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', [Rebel and Frauneur, who, when they were very young, went together from house to house playing on the violin, were so called. ]

by whom it was directed, knew not who the author was until after ageneral plaudit had borne the testimony of the work. Everybody presentwas so delighted with it, that, on the next day, nothing else was spokenof in the different companies. M. De Cury, Intendant des Menus, who waspresent at the rehearsal, demanded the piece to have it performed atcourt. Duclos, who knew my intentions, and thought I should be lessmaster of my work at the court than at Paris, refused to give it. Curyclaimed it authoratively. Duclos persisted in his refusal, and thedispute between them was carried to such a length, that one day theywould have gone out from the opera-house together had they not beenseparated. M. De Cury applied to me, and I referred him to Duclos. Thismade it necessary to return to the latter. The Duke d'Aumont interfered;and at length Duclos thought proper to yield to authority, and the piecewas given to be played at Fontainebleau. 

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--

 [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. ]

in finding a place for the old Le Vasseur, who was eighty years of ageand a burden to his wife, from which she begged me to relieve her. 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.