, and Iquietly walked through the country with my caffetan and fur bonnet in themidst of the hootings of the dregs of the people, and sometimes through ashower of stones. Several times as I passed before houses, I heard thoseby whom they were inhabited call out: "Bring me my gun that I may fire athim. " As I did not on this account hasten my pace, my calmness increasedtheir fury, but they never went further than threats, at least withrespect to firearms. 

During the fermentation I received from two circumstances the mostsensible pleasure. The first was my having it in my power to prove mygratitude by means of the lord marshal. The honest part of theinhabitants of Neuchatel, full of indignation at the treatment Ireceived, and the manoeuvres of which I was the victim, held theministers in execration, clearly perceiving they were obedient to aforeign impulse, and the vile agents of people, who, in making them act, kept themselves concealed; they were moreover afraid my case would havedangerous consequences, and be made a precedent for the purpose ofestablishing a real inquisition. 

The magistrates, and especially M. Meuron, who had succeededM. D' Ivernois in the office of attorney-general, made every effort todefend me. Colonel Pury, although a private individual, did more andsucceeded better. It was the colonel who found means to make Montmollinsubmit in his Consistory, by keeping the elders to their duty. He hadcredit, and employed it to stop the sedition; but he had nothing morethan the authority of the laws, and the aid of justice and reason, tooppose to that of money and wine: the combat was unequal, and in thispoint Montmollin was triumphant. However, thankful for his zeal andcares, I wished to have it in my power to make him a return of goodoffices, and in some measure discharge a part of the obligations I wasunder to him. I knew he was very desirous of being named a counsellor ofstate; but having displeased the court by his conduct in the affair ofthe minister Petitpierre, he was in disgrace with the prince andgovernor. I however undertook, at all risks, to write to the lordmarshal in his favor: I went so far as even to mention the employment ofwhich he was desirous, and my application was so well received that, contrary to the expectations of his most ardent well wishers, it wasalmost instantly conferred upon him by the king. In this manner fate, which has constantly raised me to too great an elevation, or plunged meinto an abyss of adversity, continued to toss me from one extreme toanother, and whilst the populace covered me with mud I was able to make acounsellor of state. 

The other pleasing circumstance was a visit I received from Madam deVerdelin with her daughter, with whom she had been at the baths ofBourbonne, whence they came to Motiers and stayed with me two or threedays. By her attention and cares, she at length conquered my longrepugnancy; and my heart, won by her endearing manner, made her a returnof all the friendship of which she had long given me proofs. Thisjourney made me extremely sensible of her kindness: my situation renderedthe consolations of friendship highly necessary to support me under mysufferings. I was afraid she would be too much affected by the insultsI received from the populace, and could have wished to conceal them fromher that her feelings might not be hurt, but this was impossible; andalthough her presence was some check upon the insolent populace in ourwalks, she saw enough of their brutality to enable her to judge of whatpassed when I was alone. During the short residence she made at Motiers, I was still attacked in my habitation. One morning her chambermaid foundmy window blocked up with stones, which had been thrown at it during thenight. A very heavy bench placed in the street by the side of the house, and strongly fastened down, was taken up and reared against the door insuch a manner as, had it not been perceived from the window, to haveknocked down the first person who should have opened the door to go out. Madam de Verdelin was acquainted with everything that passed; for, besides what she herself was witness to, her confidential servant wentinto many houses in the village, spoke to everybody, and was seen inconversation with Montmollin. She did not, however, seem to pay theleast attention to that which happened to me, nor never mentionedMontmollin nor any other person, and answered in a few words to what Isaid to her of him. Persuaded that a residence in England would be moreagreeable to me than any other, she frequently spoke of Mr. Hume who wasthen at Paris, of his friendship for me, and the desire he had of beingof service to me in his own country. It is time I should say somethingof Hume. 

He had acquired a great reputation in France amongst the Encyclopedistsby his essays on commerce and politics, and in the last place by hishistory of the House of Stuart, the only one of his writings of which Ihad read a part, in the translation of the Abbe Prevot. For want ofbeing acquainted with his other works, I was persuaded, according to whatI heard of him, that Mr. Hume joined a very republican mind to theEnglish Paradoxes in favor of luxury. In this opinion I considered hiswhole apology of Charles I. As a prodigy of impartiality, and I had asgreat an idea of his virtue as of his genius. The desire of beingacquainted with this great man, and of obtaining his friendship, hadgreatly strengthened the inclination I felt to go to England, induced bythe solicitations of Madam de Boufflers, the intimate friend of Hume. After my arrival in Switzerland, I received from him, by means of thislady, a letter extremely flattering; in which, to the highest encomiumson my genius, he subjoined a pressing invitation to induce me to go toEngland, and the offer of all his interest, and that of his friends, tomake my residence there agreeable. I found in the country to which I hadretired, the lord marshal, the countryman and friend of Hume, whoconfirmed my good opinion of him, and from whom I learned a literaryanecdote, which did him great honor in the opinion of his lordship andhad the same effect in mine. Wallace, who had written against Hume uponthe subject of the population of the ancients, was absent whilst his workwas in the press. Hume took upon himself to examine the proofs, and todo the needful to the edition. This manner of acting was according to myway of thinking. I had sold at six sous (three pence) a piece, thecopies of a song written against myself. I was, therefore, stronglyprejudiced in favor of Hume, when Madam de Verdelin came and mentionedthe lively friendship he expressed for me, and his anxiety to do me thehonors of England; such was her expression. She pressed me a good dealto take advantage of this zeal and to write to him. As I had notnaturally an inclination to England, and did not intend to go there untilthe last extremity, I refused to write or make any promise; but I lefther at liberty to do whatever she should think necessary to keep Mr. Humefavorably disposed towards me. When she went from Motiers, she left mein the persuasion, by everything she had said to me of that illustriousman, that he was my friend, and she herself still more his. 

After her departure, Montmollin carried on his manoeuvres with morevigor, and the populace threw off all restraint. Yet I still continuedto walk quietly amidst the hootings of the vulgar; and a taste forbotany, which I had begun to contract with Doctor d'Ivernois, making myrambling more amusing, I went through the country herbalising, withoutbeing affected by the clamors of this scum of the earth, whose fury wasstill augmented by my calmness. What affected me most was, seeingfamilies of my friends, or of persons who gave themselves that name, openly join the league of my persecutors; such as the D'Ivernois, without excepting the father and brother of my Isabel le Boy de la Tour, a relation to the friend in whose house I lodged, and Madam Girardier, her sister-in-law. 

 [This fatality had begun with my residence at, Yverdon; the banneret Roguin dying a year or two after my departure from that city, the old papa Roguin had the candor to inform me with grief, as he said, that in he papers of his relation, proofs had been found of his having been concerned in the conspiracy to expel me from Yverdon and the state of Berne. This clearly proved the conspiracy not to be, as some people pretended to believe, an affair of hypocrisy since the banneret, far from being a devotee, carried materialism and incredulity to intolerance and fanaticism. Besides, nobody at Yverdon had shown me more constant attention, nor had so prodigally bestowed upon me praises and flattery as this banneret. He faithfully followed the favorite plan of my persecutors. ]

This Peter Boy was such a brute; so stupid, and behaved so uncouthly, that, to prevent my mind from being disturbed, I took the liberty toridicule him; and after the manner of the 'Petit Prophete', I wrote apamphlet of a few pages, entitled, 'la Vision de Pierre de la Montagnedit le Voyant, --[The vision of Peter of the Mountain called theSeer. ]--in which I found means to be diverting enough on the miracleswhich then served as the great pretext for my persecution. Du Peyrouhad this scrap printed at Geneva, but its success in the country was butmoderate; the Neuchatelois with all their wit, taste but weakly atticsalt or pleasantry when these are a little refined. 

In the midst of decrees and persecutions, the Genevese had distinguishedthemselves by setting up a hue and cry with all their might; and myfriend Vernes amongst others, with an heroical generosity, chose thatmoment precisely to publish against me letters in which he pretended toprove I was not a Christian. These letters, written with an air ofself-sufficiency were not the better for it, although it was positivelysaid the celebrated Bonnet had given them some correction: for this man, although a materialist, has an intolerant orthodoxy the moment I am inquestion. There certainly was nothing in this work which could tempt meto answer it; but having an opportunity of saying a few words upon it inmy 'Letters from the Mountain', I inserted in them a short notesufficiently expressive of disdain to render Vernes furious. He filledGeneva with his furious exclamations, and D'Ivernois wrote me word he hadquite lost his senses. Sometime afterwards appeared an anonymous sheet, which instead of ink seemed to be written with water of Phelethon. Inthis letter I was accused of having exposed my children in the streets, of taking about with me a soldier's trull, of being worn out withdebaucheries... , and other fine things of a like nature. It was notdifficult for me to discover the author. My first idea on reading thislibel, was to reduce to its real value everything the world calls fameand reputation amongst men; seeing thus a man who was never in a brothelin his life, and whose greatest defect was in being as timid and shy as avirgin, treated as a frequenter of places of that description; and infinding myself charged with being...... , I, who not only never had theleast taint of such disorder, but, according to the faculty, was soconstructed as to make it almost impossible for me to contract it. Everything well considered, I thought I could not better refute thislibel than by having it printed in the city in which I longest resided, and with this intention I sent it to Duchesne to print it as it was withan advertisement in which I named M. Vernes and a few short notes by wayof eclaircissement. Not satisfied with printing it only, I sent copiesto several persons, and amongst others one copy to the Prince Louis ofWirtemberg, who had made me polite advances and with whom I was incorrespondence. The prince, Du Peyrou, and others, seemed to have theirdoubts about the author of the libel, and blamed me for having namedVernes upon so slight a foundation. Their remarks produced in me somescruples, and I wrote to Duchesne to suppress the paper. Guy wrote to mehe had suppressed it: this may or may not be the case; I have beendeceived on so many occasions that there would be nothing extraordinaryin my being so on this, and from the time of which I speak, was soenveloped in profound darkness that it was impossible for me to come atany kind of truth. 

M. Vernes bore the imputation with a moderation more than astonishing ina man who was supposed not to have deserved it, and after the fury withwhich he was seized on former occasions. He wrote me two or threeletters in very guarded terms, with a view, as it appeared to me, to endeavor by my answers to discover how far I was certain of his beingthe author of the paper, and whether or not I had any proofs against him. I wrote him two short answers, severe in the sense, but politelyexpressed, and with which he was not displeased. To his third letter, perceiving he wished to form with me a kind of correspondence, I returnedno answer, and he got D'Ivernois to speak to me. Madam Cramer wrote toDu Peyrou, telling him she was certain the libel was not by Vernes. Thishowever, did not make me change my opinion. But as it was possible Imight be deceived, and as it is certain that if I were, I owed Vernes anexplicit reparation, I sent him word by D'Ivernois that I would make himsuch a one as he should think proper, provided he would name to me thereal author of the libel, or at least prove that he himself was not so. I went further: feeling that, after all, were he not culpable, I had noright to call upon him for proofs of any kind, I stated in a memoir ofconsiderable length, the reasons whence I had inferred my conclusion, anddetermined to submit them to the judgment of an arbitrator, against whomVernes could not except. But few people would guess the arbitrator ofwhom I made choice. I declared at the end of the memoir, that if, afterhaving examined it, and made such inquiries as should seem necessary, thecouncil pronounced M. Vernes not to be the author of the libel, from thatmoment I should be fully persuaded he was not, and would immediately goand throw myself at his feet, and ask his pardon until I had obtained it. I can say with the greatest truth that my ardent zeal for equity, theuprightness and generosity of my heart, and my confidence in the love ofjustice innate in every mind never appeared more fully and perceptiblethan in this wise and interesting memoir, in which I took, withouthesitation, my most implacable enemies for arbitrators between acalumniator and myself. I read to Du Peyrou what I had written: headvised me to suppress it, and I did so. He wished me to wait for theproofs Vernes promised, and I am still waiting for them: he thought itbest that I should in the meantime be silent, and I held my tongue, andshall do so the rest of my life, censured as I am for having broughtagainst Vernes a heavy imputation, false and unsupportable by proof, although I am still fully persuaded, nay, as convinced as I am of myexistence, that he is the author of the libel. My memoir is in the handsof Du Peyrou. Should it ever be published my reasons will be found init, and the heart of Jean Jacques, with which my contemporaries would notbe acquainted, will I hope be known. 

I have now to proceed to my catastrophe at Motiers, and to my departurefrom Val de Travers, after a residence of two years and a half, and aneight months suffering with unshaken constancy of the most unworthytreatment. It is impossible for me clearly to recollect thecircumstances of this disagreeable period, but a detail of them will befound in a publication to that effect by Du Peyrou, of which I shallhereafter have occasion to speak. 

After the departure of Madam de Verdelin the fermentation increased, and, notwithstanding the reiterated rescripts of the king, the frequent ordersof the council of state, and the cares of the chatelain and magistratesof the place, the people, seriously considering me as antichrist, andperceiving all their clamors to be of no effect, seemed at lengthdetermined to proceed to violence; stones were already thrown after mein the roads, but I was however in general at too great a distance toreceive any harm from them. At last, in the night of the fair ofMotiers, which is in the beginning of September, I was attacked in myhabitation in such a manner as to endanger the lives of everybody in thehouse. 

At midnight I heard a great noise in the gallery which ran along the backpart of the house. A shower of stones thrown against the window and thedoor which opened to the gallery fell into it with so much noise andviolence, that my dog, which usually slept there, and had begun to bark, ceased from fright, and ran into a corner gnawing and scratching theplanks to endeavor to make his escape. I immediately rose, and waspreparing to go from my chamber into the kitchen, when a stone thrown bya vigorous arm crossed the latter, after having broken the window, forcedopen the door of my chamber, and fell at my feet, so that had I been amoment sooner upon the floor I should have had the stone against mystomach. I judged the noise had been made to bring me to the door, andthe stone thrown to receive me as I went out. I ran into the kitchen, where I found Theresa, who also had risen, and was tremblingly making herway to me as fast as she could. We placed ourselves against the wall outof the direction of the window to avoid the stones, and deliberate uponwhat was best to be done; for going out to call assistance was thecertain means of getting ourselves knocked on the head. Fortunately themaid-servant of an old man who lodged under me was waked by the noise, and got up and ran to call the chatelain, whose house was next to mine. He jumped from his bed, put on his robe de chambre, and instantly came tome with the guard, which, on account of the fair, went the round thatnight, and was just at hand. The chatelain was so alarmed at the sightof the effects of what had happened that he turned pale and on seeing thestones in the gallery, exclaimed, "Good God! here is a quarry!" Onexamining below stairs, a door of a little court was found to have beenforced, and there was an appearance of an attempt having been made to getinto the house by the gallery. On inquiring the reason why the guard hadneither prevented nor perceived the disturbance, it came out that theguards of Motiers had insisted upon doing duty that night, although itwas the turn of those of another village. 

The next day the chatelain sent his report to the council of state, whichtwo days afterwards sent an order to inquire into the affair, to promisea reward and secrecy to those who should impeach such as were guilty, andin the meantime to place, at the expense of the king, guards about myhouse, and that of the chatelain, which joined to it. The day after thedisturbance, Colonel Pury, the Attorney-General Meuron, the ChatelainMartinet, the Receiver Guyenet, the Treasurer d'Ivernois and his father, in a word, every person of consequence in the country, came to see me, and united their solicitations to persuade me to yield to the storm andleave, at least for a time, a place in which I could no longer live insafety nor with honor. I perceived that even the chatelain wasfrightened at the fury of the people, and apprehending it might extend tohimself, would be glad to see me depart as soon as possible, that hemight no longer have the trouble of protecting me there, and be able toquit the parish, which he did after my departure. I therefore yielded totheir solicitations, and this with but little pain, for the hatred of thepeople so afflicted my heart that I was no longer able to support it. 

I had a choice of places to retire to. After Madam de Verdelin returnedto Paris, she had, in several letters, mentioned a Mr. Walpole, whom shecalled my lord, who, having a strong desire to serve me, proposed to mean asylum at one of his country houses, of the situation of which shegave me the most agreeable description; entering, relative to lodging andsubsistence, into a detail which proved she and Lord Walpole had heldparticular consultations upon the project. My lord marshal had alwaysadvised me to go to England or Scotland, and in case of my determiningupon the latter, offered me there an asylum. But he offered me anotherat Potsdam, near to his person, and which tempted me more than all therest. 

He had just communicated to me what the king had said to him about mygoing there, which was a kind of invitation to me from that monarch, andthe Duchess of Saxe-Gotha depended so much upon my taking the journeythat she wrote to me desiring I should go to see her in my way to thecourt of Prussia, and stay some time before I proceeded farther; but Iwas so attached to Switzerland that I could not resolve to quit it solong as it was possible for me to live there, and I seized thisopportunity to execute a project of which I had for several monthsconceived the idea, and of which I have deferred speaking, that I mightnot interrupt my narrative. 

This project consisted in going to reside in the island of St. Peter, an estate belonging to the Hospital of Berne, in the middle of the lakeof Bienne. In a pedestrian pilgrimage I had made the preceding year withDu Peyrou we had visited this isle, with which I was so much delightedthat I had since that time incessantly thought of the means of making itmy place of residence. The greatest obstacle to my wishes arose from theproperty of the island being vested in the people of Berne, who threeyears before had driven me from amongst them; and besides themortification of returning to live with people who had given me sounfavorable a reception, I had reason to fear they would leave me no moreat peace in the island than they had done at Yverdon. I had consultedthe lord marshal upon the subject, who thinking as I did, that the peopleof Berne would be glad to see me banished to the island, and to keep methere as a hostage for the works I might be tempted to write, and soundedtheir dispositions by means of M. Sturler, his old neighbor at Colombier. M. Sturler addressed himself to the chiefs of the state, and, accordingto their answer assured the marshal the Bernois, sorry for their pastbehavior, wished to see me settled in the island of St. Peter, and toleave me there at peace. As an additional precaution, before Idetermined to reside there, I desired the Colonel Chaillet to make newinquiries. He confirmed what I had already heard, and the receiver ofthe island having obtained from his superiors permission to lodge me init, I thought I might without danger go to the house, with the tacticconsent of the sovereign and the proprietors; for I could not expect thepeople of Berne would openly acknowledge the injustice they had done me, and thus act contrary to the most inviolable maxim of all sovereigns. 

The island of St. Peter, called at Neuchatel the island of La Motte, inthe middle of the lake of Bienne, is half a league in, circumference; butin this little space all the chief productions necessary to subsistenceare found. The island has fields, meadows, orchards, woods, andvineyards, and all these, favored by variegated and mountainoussituations, form a distribution of the more agreeable, as the parts, notbeing discovered all at once, are seen successively to advantage, andmake the island appear greater than it really is. A very elevatedterrace forms the western part of it, and commands Gleresse andNeuverville. This terrace is planted with trees which form a long alley, interrupted in the middle by a great saloon, in which, during thevintage, the people from the neighboring shores assemble and divertthemselves. There is but one house in the whole island, but that is veryspacious and convenient, inhabited by the receiver, and situated in ahollow by which it is sheltered from the winds. 

Five or six hundred paces to the south of the island of St. Peter isanother island, considerably less than the former, wild and uncultivated, which appears to have been detached from the greater island by storms:its gravelly soil produces nothing but willows and persicaria, but thereis in it a high hill well covered with greensward and very pleasant. Theform of the lake is an almost regular oval. The banks, less rich thanthose of the lake of Geneva and Neuchatel, form a beautiful decoration, especially towards the western part, which is well peopled, and edgedwith vineyards at the foot, of a chain of mountains, something like thoseof Cote-Rotie, but which produce not such excellent wine. The bailiwickof St. John, Neuveville, Berne, and Bienne, lie in a line from the southto the north, to the extremity of the lake, the whole interspersed withvery agreeable villages. 

Such was the asylum I had prepared for myself, and to which I wasdetermined to retire alter quitting Val de Travers. 

 [It may perhaps be necessary to remark that I left there an enemy in M. Du Teneaux, mayor of Verrieres, not much esteemed in the country, but who has a brother, said to be an honest man, in the office of M. De St. Florentin. The mayor had been to see him sometime before my adventure. Little remarks of this kind, though of no consequence, in themselves, may lead to the discovery of many underhand dealings. ]

This choice was so agreeable to my peaceful inclinations, and my solitaryand indolent disposition, that I consider it as one of the pleasingreveries of which I became the most passionately fond. I thought Ishould in that island be more separated from men, more sheltered fromtheir outrages, and sooner forgotten by mankind: in a word, moreabandoned to the delightful pleasures of the inaction of a contemplativelife. I could have wished to have been confined in it in such a manneras to have had no intercourse with mortals, and I certainly took everymeasure I could imagine to relieve me from the necessity of troubling myhead about them. 

The great question was that of subsistence, and by the dearness ofprovisions, and the difficulty of carriage, this is expensive in theisland; the inhabitants are besides at the mercy of the receiver. Thisdifficulty was removed by an arrangement which Du Peyrou made with me inbecoming a substitute to the company which had undertaken and abandonedmy general edition. I gave him all the materials necessary, and made theproper arrangement and distribution. To the engagement between us Iadded that of giving him the memoirs of my life, and made him the generaldepositary of all my papers, under the express condition of making no useof them until after my death, having it at heart quietly to end my dayswithout doing anything which should again bring me back to therecollection of the public. The life annuity he undertook to pay me wassufficient to my subsistence. My lord marshal having recovered all hisproperty, had offered me twelve hundred livres (fifty pounds) a year, half of which I accepted. He wished to send me the principal, and this Irefused on account of the difficulty of placing it. He then sent theamount to Du Peyrou, in whose hands it remained, and who pays me theannuity according to the terms agreed upon with his lordship. Addingtherefore to the result of my agreement with Du Peyrou, the annuity ofthe marshal, two-thirds of which were reversible to Theresa after mydeath, and the annuity of three hundred livres from Duchesne, I wasassured of a genteel subsistence for myself, and after me for Theresa, towhom I left seven hundred livres (twenty-nine pounds) a year, from theannuities paid me by Rey and the lord marshal; I had therefore no longerto fear a want of bread. But it was ordained that honor should oblige meto reject all these resources which fortune and my labors placed withinmy reach, and that I should die as poor as I had lived. It will be seenwhether or not, without reducing myself to the last degree of infamy, Icould abide by the engagements which care has always taken to renderignominious, by depriving me of every other resource to force me toconsent to my own dishonor. How was it possible anybody could doubt ofthe choice I should make in such an alternative? Others have judged ofmy heart by their own. 

My mind at ease relative to subsistence was without care upon every othersubject. Although I left in the world the field open to my enemies, there remained in the noble enthusiasm by which my writings weredictated, and in the constant uniformity of my principles, an evidence ofthe uprightness of my heart which answered to that deducible from myconduct in favor of my natural disposition. I had no need of any otherdefense against my calumniators. They might under my name describeanother man, but it was impossible they should deceive such as wereunwilling to be imposed upon. I could have given them my whole life toanimadvert upon, with a certainty, notwithstanding all my faults andweaknesses, and my want of aptitude to, support the lightest yoke, oftheir finding me in every situation a just and good man, withoutbitterness, hatred, or jealousy, ready to acknowledge my errors, andstill more prompt to forget the injuries I received from others; seekingall my happiness in love, friendship, and affection and in everythingcarrying my sincerity even to imprudence and the most incredibledisinterestedness. 

I therefore in some measure took leave of the age in which I lived and mycontemporaries, and bade adieu to the world, with an intention to confinemyself for the rest of my days to that island; such was my resolution, and it was there I hoped to execute the great project of the indolentlife to which I had until then consecrated the little activity with whichHeaven had endowed me. The island was to become to me that of Papimanie, that happy country where the inhabitants sleep:

 Ou l'on fait plus, ou l'on fait nulle chose. 

 [Where they do more: where they do nothing. ]

This more was everything for me, for I never much regretted sleep;indolence is sufficient to my happiness, and provided I do nothing, I hadrather dream waking than asleep. Being past the age of romanticprojects, and having been more stunned than flattered by the trumpet offame, my only hope was that of living at ease, and constantly at leisure. This is the life of the blessed in the world to come, and for the rest ofmine here below I made it my supreme happiness. 

They who reproach me with so many contradictions, will not fail here toadd another to the number. I have observed the indolence of greatcompanies made them unsupportable to me, and I am now seeking solitudefor the sole purpose of abandoning myself to inaction. This however ismy disposition; if there be in it a contradiction, it proceeds fromnature and not from me; but there is so little that it is precisely onthat account that I am always consistent. The indolence of company isburdensome because it is forced. That of solitude is charming because itis free, and depends upon the will. In company I suffer cruelly byinaction, because this is of necessity. I must there remain nailed to mychair, or stand upright like a picket, without stirring hand or foot, notdaring to run, jump, sing, exclaim, nor gesticulate when I please, notallowed even to dream, suffering at the same time the fatigue of inactionand all the torment of constraint; obliged to pay attention to everyfoolish thing uttered, and to all the idle compliments paid, andconstantly to keep my mind upon the rack that I may not fail to introducein my turn my jest or my lie. And this is called idleness! It is thelabor of a galley slave. 

The indolence I love is not that of a lazy fellow who sits with his armsacross in total inaction, and thinks no more than he acts, but that of achild which is incessantly in motion doing nothing, and that of a dotardwho wanders from his subject. I love to amuse myself with trifles, bybeginning a hundred things and never finishing one of them, by going orcoming as I take either into my head, by changing my project at everyinstant, by following a fly through all its windings, in wishing tooverturn a rock to see what is under it, by undertaking with ardor thework of ten years, and abandoning it without regret at the end of tenminutes; finally, in musing from morning until night without order orcoherence, and in following in everything the caprice of a moment. 

Botany, such as I have always considered it, and of which after my ownmanner I began to become passionately fond, was precisely an idle study, proper to fill up the void of my leisure, without leaving room for thedelirium of imagination or the weariness of total inaction. Carelesslywandering in the woods and the country, mechanically gathering here aflower and there a branch; eating my morsel almost by chance, observing athousand and a thousand times the same things, and always with the sameinterest, because I always forgot them, were to me the means of passingan eternity without a weary moment. However elegant, admirable, andvariegated the structure of plants may be, it does not strike an ignoranteye sufficiently to fix the attention. The constant analogy, with, atthe same time, the prodigious variety which reigns in their conformation, gives pleasure to those only who have already some idea of the vegetablesystem. Others at the sight of these treasures of nature feel nothingmore than a stupid and monotonous admiration. They see nothing in detailbecause they know not for what to look, nor do they perceive the whole, having no idea of the chain of connection and combinations whichoverwhelms with its wonders the mind of the observer. I was arrived atthat happy point of knowledge, and my want of memory was such asconstantly to keep me there, that I knew little enough to make the wholenew to me, and yet everything that was necessary to make me sensible tothe beauties of all the parts. The different soils into which theisland, although little, was divided, offered a sufficient variety ofplants, for the study and amusement of my whole life. I was determinednot to leave a blade of grass without analyzing it, and I began alreadyto take measures for making, with an immense collection of observations, the 'Flora Petrinsularis'. 

I sent for Theresa, who brought with her my books and effects. Weboarded with the receiver of the island. His wife had sisters at Nidau, who by turns came to see her, and were company for Theresa. I here madethe experiment of the agreeable life which I could have wished tocontinue to the end of my days, and the pleasure I found in it onlyserved to make me feel to a greater degree the bitterness of that bywhich it was shortly to be succeeded. 

I have ever been passionately fond of water, and the sight of it throwsme into a delightful reverie, although frequently without a determinateobject. 

Immediately after I rose from my bed I never failed, if the weather wasfine, to run to the terrace to respire the fresh and salubrious air ofthe morning, and glide my eye over the horizon of the lake, bounded bybanks and mountains, delightful to the view. I know no homage moreworthy of the divinity than the silent admiration excited by thecontemplation of his works, and which is not externally expressed. I can easily comprehend the reason why the inhabitants of great cities, who see nothing but walls, and streets, have but little faith; but notwhence it happens that people in the country, and especially such as livein solitude, can possibly be without it. How comes it to pass that thesedo not a hundred times a day elevate their minds in ecstasy to the Authorof the wonders which strike their senses. For my part, it is especiallyat rising, wearied by a want of sleep, that long habit inclines me tothis elevation which imposes not the fatigue of thinking. But to thiseffect my eyes must be struck with the ravishing beauties of nature. Inmy chamber I pray less frequently, and not so fervently; but at the viewof a fine landscape I feel myself moved, but by what I am unable to tell. I have somewhere read of a wise bishop who in a visit to his diocesefound an old woman whose only prayer consisted in the single interjection"Oh!"--"Good mother, " said he to her, "continue to pray in this manner;your prayer is better than ours. " This better prayer is mine also. 

After breakfast, I hastened, with a frown on my brow, to write a fewpitiful letters, longing ardently for the moment after which I shouldhave no more to write. I busied myself for a few minutes about my booksand papers, to unpack and arrange them, rather than to read what theycontained; and this arrangement, which to me became the work of Penelope, gave me the pleasure of musing for a while. I then grew weary, andquitted my books to spend the three or four hours which remained to me ofthe morning in the study of botany, and especially of the system ofLinnaeus, of which I became so passionately fond, that, after having felthow useless my attachment to it was, I yet could not entirely shake itoff. This great observer is, in my opinion, the only one who, withLudwig, has hitherto considered botany as a naturalist, and aphilosopher; but he has too much studied it in herbals and gardens, andnot sufficiently in nature herself. For my part, whose garden was alwaysthe whole island, the moment I wanted to make or verify an observation, I ran into the woods or meadows with my book under my arm, and there laidmyself upon the ground near the plant in question, to examine it at myease as it stood. This method was of great service to me in gaining aknowledge of vegetables in their natural state, before they had beencultivated and changed in their nature by the hands of men. Fagon, firstphysician to Louis XIV. , and who named and perfectly knew all the plantsin the royal garden, is said to have been so ignorant in the country asnot to know how to distinguish the same plants. I am precisely thecontrary. I know something of the work of nature, but nothing of that ofthe gardener. 

I gave every afternoon totally up to my indolent and carelessdisposition, and to following without regularity the impulse of themoment. When the weather was calm, I frequently went immediately afterI rose from dinner, and alone got into the boat. The receiver had taughtme to row with one oar; I rowed out into the middle of the lake. Themoment I withdrew from the bank, I felt a secret joy which almost made meleap, and of which it is impossible for me to tell or even comprehend thecause, if it were not a secret congratulation on my being out of thereach of the wicked. I afterwards rowed about the lake, sometimesapproaching the opposite bank, but never touching at it. I often let myboat float at the mercy of the wind and water, abandoning myself toreveries without object, and which were not the less agreeable for theirstupidity. I sometimes exclaimed, "O nature! O my mother! I am hereunder thy guardianship alone; here is no deceitful and cunning mortal tointerfere between thee and me. " In this manner I withdrew half a leaguefrom land; I could have wished the lake had been the ocean. However, toplease my poor dog, who was not so fond as I was of such a long stay onthe water, I commonly followed one constant course; this was going toland at the little island where I walked an hour or two, or laid myselfdown on the grass on the summit of the hill, there to satiate myself withthe pleasure of admiring the lake and its environs, to examine anddissect all the herbs within my reach, and, like another Robinson Crusoe, built myself an imaginary place of residence in the island. I becamevery much attached to this eminence. When I brought Theresa, with thewife of the receiver and her sisters, to walk there, how proud was I tobe their pilot and guide! We took there rabbits to stock it. This wasanother source of pleasure to Jean Jacques. These animals rendered theisland still more interesting to me. I afterwards went to it morefrequently, and with greater pleasure to observe the progress of the newinhabitants. 

To these amusements I added one which recalled to my recollection thedelightful life I led at the Charmettes, and to which the seasonparticularly invited me. This was assisting in the rustic labors ofgathering of roots and fruits, of which Theresa and I made it a pleasureto partake with the wife of the receiver and his family. I remember aBernois, one M. Kirkeberguer, coming to see me, found me perched upon atree with a sack fastened to my waist, and already so full of apples thatI could not stir from the branch on which I stood. I was not sorry to becaught in this and similar situations. I hoped the people of Berne, witnesses to the employment of my leisure, would no longer think ofdisturbing my tranquillity but leave me at peace in my solitude. Ishould have preferred being confined there by their desire: this wouldhave rendered the continuation of my repose more certain. 

This is another declaration upon which I am previously certain of theincredulity of many of my readers, who obstinately continue to judge meby themselves, although they cannot but have seen, in the course of mylife, a thousand internal affections which bore no resemblance to any oftheirs. But what is still more extraordinary is, that they refuse meevery sentiment, good or indifferent, which they have not, and areconstantly ready to attribute to me such bad ones as cannot enter intothe heart of man: in this case they find it easy to set me in oppositionto nature, and to make of me such a monster as cannot in reality exist. Nothing absurd appears to them incredible, the moment it has a tendencyto blacken me, and nothing in the least extraordinary seems to thempossible, if it tends to do me honor. 

But, notwithstanding what they may think or say, I will still continuefaithfully to state what J. J. Rousseau was, did, and thought; withoutexplaining, or justifying, the singularity of his sentiments and ideas, or endeavoring to discover whether or not others have thought as he did. I became so delighted with the island of St. Peter, and my residencethere was so agreeable to me that, by concentrating all my desires withinit, I formed the wish that I might stay there to the end of my life. Thevisits I had to return in the neighborhood, the journeys I should beunder the necessity of making to Neuchatel, Bienne, Yverdon, and Nidau, already fatigued my imagination. A day passed out of the island, seemedto me a loss of so much happiness, and to go beyond the bounds of thelake was to go out of my element. Past experience had besides renderedme apprehensive. The very satisfaction that I received from anythingwhatever was sufficient to make me fear the loss of it, and the ardentdesire I had to end my days in that island, was inseparable from theapprehension of being obliged to leave it. I had contracted a habit ofgoing in the evening to sit upon the sandy shore, especially when thelake was agitated. I felt a singular pleasure in seeing the waves breakat my feet. I formed of them in my imagination the image of the tumultof the world contrasted with the peace of my habitation; and thispleasing idea sometimes softened me even to tears. The repose I enjoyedwith ecstasy was disturbed by nothing but the fear of being deprived ofit, and this inquietude was accompanied with some bitterness. I felt mysituation so precarious as not to dare to depend upon its continuance. "Ah! how willingly, " said I to myself, "would I renounce the liberty ofquitting this place, for which I have no desire, for the assurance ofalways remaining in it. Instead of being permitted to stay here byfavor, why am I not detained by force! They who suffer me to remain mayin a moment drive me away, and can I hope my persecutors, seeing mehappy, will leave me here to continue to be so? Permitting me to live inthe island is but a trifling favor. I could wish to be condemned to doit, and constrained to remain here that I may not be obliged to goelsewhere. " I cast an envious eye upon Micheli du Cret, who, quiet inthe castle of Arbourg, had only to determine to be happy to become so. In fine, by abandoning myself to these reflections, and the alarmingapprehensions of new storms always ready to break over my head, I wishedfor them with an incredible ardor, and that instead of suffering me toreside in the island, the Bernois would give it me for a perpetualprison; and I can assert that had it depended upon me to get myselfcondemned to this, I would most joyfully have done it, preferring athousand times the necessity of passing my life there to the danger ofbeing driven to another place. 

This fear did not long remain on my mind. When I least expected what wasto happen, I received a letter from the bailiff of Nidau, within whosejurisdiction the island of St. Peter was; by his letter he announced tome from their excellencies an order to quit the island and their states. I thought myself in a dream. Nothing could be less natural, reasonable, or foreseen than such an order: for I considered my apprehensions as theresult of inquietude in a man whose imagination was disturbed by hismisfortunes, and not to proceed from a foresight which could have theleast foundation. The measures I had taken to insure myself the tacitconsent of the sovereign, the tranquillity with which I had been left tomake my establishment, the visits of several people from Berne, and thatof the bailiff himself, who had shown me such friendship and attention, and the rigor of the season in which it was barbarous to expel a man whowas sickly and infirm, all these circumstances made me and many peoplebelieve that there was some mistake in the order and that ill-disposedpeople had purposely chosen the time of the vintage and the vacation ofthe senate suddenly to do me an injury. 

Had I yielded to the first impulse of my indignation, I shouldimmediately have departed. But to what place was I to go? What was tobecome of me at the beginning of the winter, without object, preparation, guide or carriage? Not to leave my papers and effects at the mercy ofthe first comer, time was necessary to make proper arrangements, and itwas not stated in the order whether or not this would be granted me. The continuance of misfortune began to weigh down my courage. For thefirst time in my life I felt my natural haughtiness stoop to the yoke ofnecessity, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of my heart, I was obliged todemean myself by asking for a delay. I applied to M. De Graffenried, whohad sent me the order, for an explanation of it. His letter, conceivedin the strongest terms of disapprobation of the step that had been taken, assured me it was with the greatest regret he communicated to me thenature of it, and the expressions of grief and esteem it contained seemedso many gentle invitations to open to him my heart: I did so. I had nodoubt but my letter would open the eyes of my persecutors, and that if socruel an order was not revoked, at least a reasonable delay, perhaps thewhole winter, to make the necessary preparations for my retreat, and tochoose a place of abode, would be granted me. 

Whilst I waited for an answer, I reflected upon my situation, anddeliberated upon the steps I had to take. I perceived so manydifficulties on all sides, the vexation I had suffered had so stronglyaffected me, and my health was then in such a bad state, that I was quiteovercome, and the effect of my discouragement was to deprive me of thelittle resource which remained in my mind, by which I might, as well asit was possible to do it, have withdrawn myself from my melancholysituation. In whatever asylum I should take refuge, it appearedimpossible to avoid either of the two means made use of to expel me. One of which was to stir up against me the populace by secret manoeuvres;and the other to drive me away by open force, without giving a reason forso doing. I could not, therefore, depend upon a safe retreat, unless Iwent in search of it farther than my strength and the season seemedlikely to permit. These circumstances again bringing to my recollectionthe ideas which had lately occurred to me, I wished my persecutors tocondemn me to perpetual imprisonment rather than oblige me incessantly towander upon the earth, by successively expelling me from the asylums ofwhich I should make choice: and to this effect I made them a proposal. Two days after my first letter to M. De Graffenried, I wrote him asecond, desiring he would state what I had proposed to theirexcellencies. The answer from Berne to both was an order, conceived inthe most formal and severe terms, to go out of the island, and leaveevery territory, mediate and immediate of the republic, within the spaceof twenty-four hours, and never to enter them again under the mostgrievous penalties. 

This was a terrible moment. I have since that time felt greater anguish, but never have I been more embarrassed. What afflicted me most was beingforced to abandon the project which had made me desirous to pass thewinter in the island. It is now time I should relate the fatal anecdotewhich completed my disasters, and involved in my ruin an unfortunatepeople, whose rising virtues already promised to equal those of Rome andSparta, I had spoken of the Corsicans in the 'Social Contract' as a newpeople, the only nation in Europe not too worn out for legislation, and had expressed the great hope there was of such a people, if it werefortunate enough to have a wise legislator. My work was read by some ofthe Corsicans, who were sensible of the honorable manner in which I hadspoken of them; and the necessity under which they found themselves ofendeavoring to establish their republic, made their chiefs think ofasking me for my ideas upon the subject. M. Buttafuoco, of one of thefirst families in the country, and captain in France, in the RoyalItalians, wrote to me to that effect, and sent me several papers forwhich I had asked to make myself acquainted with the history of thenation and the state of the country. M. Paoli, also, wrote to me severaltimes, and although I felt such an undertaking to be superior to myabilities; I thought I could not refuse to give my assistance to so greatand noble a work, the moment I should have acquired all the necessaryinformation. It was to this effect I answered both these gentlemen, andthe correspondence lasted until my departure. 

Precisely at the same time, I heard that France was sending troops toCorsica, and that she had entered into a treaty with the Genoese. Thistreaty and sending of troops gave me uneasiness, and, without imaginingI had any further relation with the business, I thought it impossible andthe attempt ridiculous, to labor at an undertaking which required suchundisturbed tranquillity as the political institution of a people in themoment when perhaps they were upon the point of being subjugated. I didnot conceal my fears from M. Buttafuoco, who rather relieved me from themby the assurance that, were there in the treaty things contrary to theliberty of his country, a good citizen like himself would not remain ashe did in the service of France. In fact, his zeal for the legislationof the Corsicans, and his connections with M. Paoli, could not leave adoubt on my mind respecting him; and when I heard he made frequentjourneys to Versailles and Fontainebleau, and had conversations with M. De Choiseul, all I concluded from the whole was, that with respect to thereal intentions of France he had assurances which he gave me tounderstand, but concerning which he did not choose openly to explainhimself by letter. 

This removed a part of my apprehensions. Yet, as I could not comprehendthe meaning of the transportation of troops from France, nor reasonablysuppose they were sent to Corsica to protect the liberty of theinhabitants, which they of themselves were very well able to defendagainst the Genoese, I could neither make myself perfectly easy, norseriously undertake the plan of the proposed legislation, until I hadsolid proofs that the whole was serious, and that the parties meant notto trifle with me. I much wished for an interview with M. Buttafuoco, asthat was certainly the best means of coming at the explanation I wished. Of this he gave me hopes, and I waited for it with the greatestimpatience. I know not whether he really intended me any interview ornot; but had this even been the case, my misfortunes would have preventedme from profiting by it. 

The more I considered the proposed undertaking, and the further Iadvanced in the examination of the papers I had in my hands, the greaterI found the necessity of studying, in the country, the people for whominstitutions were to be made, the soil they inhabited, and all therelative circumstances by which it was necessary to appropriate to themthat institution. I daily perceived more clearly the impossibility ofacquiring at a distance all the information necessary to guide me. ThisI wrote to M. Buttafuoco, and he felt as I did. Although I did not formthe precise resolution of going to Corsica. I considered a good deal ofthe means necessary to make that voyage. I mentioned it to M. Dastier, who having formerly served in the island under M. De Maillebois, wasnecessarily acquainted with it. He used every effort to dissuade me fromthis intention, and I confess the frightful description he gave me of theCorsicans and their country, considerably abated the desire I had ofgoing to live amongst them. 

But when the persecutions of Motiers made me think of quittingSwitzerland, this desire was again strengthened by the hope of at lengthfinding amongst these islanders the repose refused me in every otherplace. One thing only alarmed me, which was my unfitness for the activelife to which I was going to be condemned, and the aversion I had alwayshad to it. My disposition, proper for meditating at leisure and insolitude, was not so for speaking and acting, and treating of affairswith men. Nature, which had endowed me with the first talent, hadrefused me the last. Yet I felt that, even without taking a direct andactive part in public affairs, I should as soon as I was in Corsica, be under the necessity of yielding to the desires of the people, and offrequently conferring with the chiefs. The object even of the voyagerequired that, instead of seeking retirement, I should in the heart ofthe country endeavor to gain the information of which I stood in need. It was certain that I should no longer be master of my own time, andthat, in spite of myself, precipitated into the vortex in which I was notborn to move, I should there lead a life contrary to my inclination, and never appear but to disadvantage. I foresaw that ill-supporting bymy presence the opinion my books might have given the Corsicans of mycapacity, I should lose my reputation amongst them, and, as much to theirprejudice as my own, be deprived of the confidence they had in me, without which, however, I could not successfully produce the work theyexpected from my pen. I am certain that, by thus going out of my sphere, I should become useless to the inhabitants, and render myself unhappy. 

Tormented, beaten by storms from every quarter, and, for several yearspast, fatigued by journeys and persecution, I strongly felt a want of therepose of which my barbarous enemies wantonly deprived me: I sighed morethan ever after that delicious indolence, that soft tranquillity of bodyand mind, which I had so much desired, and to which, now that I hadrecovered from the chimeras of love and friendship, my heart limited itssupreme felicity. I viewed with terror the work I was about toundertake; the tumultuous life into which I was to enter made me tremble, and if the grandeur, beauty, and utility of the object animated mycourage, the impossibility of conquering so many difficulties entirelydeprived me of it. 

Twenty years of profound meditation in solitude would have been lesspainful to me than an active life of six months in the midst of men andpublic affairs, with a certainty of not succeeding in my undertaking. 

I thought of an expedient which seemed proper to obviate everydifficulty. Pursued by the underhand dealings of my secret persecutorsto every place in which I took refuge, and seeing no other except Corsicawhere I could in my old days hope for the repose I had until then beeneverywhere deprived of, I resolved to go there with the directions of M. Buttafuoco as soon as this was possible, but to live there intranquillity; renouncing, in appearance, everything relative tolegislation, and, in some measure, to make my hosts a return for theirhospitality, to confine myself to writing in the country the history ofthe Corsicans, with a reserve in my own mind of the intention of secretlyacquiring the necessary information to become more useful to them shouldI see a probability of success. In this manner, by not entering into anengagement, I hoped to be enabled better to meditate in secret and moreat my ease, a plan which might be useful to their purpose, and thiswithout much breaking in upon my dearly beloved solitude, or submittingto a kind of life which I had ever found insupportable. 

But the journey was not, in my situation, a thing so easy to get over. According to what M. Dastier had told me of Corsica, I could not expectto find there the most simple conveniences of life, except such as Ishould take with me; linen, clothes, plate, kitchen furniture, and books, all were to be conveyed thither. To get there myself with mygouvernante, I had the Alps to cross, and in a journey of two hundredleagues to drag after me all my baggage; I had also to pass through thestates of several sovereigns, and according to the example set to allEurope, I had, after what had befallen me, naturally to expect to findobstacles in every quarter, and that each sovereign would think he didhimself honor by overwhelming me with some new insult, and violating inmy person all the rights of persons and humanity. The immense expense, fatigue, and risk of such a journey made a previous consideration ofthem, and weighing every difficulty, the first step necessary. The ideaof being alone, and, at my age, without resource, far removed from all myacquaintance, and at the mercy of these semi-barbarous and ferociouspeople, such as M. Dastier had described them to me, was sufficient tomake me deliberate before I resolved to expose myself to such dangers. I ardently wished for the interview for which M. Buttafuoco had given mereason to hope, and I waited the result of it to guide me in mydetermination. 

Whilst I thus hesitated came on the persecutions of Motiers, whichobliged me to retire. I was not prepared for a long journey, especiallyto Corsica. I expected to hear from Buttafuoco; I took refuge in theisland of St. Peter, whence I was driven at the beginning of winter, as Ihave already stated. The Alps, covered with snow, then rendered myemigration impracticable, especially with the promptitude required fromme. It is true, the extravagant severity of a like order rendered theexecution of it almost impossible; for, in the midst of that concentredsolitude, surrounded by water, and having but twenty-four hours afterreceiving the order to prepare for my departure, and find a boat andcarriages to get out of the island and the territory, had I had wings, I should scarcely have been able to pay obedience to it. This I wrote tothe bailiff of Nidau, in answer to his letter, and hastened to take mydeparture from a country of iniquity. In this manner was I obliged toabandon my favorite project, for which reason, not having in myoppression been able to prevail upon my persecutors to dispose of meotherwise, I determined, in consequence of the invitation of my lordmarshal, upon a journey to Berlin, leaving Theresa to pass the winter inthe island of St. Peter, with my books and effects, and depositing mypapers in the hands of M. Du Peyrou. I used so much diligence that thenext morning I left the island and arrived at Bienne before noon. Anaccident, which I cannot pass over in silence, had here well nigh put anend to my journey. 

As soon as the news or my having received an order to quit my asylum wascirculated, I received a great number of visits from the neighborhood, and especially from the Bernois, who came with the most detestablefalsehood to flatter and soothe me, protesting that my persecutors hadseized the moment of the vacation of the senate to obtain and send me theorder, which, said they, had excited the indignation of the two hundred. Some of these comforters came from the city of Bienne, a little freestate within that of Berne, and amongst others a young man of the name ofWildremet whose family was of the first rank, and had the greatest creditin that city. Wildremet strongly solicited me in the name of hisfellow-citizens to choose my retreat amongst them, assuring me that theywere anxiously desirous of it, and that they would think it an honor andtheir duty to make me forget the persecutions I had suffered; that withthem I had nothing to fear from the influence of the Bernois, thatBienne was a free city, governed by its own laws, and that the citizenswere unanimously resolved not to hearken to any solicitation whichshould be unfavorable to me. 

Wildremet perceiving all he could say to be ineffectual, brought to hisaid several other persons, as well from Bienne and the environs as fromBerne; even, and amongst others, the same Kirkeberguer, of whom I havespoken, who, after my retreat to Switzerland had endeavored to obtain myesteem, and by his talents and principles had interested me in his favor. But I received much less expected and more weighty solicitations from M. Barthes, secretary to the embassy from France, who came with Wildremet tosee me, exhorted me to accept his invitation, and surprised me by thelively and tender concern he seemed to feel for my situation. I did notknow M. Barthes; however I perceived in what he said the warmth and zealof friendship, and that he had it at heart to persuade me to fix myresidence at Bienne. He made the most pompous eulogium of the city andits inhabitants, with whom he showed himself so intimately connected asto call them several times in my presence his patrons and fathers. 

This from Barthes bewildered me in my conjectures. I had alwayssuspected M. De Choisuel to be the secret author of all the persecutionsI suffered in Switzerland. The conduct of the resident of Geneva, and that of the ambassador at Soleure but too much confirmed mysuspicion; I perceived the secret influence of France in everything thathappened to me at Berne, Geneva and Neuchatel, and I did not think I hadany powerful enemy in that kingdom, except the Duke de Choiseul. Whattherefore could I think of the visit of Barthes and the tender concern heshowed for my welfare? My misfortunes had not yet destroyed theconfidence natural to my heart, and I had still to learn from experienceto discern snares under the appearance of friendship. I sought withsurprise the reason of the benevolence of M. Barthes; I was not weakenough to believe he had acted from himself; there was in his mannersomething ostentatious, an affectation even which declared a concealedintention, and I was far from having found in any of these littlesubaltern agents, that generous intrepidity which, when I was in asimilar employment, had often caused a fermentation in my heart. I hadformerly known something of the Chevalier Beauteville, at the castle ofMontmorency; he had shown me marks of esteem; since his appointment tothe embassy he had given me proofs of his not having entirely forgottenme, accompanied with an invitation to go and see him at Soleure. ThoughI did not accept this invitation, I was extremely sensible of hiscivility, not having been accustomed to be treated with such kindness bypeople in place. I presume M. De Beauteville, obliged to follow hisinstructions in what related to the affairs of Geneva, yet pitying meunder my misfortunes, had by his private cares prepared for me the asylumof Bienne, that I might live there in peace under his auspices. I wasproperly sensible of his attention, but without wishing to profit by itand quite determined upon the journey to Berlin, I sighed after themoment in which I was to see my lord marshal, persuaded I should infuture find zeal repose and lasting happiness nowhere but near hisperson. 

On my departure from the island, Kirkeberguer accompanied me to Bienne. I found Wildremet and other Biennois, who, by the water side, waited mygetting out of the boat. We all dined together at the inn, and on myarrival there my first care was to provide a chaise, being determined toset off the next morning. Whilst we were at dinner these gentlemenrepeated their solicitations to prevail upon me to stay with them, andthis with such warmth and obliging protestations, that notwithstandingall my resolutions, my heart, which has never been able to resistfriendly attentions, received an impression from theirs; the moment theyperceived I was shaken, they redoubled their efforts with so much effectthat I was at length overcome, and consented to remain at Bienne, atleast until the spring. 

Wildremet immediately set about providing me with a lodging, and boasted, as of a fortunate discovery, of a dirty little chamber in the back of thehouse, on the third story, looking into a courtyard, where I had for aview the display of the stinking skins of a dresser of chamois leather. My host was a man of a mean appearance, and a good deal of a rascal; thenext day after I went to his house I heard that he was a debauchee, agamester, and in bad credit in the neighborhood. He had neither wife, children, nor servants, and shut up in my solitary chamber, I was in themidst of one of the most agreeable countries in Europe, lodged in amanner to make me die of melancholy in the course of a few days. Whataffected me most was, that, notwithstanding what I had heard of theanxious wish of the inhabitants to receive me amongst them, I had notperceived, as I passed through the streets, anything polite towards me intheir manners, or obliging in their looks. I was, however, determined toremain there; but I learned, saw, and felt, the day after, that there wasin the city a terrible fermentation, of which I was the cause. Severalpersons hastened obligingly to inform me that on the next day I was toreceive an order conceived in the most severe terms, immediately to quitthe state, that is the city. I had nobody in whom I could confide; theywho had detained me were dispersed. Wildremet had disappeared; I heardno more of Barthes, and it did not appear that his recommendation hadbrought me into great favor with those whom he had styled his patrons andfathers. One M. De Van Travers, a Bernois, who had an agreeable housenot far from the city, offered it to me for my asylum, hoping, as hesaid, that I might there avoid being stoned. The advantage this offerheld out was not sufficiently flattering to tempt me to prolong my abodewith these hospitable people. 

Yet, having lost three days by the delay, I had greatly exceeded thetwenty-four hours the Bernois had given me to quit their states, andknowing their severity, I was not without apprehensions as to the mannerin which they would suffer me to cross them, when the bailiff of Nidaucame opportunely and relieved me from my embarrassment. As he had highlydisapproved of the violent proceedings of their excellencies, he thought, in his generosity, he owed me some public proof of his taking no part inthem, and had courage to leave his bailiwick to come and pay me a visitat Bienne. He did me this favor the evening before my departure, and farfrom being incognito he affected ceremony, coming in fiocchi in his coachwith his secretary, and brought me a passport in his own name that Imight cross the state of Berne at my ease, and without fear ofmolestation. I was more flattered by the visit than by the passport, and should have been as sensible of the merit of it, had it had forobject any other person whatsoever. Nothing makes a greater impressionon my heart than a well-timed act of courage in favor of the weakunjustly oppressed. 

At length, after having with difficulty procured a chaise, I next morningleft this barbarous country, before the arrival of the deputation withwhich I was to be honored, and even before I had seen Theresa, to whom Ihad written to come to me, when I thought I should remain at Bienne, and whom I had scarcely time to countermand by a short letter, informingher of my new disaster. In the third part of my memoirs, if ever I beable to write them, I shall state in what manner, thinking to set off forBerlin, I really took my departure for England, and the means by whichthe two ladies who wished to dispose of my person, after having by theirmanoeuvres driven me from Switzerland, where I was not sufficiently intheir power, at last delivered me into the hands of their friend. 

I added what follows on reading my memoirs to M. And Madam, the Countessof Egmont, the Prince Pignatelli, the Marchioness of Mesme, and theMarquis of Juigne. 

I have written the truth: if any person has heard of things contrary tothose I have just stated, were they a thousand times proved, he has heardcalumny and falsehood; and if he refuses thoroughly to examine andcompare them with me whilst I am alive, he is not a friend either tojustice or truth. For my part, I openly, and without the least feardeclare, that whoever, even without having read my works, shall haveexamined with his own eyes, my disposition, character, manners, inclinations, pleasures, and habits, and pronounce me a dishonest man, is himself one who deserves a gibbet. 

Thus I concluded, and every person was silent; Madam d'Egmont was theonly person who seemed affected; she visibly trembled, but soon recoveredherself, and was silent like the rest of the company. Such were thefruits of my reading and declaration. 

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A feeling heart the foundation of all my misfortunesA religion preached by such missionaries must lead to paradise!A subject not even fit to make a priest ofA man, on being questioned, is immediately on his guardAdopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they containedAll animals are distrustful of man, and with reasonAll your evils proceed from yourselves!An author must be independent of successArdor for learning became so far a madnessAversion to singularityAvoid putting our interests in competition with our dutyBeing beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all vicesBilboquetCatholic must content himself with the decisions of othersCaution is needless after the evil has happenedCemented by reciprocal esteemConsidering this want of decency as an act of courageConversations were more serviceable than his prescriptionsDegree of sensuality had mingled with the smart and shameDie without the aid of physiciansDifficult to think nobly when we think for a livelihoodDine at the hour of supper; sup when I should have been asleepDisgusted with the idle trifling of a conventDissembler, though, in fact, I was only courteousDying for love without an objectEndeavoring to hide my incapacity, I rarely fail to show itEndeavoring to rise too high we are in danger of fallingEver appearing to feel as little for others as herselfFinding in every disease symptoms similar to mineFirst instance of violence and oppression is so deeply engravedFirst time in my life, of saying, "I merit my own esteem"Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a viceForce me to be happy in the manner they should point outForesight with me has always embittered enjoymentHastening on to death without having livedHat, only fit to be carried under his armHave the pleasure of seeing an ass ride on horsebackHave ever preferred suffering to owingHer excessive admiration or dislike of everythingHold fast to aught that I have, and yet covet nothing moreHopes, in which self-love was by no means a loserHow many wrongs are effaced by the embraces of a friend!I never much regretted sleepI strove to flatter my idlenessI never heard her speak ill of persons who were absentI loved her too well to wish to possess herI felt no dread but that of being detectedI was long a child, and am so yet in many particularsI am charged with the care of myself onlyI only wished to avoid giving offenceI did not fear punishment, but I dreaded shameI had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two friendsIdea of my not being everything to herIdleness is as much the pest of society as of solitudeIf you have nothing to do, you must absolutely speak continuallyIn the course of their lives frequently unlike themselvesIn company I suffer cruelly by inactionIn a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kingsIndolence, negligence and delay in little duties to be fulfilledIndolence of company is burdensome because it is forcedInjustice of mankind which embitters both life and deathInsignificant trash that has obtained the name of educationInstead of being delighted with the journey only wished arrivalIs it possible to dissimulate with persons whom we love?Jean Bapiste RousseauKnew how to complain, but not how to actLaw that the accuser should be confined at the same timeLeft to nature the whole care of my own instructionLess degree of repugnance in divulging what is really criminalLetters illustrious in proportion as it was less a tradeLoaded with words and redundanciesLooking on each day as the last of my lifeLove of the marvellous is natural to the human heartMake men like himself, instead of taking them as they wereMaking their knowledge the measure of possibilitiesMaking me sensible of every deficiencyManoeuvres of an author to the care of publishing a good bookMen, in general, make God like themselvesMen of learning more tenaciously retain their predjudicesMistake wit for senseMoment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer a friendMoney that we possess is the instrument of libertyMoney we lack and strive to obtain is the instrument of slaveryMore stunned than flattered by the trumpet of fameMore folly than candor in the declaration without necessityMultiplying persons and adventuresMy greatest faults have been omissionsMyself the principal objectNecessity, the parent of industry, suggested an inventionNeither the victim nor witness of any violent emotionsNo sooner had lost sight of men than I ceased to despise themNo longer permitted to let old people remain out of ParisNot so easy to quit her house as to enter itNot knowing how to spend their time, daily breaking in upon meNothing absurd appears to them incredibleObliged to pay attention to every foolish thing utteredObtain their wishes, without permitting or promising anythingOne of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgiveOnly prayer consisted in the single interjection "Oh!"Painful to an honest man to resist desires already formedPassed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admirePiety was too sincere to give way to any affectation of itPlacing unbounded confidence in myself and othersPrescriptions serve to flatter the hopes of the patientPriests ought never to have children--except by married womenProportioned rather to her ideas than abilitiesProtestants, in general, are better instructedRather bashful than modestRather appeared to study with than to instruct meRead the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our ownRead description of any malady without thinking it mineRead without studyingRemorse wakes amid the storms of adversityRemorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of prosperityReproach me with so many contradictionsReturn of spring seemed to me like rising from the graveRogues know how to save themselves at the expense of the feebleSatisfaction of weeping togetherSeeking, by fresh offences, a return of the same chastisementSin consisted only in the scandalSlighting her favors, if within your reach, a unpardonable crimeSometimes encourage hopes they never mean to realizeSubstituting cunning to knowledgeSupposed that certain, which I only knew to be probableTaught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had imaginedThat which neither women nor authors ever pardonThe malediction of knaves is the glory of an honest manThe conscience of the guilty would revenge the innocentThere is nothing in this world but time and misfortuneThere is no clapping of hands before the kingThis continued desire to control me in all my wishesThough not a fool, I have frequently passed for oneTo make him my apologies for the offence he had given meTrue happiness is indescribable, it is only to be feltTrusting too implicitly to their own innocenceTyranny of persons who called themselves my friendsVirtuous minds, which vice never attacks openlyVoltaire was formed never to be(happy)We learned to dissemble, to rebel, to lieWhat facility everything which favors the malignity of manWhen once we make a secret of anything to the person we loveWhen everyone is busy, you may continue silentWhence comes it that even a child can intimidate a manWhere merit consists in belief, and not in virtueWhole universe would be interested in my concernsWhose discourses began by a distribution of millionsWish thus to be revenged of me for their humiliationWithout the least scruple, freely disposing of my timeWriting for bread would soon have extinguished my geniusYielded him the victory, or rather declined the contest