THE CONFESSSIONS

 BOOK X

[1758]

  THE extraordinary degree of strength a momentary effervescence had
given me to quit the Hermitage, left me the moment I was out of it.
I was scarcely established in my new habitation before I frequently
suffered from retentions, which were accompanied by a new complaint;
that of a rupture, from which I had for some time, without knowing
what it was, felt great inconvenience. I soon was reduced to the
most cruel state. The physician Thierry, my old friend, came to see
me, and made me acquainted with my situation. The sight of all the
apparatus of the infirmities of years, made me severely feel that when
the body is no longer young, the heart is not so with impunity. The
fine season did not restore me, and I passed the whole year, 1758,
in a state of languor, which made me think I was almost at the end
of my career. I saw, with impatience, the closing scene approach.
Recovered from the chimeras of friendship, and detached from
everything which had rendered life desirable to me, I saw nothing more
in it that could make it agreeable; all I perceived was wretchedness
and misery, which prevented me from enjoying myself. I sighed after
the moment when I was to be free and escape from my enemies. But I
must follow the order of events.
  It appears my retreat to Montmorency disconcerted Madam d'Epinay;
probably she did not expect it. My melancholy situation, the
severity of the season, the general dereliction of me by my friends,
all made her and Grimm believe, that by driving me to the last
extremity, they should oblige me to implore mercy, and thus, by vile
meanness, render myself contemptible, to be suffered to remain in an
asylum which honor commanded me to leave. I left it so suddenly that
they had not time to prevent the step from being taken, and they
were reduced to the alternative of double or quit, to endeavor to ruin
me entirely, or to prevail upon me to return. Grimm chose the
former; but I am of opinion Madam d'Epinay would have preferred the
latter, and this from her answer to my last letter, in which she
seemed to have laid aside the airs she had given herself in the
preceding ones, and to give an opening to an accommodation. The long
delay of this answer, for which she made me wait a whole month,
sufficiently indicates the difficulty she found in giving it a
proper turn, and the deliberations by which it was preceded. She could
not make any further advances without exposing herself; but after
her former letters, and my sudden retreat from her house, it is
impossible not to be struck with the care she takes in this letter not
to suffer an offensive expression to escape her. I will copy it at
length to enable my reader to judge of what she wrote (Packet B, No.
23):

                                  GENEVA, January 17, 1758.
  "SIR: I did not receive your letter of the 17th Of December until
yesterday. It was sent me in a box filled with different things, and
which has been all this time upon the road. I shall answer only the
postscript. You may recollect, sir, that we agreed the wages of the
gardener of the Hermitage should pass through your hands, the better
to make him feel that he depended upon you, and to avoid the
ridiculous and indecent scenes which happened in the time of his
predecessor. As a proof of this, the first quarter of his wages were
given to you, and a few days before my departure we agreed I should
reimburse you what you had advanced. I know that of this you, at
first, made some difficulty; but I had desired you to make these
advances; it was natural I should acquit myself towards you, and
this we concluded upon. Cahouet informs me that you refused to receive
the money. There is certainly some mistake in the matter. I have given
orders that it may again be offered to you, and I see no reason for
your wishing to pay my gardener, notwithstanding our conventions,
and beyond the term even of your inhabiting the Hermitage. I therefore
expect, sir, that recollecting everything I have the honor to state,
you will not refuse to be reimbursed for the sums you have been
pleased to advance for me."

  After what had passed, not having the least confidence in Madam
d'Epinay, I was unwilling to renew my connection with her; I
returned no answer to this letter and there our correspondence
ended. Perceiving I had taken my resolution, she took hers; and,
entering into all the views of Grimm and the Coterie Holbachique,
she united her efforts with theirs to accomplish my destruction.
Whilst they maneuvered at Paris, she did the same at Geneva. Grimm,
who afterwards went to her there, completed what she had begun.
Tronchin, whom they had no difficulty in gaining over, seconded them
powerfully, and became the most violent of my persecutors, without
having against me, any more than Grimm had, the lead subject of
complaint. They all three spread in silence that of which the
effects were seen there four years afterwards.
  They had more trouble at Paris, where I was better known to the
citizens, whose hearts, less disposed to hatred, less easily
received its impressions. The better to direct their blow, they
began by giving out that it was I who had left them. Thence, still
feigning to be my friends, they dexterously spread their malignant
accusations by complaining of the injustice of their friend. Their
auditors, thus thrown off their guard, listened more attentively to
what was said of me, and were inclined to blame my conduct. The secret
accusations of perfidy and ingratitude were made with greater
precaution, and by that means with greater effect. I knew they imputed
to me the most atrocious crimes without being able to learn in what
these consisted. All I could infer from public rumor was that this was
founded upon the four following capital offenses: my retiring to the
country; my passion for Madam d'Houdetot; my refusing to accompany
Madam d'Epinay to Geneva, and my leaving the Hermitage. If to these
they added other griefs, they took their measures so well that it
has hitherto been impossible for me to learn the subject of them.
  It is therefore at this period that I think I may fix the
establishment of a system, since adopted by those by whom my fate
has been determined, and which has made such a progress as will seem
miraculous to persons who know not with what facility everything which
favors the malignity of man is established. I will endeavor to explain
in a few words what to me appeared visible in this profound and
obscure system.
  With a name already distinguished and known throughout all Europe, I
had still preserved my primitive simplicity. My mortal aversion to all
party faction and cabal had kept me free and independent, without
any other chain than the attachments of my heart. Alone, a stranger,
without family or fortune, and unconnected with everything except my
principles and duties, I intrepidly followed the paths of uprightness,
never flattering or favoring any person at the expense of truth and
justice. Besides, having lived for two years past in solitude, without
observing the course of events, I was unconnected with the affairs
of the world, and not informed of what passed, nor desirous of being
acquainted with it. I lived four leagues from Paris as much
separated from that capital by my negligence as I should have been
in the Island of Tinian by the sea.
  Grimm, Diderot and d'Holbach were, on the contrary, in the center of
the vortex, lived in the great world, and divided amongst them
almost all the spheres of it. The great wits, men of letters, men of
long robe, and women, all listened to them when they chose to act in
concert. The advantage three men in this situation united must have
over a fourth in mine, cannot but already appear. It is true Diderot
and d'Holbach were incapable, at least I think so, of forming black
conspiracies; one of them was not base enough, nor the other
sufficiently able; but it was for this reason that the party was
more united. Grimm alone formed his plan in his own mind, and
discovered more of it than was necessary to induce his associates to
concur in the execution. The ascendency he had gained over them made
this quite easy, and the effect of the whole answered to the
superiority of his talents.
  It was with these, which were of a superior kind, that, perceiving
the advantage he might acquire from our respective situations, he
conceived the project of overturning my reputation, and, without
exposing himself, of giving me one of a nature quite opposite, by
raising up about me an edifice of obscurity which it was impossible
for me to penetrate, and by that means throw a light upon his
maneuvers and unmask him.
  This enterprise was difficult, because it was necessary to
palliate the iniquity in the eyes of those of whose assistance he
stood in need. He had honest men to deceive, to alienate from me the
good opinion of everybody, and to deprive me of all my friends. What
say I? He had to cut off all communication with me, that not a
single word of truth might reach my ears. Had a single man of
generosity come and said to me, "You assume the appearance of
virtue, yet this is the manner in which you are treated, and these the
circumstances by which you are judged; what have you to say?" truth
would have triumphed and Grimm have been undone. Of this he was
fully convinced; but he had examined his own heart and estimated men
according to their merit. I am sorry, for the honor of humanity,
that he judged with so much truth.
  In these dark and crooked paths his steps to be the more sure were
necessarily slow. He has for twelve years pursued his plan, and the
most difficult part of the execution of it is still to come; this is
to deceive the public entirely. He is afraid of this public, and dares
not lay his conspiracy open.* But he has found the easy means of
accompanying it with power, and this power has the disposal of me.
Thus supported he advances with less danger. The agents of power
piquing themselves but little on uprightness, and still less on
candor, he has no longer the indiscretion of any honest man to fear.
His safety is in my being enveloped in an impenetrable obscurity,
and in concealing from me his conspiracy, well knowing that with
whatever art he may have formed it, I could by a single glance of
the eye discover the whole. His great address consists in appearing to
favor whilst he defames me, and in giving to his perfidy an air of
generosity.

  * Since this was written he has made the dangerous step with the
fullest and most inconceivable success. I am of opinion it was
Tronchin who inspired him with courage, and supplied him with the
means.

  I felt the first effects of this system by the secret accusations of
the Coterie Holbachique without its being possible for me to know in
what the accusations consisted, or to form a probable conjecture as to
the nature of them. De Leyre informed me in His letters that heinous
things were attributed to me. Diderot more mysteriously told me the
same thing, and when I came to an explanation with both, the whole was
reduced to the heads of accusation of which I have already spoken. I
perceived a gradual increase of coolness in the letters from Madam
d'Houdetot. This I could not attribute to Saint Lambert; he
continued to write to me with the same friendship, and came to see
me after his return. It was also impossible to think myself the
cause of it, as we had separated well satisfied with each other, and
nothing since that time had happened on my part, except my departure
from the Hermitage, of which she felt the necessity. Therefore, not
knowing whence this coolness, which she refused to acknowledge,
although my heart was not to be deceived, could proceed, I was
uneasy upon every account. I knew she greatly favored her
sister-in-law and Grimm, in consequence of their connections with
Saint Lambert; and I was afraid of their machinations. This
agitation opened my wounds, and rendered my correspondence so
disagreeable as quite to disgust her with it. I saw, as at a distance,
a thousand cruel circumstances, without discovering anything
distinctly. I was in a situation the most insupportable to a man whose
imagination is easily heated. Had I been quite retired from the world,
and known nothing of the matter, I should have become more calm; but
my heart still clung to attachments, by means of which my enemies
had great advantages over me; and the feeble rays which penetrated
my asylum conveyed to me nothing more than a knowledge of the
blackness of the mysteries which were concealed from my eyes.
  I should have sunk, I have not a doubt of it, under these
torments, too cruel and insupportable to my open disposition, which,
by the impossibility of concealing my sentiments, makes me fear
everything from those concealed from me, if fortunately objects
sufficiently interesting to my heart to divert it from others with
which, in spite of myself, my imagination was filled, had not
presented themselves. In the last visit Diderot paid me, at the
Hermitage, he had spoken of the article Geneva, which D'Alembert had
inserted in the Encyclopedie; he had informed me that this article,
concerted with people of the first consideration, had for object the
establishment of a theater at Geneva, that measures had been taken
accordingly, and that the establishment would soon take place. As
Diderot seemed to think all this very proper, and did not doubt of the
success of the measure, and as I had besides to speak to him upon
too many other subjects to touch upon that article, I made him no
answer; but scandalized at these preparatives to corruption and
licentiousness in my country, I waited with impatience for the
volume of the Encyclopedie, in which the article was inserted, to
see whether or not it would be possible to give an answer which
might ward off the blow. I received the volume soon after my
establishment at Mont Louis, and found the articles to be written with
much art and address, and worthy of the pen whence it proceeded. This,
however, did not abate my desire to answer it, and notwithstanding the
dejection of spirits I then labored under, my griefs and pains, the
severity of the season, and the inconvenience of my new abode, in
which I had not yet had time to arrange myself, I set to work with a
zeal which surmounted every obstacle.
  In a severe winter, in the month of February, and in the situation I
have described, I went every day, morning and evening, to pass a
couple of hours in an open alcove which was at the bottom of the
garden in which my habitation stood. This alcove, which terminated
an alley of a terrace, looked upon the valley and the pond of
Montmorency, and presented to me, as the closing point of a
prospect, the plain but respectable castle of St. Gratien, the retreat
of the virtuous Catinat. It was in this place, then, exposed to
freezing cold, that without being sheltered from the wind and snow,
and having no other fire than that in my heart, I composed, in the
space of three weeks, my letter to D'Alembert on theaters. It was in
this, for my Eloisa was not then half written, that I found charms
in philosophical labor. Until then virtuous indignation had been a
substitute to Apollo, tenderness and a gentleness of mind now became
so. The injustice I had been witness to had irritated me, that of
which I became the object rendered me melancholy; and this
melancholy without bitterness was that of a heart too tender and
affectionate, and which, deceived by those in whom it had confided,
was obliged to remain concentered. Full of that which had befallen me,
and still affected by so many violent emotions, my heart added the
sentiment of its sufferings to the ideas with which a meditation on my
subject had inspired me: what I wrote bore evident marks of this
mixture. Without perceiving it I described the situation I was then
in, gave portraits of Grimm, Madam d'Epinay, Madam d'Houdetot, Saint
Lambert and myself. What delicious tears did I shed as I wrote.
Alas! in these descriptions there are proofs but too evident that
love, the fatal love of which I made such efforts to cure myself,
still remained in my heart. With all this there was a certain
sentiment of tenderness relative to myself: I thought I was dying, and
imagined I bid the public my last adieu. Far from fearing death, I
joyfully saw it approach; but I felt some regret at leaving my
fellow creatures without their having perceived my real merit, and
being convinced how much I should have deserved their esteem had
they known me better. These are the secret causes of the singular
manner in which this work, opposite to that of the work by which it
was preceded,* is written.

  * Discours sur l'inegalite.- Discourse on the Inequality of Mankind.

  I corrected and copied the letter, and was preparing to print it
when, after a long silence, I received one from Madam d'Houdetot,
which brought upon me a new affliction more painful than any I had yet
suffered. She informed me that my passion for her was known to all
Paris, that I had spoken of it to persons who had made it public, that
this rumor, having reached the ears of her lover, had nearly cost
him his life; yet he did her justice and peace was restored between
them; but on his account, as well as on hers, and for the sake of
her reputation, she thought it her duty to break off all
correspondence with me, at the same time assuring me that she and
her friend were both interested in my welfare, that they would
defend me to the public, and that she herself would from time to
time send to inquire after my health.
  "And thou also, Diderot," exclaimed I, "unworthy friend!"- I could
not, however, yet resolve to condemn him. My weakness was known to
others who might have spoken of it. I wished to doubt- , but this
was soon out of my power. Saint Lambert shortly after performed an
action worthy of himself. Knowing my manner of thinking, he judged
of the state in which I must be; betrayed by one part of my friends
and forsaken by the other. He came to see me. The first time he had
not many moments to spare. He came again. Unfortunately, not expecting
him, I was not at home. Theresa had with him a conversation of upwards
of two hours, in which they informed each other of facts of great
importance to us all. The surprise with which I learned that nobody
doubted of my having lived with Madam d'Epinay, as Grimm then did,
cannot be equaled, except by that of Saint Lambert, when he was
convinced that the rumor was false. He, to the great dissatisfaction
of the lady, was in the same situation with myself, and the
eclaircissements resulting from the conversation removed from me all
regret, on account of my having broken with her forever. Relative to
Madam d'Houdetot, he mentioned several circumstances with which
neither Theresa nor Madam d'Houdetot herself were acquainted; these
were known to me only in the first instance, and I had never mentioned
them except to Diderot, under the seal of friendship; and it was to
Saint Lambert himself to whom he had chosen to communicate them.
This last step was sufficient to determine me. I resolved to break
with Diderot forever, and this without further deliberation, except on
the manner of doing it; for I had perceived secret ruptures turned
to my prejudice, because they left the mask of friendship in
possession of my most cruel enemies.
  The rules of good breeding, established in the world on this head,
seem to have been dictated by a spirit of treachery and falsehood.
To appear the friend of a man when in reality we are no longer so,
is to reserve to ourselves the means of doing him an injury by
surprising honest men into an error. I recollected that when the
illustrious Montesquieu broke with Father de Tournemine, he
immediately said to everybody: "Listen neither to Father Tournemine
nor myself, when we speak of each other, for we are no longer
friends." This open and generous proceeding was universally applauded.
I resolved to follow the example with Diderot; but what method was I
to take to publish the rupture authentically from my retreat, and
yet without scandal? I concluded on inserting in the form of a note,
in my work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus, which
declared the rupture and even the subject of it, in terms sufficiently
clear to such as were acquainted with the previous circumstances,
but could signify nothing to the rest of the world. I determined not
to speak, in my work of the friend whom I renounced, except with the
honor always due to extinguished friendship. The whole may be seen
in the work itself.
  There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune, and every
act of courage seems to be a crime in adversity. For that which had
been admired in Montesquieu, I received only blame and reproach. As
soon as my work was printed, and I had copies of it, I sent one to
Saint Lambert, who, the evening before, had written to me in his own
name and that of Madam d'Houdetot, a note expressive of the most
tender friendship.
  The following is the letter he wrote to me when he returned the copy
I had sent him. (Packet B, No. 38.)

                              EAUBONNE, 10th October, 1758.
  "Indeed, sir, I cannot accept the present you have just made me.
In that part of your preface where, relative to Diderot, you quote a
passage from Ecclesiastes (he mistakes, it is from Ecclesiasticus) the
book dropped from my hand. In the conversations we had together in the
summer, you seemed to be persuaded Diderot was not guilty of the
pretended indiscretions you had imputed to him. You may, for aught I
know to the contrary, have reason to complain of him, but this does
not give you a right to insult him publicly. You are not
unacquainted with the nature of the persecutions he suffers, and you
join the voice of an old friend to that of envy. I cannot refrain from
telling you, sir, how much this heinous act of yours has shocked me. I
am not acquainted with Diderot, but I honor him, and I have a lively
sense of the pain you give to a man, whom, at least not in my hearing,
you have never reproached with anything more than a trifling weakness.
You and I, sir, differ too much in our principles ever to be agreeable
to each other. Forget that I exist; this you will easily do. I have
never done to men either good or evil of a nature to be long
remembered. I promise you, sir, to forget your person and to
remember nothing relative to you but your talents."

  This letter filled me with indignation and affliction; and, in the
excess of my pangs, feeling my pride wounded, I answered him by the
following note:

                           MONTMORENCY, 11th October, 1758.
  "SIR: While reading your letter, I did you the honor to be surprised
at it, and had the weakness to suffer it to affect me; but I find it
unworthy of an answer.
  "I will no longer continue the copies of Madam d'Houdetot. If it
be not agreeable to her to keep that she has, she may send it me
back and I will return her money. If she keeps it, she must still send
for the rest of her paper and the money; and at the same time I beg
she will return me the prospectus which she has in her possession.
Adieu, sir."

  Courage under misfortune irritates the hearts of cowards, but it
is pleasing to generous minds. This note seemed to make Saint
Lambert reflect with himself and to regret his having been so violent;
but too haughty in his turn to make open advances, he seized and
perhaps prepared, the opportunity of palliating what he had done.
  A fortnight afterwards I received from Madam d'Epinay the
following letter (Packet B, No. 10):

                                            Thursday, 26th.
  "SIR: I received the book you had the goodness to send me, and which
I have read with much pleasure. I have always experienced the same
sentiment in reading all the works which have come from your pen.
Receive my thanks for the whole. I should have returned you these in
person had my affairs permitted me to remain any time in your
neighborhood; but I was not this year long at the Chevrette. M. and
Madam Dupin came here on Sunday to dinner. I expect M. de Saint
Lambert, M. de Francueil, and Madam d'Houdetot will be of the party;
you will do me much pleasure by making one also. All the persons who
are to dine with me, desire, and will, as well as myself, be delighted
to pass with you a part of the day. I have the honor to be with the
most perfect consideration," etc.

  This letter made my heart beat violently: after having for a year
past been the subject of conversation of all Paris, the idea of
presenting myself as a spectacle before Madam d'Houdetot, made me
tremble, and I had much difficulty to find sufficient courage to
support that ceremony. Yet as she and Saint Lambert were desirous of
it, and Madam d'Epinay spoke in the name of her guests without
naming one whom I should not be glad to see, I did not think I
should expose myself accepting a dinner to which I was in some
degree invited by all the persons who with myself were to partake of
it. I therefore promised to go: on Sunday the weather was bad, and
Madam d'Epinay sent me her carriage.
  My arrival caused a sensation. I never met a better reception. An
observer would have thought the whole company felt how much I stood in
need of encouragement. None but French hearts are susceptible of
this kind of delicacy. However, I found more people than I expected to
see. Amongst others the Comte d'Houdetot, whom I did not know, and his
sister Madam de Blainville, without whose company I should have been
as well pleased. She had the year before come several times to
Eaubonne, and her sister-in-law had left her in our solitary walks
to wait until she thought proper to suffer her to join us. She had
harbored a resentment against me, which during this dinner she
gratified at her ease. The presence of the Comte d'Houdetot and
Saint Lambert did not give me the laugh on my side, and it may be
judged that a man embarrassed in the most common conversations was not
very brilliant in that which then took place. I never suffered so
much, appeared so awkward, or received more unexpected mortifications.
As soon as we had risen from table, I withdrew from that wicked woman;
I had the pleasure of seeing Saint Lambert and Madam d'Houdetot
approach me, and we conversed together a part of the afternoon, upon
things very indifferent it is true, but with the same familiarity as
before my involuntary error. This friendly attention was not lost upon
my heart, and could Saint Lambert have read what passed there, he
certainly would have been satisfied with it. I can safely assert
that although on my arrival the presence of Madam d'Houdetot gave me
the most violent palpitations, on returning from the house I
scarcely thought of her; my mind was entirely taken up with Saint
Lambert.
  Notwithstanding the malignant sarcasms of Madam de Blainville, the
dinner was of great service to me, and I congratulated myself upon not
having refused the invitation. I not only discovered that the
intrigues of Grimm and the Holbachiens had not deprived me of my old
acquaintance,* but, what flattered me still more, that Madam
d'Houdetot and Saint Lambert were less changed than I had imagined,
and I at length understood that his keeping her at a distance from
me proceeded more from jealousy than from disesteem. This was a
consolation to me, and calmed my mind. Certain of not being an
object of contempt in the eyes of persons whom I esteemed, I worked
upon my own heart with greater courage and success. If I did not quite
extinguish in it a guilty and an unhappy passion, I at least so well
regulated the remains of it that they have never since that moment led
me into the most trifling error. The copies of Madam d'Houdetot, which
she prevailed upon me to take again, and my works, which I continued
to send her as soon as they appeared, produced me from her a few notes
and messages, indifferent but obliging. She did still more, as will
hereafter appear, and the reciprocal conduct of her lover and
myself, after our intercourse had ceased may serve as an example of
the manner in which persons of honor separate when it is no longer
agreeable to them to associate with each other.

  * Such in the simplicity of my heart was my opinion when I wrote
these confessions.

  Another advantage this dinner procured me was its being spoken of in
Paris, where it served as a refutation of the rumor spread by my
enemies, that I had quarreled with every person who partook of it, and
especially with M. d'Epinay. When I left the Hermitage I had written
him a very polite letter of thanks, to which he answered not less
politely, and mutual civilities had continued, as well between us as
between me and M. de la Lalive, his brother-in-law, who even came to
see me at Montmorency, and sent me some of his engravings. Excepting
the two sisters-in-law of Madam d'Houdetot, I have never been on bad
terms with any person of the family.
  My Letter to D'Alembert had great success. All my works had been
very well received, but this was more favorable to me. It taught the
public to guard against the insinuations of the Coterie Holbachique.
When I went to the Hermitage, this Coterie predicted with its usual
sufficiency, that I should not remain there three months. When I had
stayed there twenty months, and was obliged to leave it, I still fixed
my residence in the country. The Coterie insisted this was from a
motive of pure obstinacy, and that I was weary even to death of my
retirement; but that, eaten up with pride, I chose rather to become
a victim to my stubbornness than to recover from it and return to
Paris. The Letter to D'Alembert breathed a gentleness of mind which
every one perceived not to be affected. Had I been dissatisfied with
my retreat, my style and manner would have borne evident marks of my
ill-humor. This reigned in all the works I had written at Paris; but
in the first I wrote in the country not the least appearance of it was
to be found. To persons who knew how to distinguish, this remark was
decisive. They perceived I was returned to my element.
  Yet the same work, notwithstanding all the mildness it breathed,
made me by a mistake of my own and my usual ill-luck, another enemy
amongst men of letters. I had become acquainted with Marmontel at
the house of M. de la Popliniere, and this acquaintance had been
continued at that of the baron. Marmontel at that time wrote the
Mercure de France. As I had too much pride to send my works to the
authors of periodical publications, and wishing to send him this
without his imagining it was in consequence of that title, or being
desirous he should speak of it in the Mercure, I wrote upon the book
that it was not for the author of the Mercure, but for M. Marmontel. I
thought I paid him a fine compliment; he mistook it for a cruel
offense, and became my irreconcilable enemy. He wrote against the
letter with politeness, it is true, but with a bitterness easily
perceptible, and since that time has never lost an opportunity of
injuring me in society, and of indirectly ill-treating me in his
works. Such difficulty is there in managing the irritable self-love of
men of letters, and so careful ought every person to be not to leave
anything equivocal in the compliments they pay them.
  Having nothing more to disturb me, I took advantage of my leisure
and independence to continue my literary pursuits with more coherence.
I this winter finished my Eloisa, and sent it to Rey, who had it
printed the year following. I was, however, interrupted in my projects
by a circumstance sufficiently disagreeable. I heard new
preparations were making at the opera-house to give the Devin du
Village. Enraged at seeing these people arrogantly dispose of my
property, I again took up the memoir I had sent to M. D'Argenson, to
which no answer had been returned, and having made some trifling
alterations in it, I sent the manuscript by M. Sellon, resident from
Geneva, and a letter with which he was pleased to charge himself, to
the Comte de St. Florentin, who had succeeded M. D'Argenson in the
opera department. Duclos, to whom I communicated what I had done,
mentioned it to the petits violons, who offered to restore me, not
my opera, but my freedom of the theater, which I was no longer in a
situation to enjoy. Perceiving I had not from any quarter the least
justice to expect, I gave up the affair; and the directors of the
opera, without either answering or listening to my reasons, have
continued to dispose as of their own property, and to turn to their
profit, the Devin du Village, which incontestably belongs to nobody
but myself.*

  * It now belongs to them by virtue of an agreement made to that
effect.

  Since I had shaken off the yoke of my tyrants, I led a life
sufficiently agreeable and peaceful; deprived of the charm of too
strong attachments I was delivered from the weight of their chains.
Disgusted with the friends who pretended to be my protectors, and
wished absolutely to dispose of me at will, and in spite of myself, to
subject me to their pretended good services, I resolved in future to
have no other connections than those of simple benevolence. These,
without the least constraint upon liberty, constitute the pleasure
of society, of which equality is the basis. I had of them as many as
were necessary to enable me to taste of the charms of liberty
without being subject to the dependence of it; and as soon as I had
made an experiment of this manner of life, I felt it was the most
proper to my age, to end my days in peace, far removed from the
agitations, quarrels and cavillings, in which I had just been half
submerged.
  During my residence at the Hermitage, and after my settlement at
Montmorency, I had made in the neighborhood some agreeable
acquaintance, and which did not subject me to any inconvenience. The
principal of these was young Loyseau de Mauleon, who, then beginning
to plead at the bar, did not yet know what rank he would one day
hold there. I for my part was not in the least doubt about the matter.
I soon pointed out to him the illustrious career in the midst of which
he is now seen, and predicted that, if he laid down to himself rigid
rules for the choice of causes, and never became the defender of
anything but virtue and justice, his genius, elevated by this
sublime sentiment, would be equal to that of the greatest orators.
He followed my advice, and now feels the good effects of it. His
defense of M. de Portes is worthy of Demosthenes. He came every year
within a quarter of a league of the Hermitage to pass the vacation
at St. Brice, in the fief of Mauleon, belonging to his mother, and
where the great Bossuet had formerly lodged. This is a fief, of
which a like succession of proprietors would render nobility difficult
to support.
  I had also for a neighbor in the same village of St. Brice, the
bookseller Guerin, a man of wit, learning, of an amiable
disposition, and one of the first in his profession. He brought me
acquainted with Jean Neaulme, bookseller of Amsterdam, his friend
and correspondent, who afterwards printed Emile.
  I had another acquaintance still nearer than St. Brice, this was
M. Maltor, vicar of Groslay, a man better adapted for the functions of
a statesman and a minister, than for those of the vicar of a
village, and to whom a diocese at least would have been given to
govern if talents decided the disposal of places. He had been
secretary to the Comte du Luc, and was formerly intimately
acquainted with Jean-Baptiste Rousseau. Holding in as much esteem
the memory of that illustrious exile, as he held the villain who
ruined him in horror; he possessed curious anecdotes of both, which
Seguy had not inserted in the life, still in manuscript, of the
former, and he assured me that the Comte du Luc, far from ever
having had reason to complain of his conduct, had until his last
moment preserved for him the warmest friendship. M. Maltor, to whom M.
de Vintimille gave this retreat after the death of his patron, had
formerly been employed in many affairs of which, although far advanced
in years, he still preserved a distinct remembrance, and reasoned upon
them tolerably well. His conversation, equally amusing and
instructive, had nothing in it resembling that of a village pastor: he
joined the manners of a man of the world to the knowledge of one who
passes his life in study. He, of all my permanent neighbors, was the
person whose society was the most agreeable to me.
  I was also acquainted at Montmorency with several fathers of the
oratory, and amongst others Father Berthier, professor of natural
philosophy; to whom, notwithstanding some little tincture of pedantry,
I become attached on account of a certain air of cordial good nature
which I observed in him. I had, however, some difficulty to
reconcile this great simplicity with the desire and the art he had
of everywhere thrusting himself into the company of the great, as well
as that of the women, devotees, and philosophers. He knew how to
accommodate himself to every one. I was greatly pleased with the
man, and spoke of my satisfaction to all my other acquaintances.
Apparently what I said of him came to his ear. He one day thanked me
for having thought him a good-natured man. I observed something in his
forced smile which, in my eyes, totally changed his physiognomy, and
which has since frequently occurred to my mind. I cannot better
compare this smile than to that of Panurge purchasing the Sheep of
Dindenaut. Our acquaintance had begun a little time after my arrival
at the Hermitage, to which place he frequently came to see me. I was
already settled at Montmorency when he left it to go and reside at
Paris. He often saw Madam le Vasseur there. One day, when I least
expected anything of the kind, he wrote to me in behalf of that woman,
informing me that Grimm offered to maintain her, and to ask my
permission to accept the offer. This I understood consisted in a
pension of three hundred livres, and that Madam le Vasseur was to come
and live at Deuil, between the Chevrette and Montmorency. I will not
say what impression the application made on me. It would have been
less surprising had Grimm had ten thousand livres a year, or any
relation more easy to comprehend with that woman, and had not such a
crime been made of my taking her to the country, where, as if she
had become younger, he was now pleased to think of placing her. I
perceived the good old lady had no other reason for asking my
permission, which she might easily have done without, but the fear
of losing what I already gave her, should I think ill of the step
she took. Although this charity appeared to be very extraordinary,
it did not strike me so much then as afterwards. But had I known
even everything I have since discovered, I would still as readily have
given my consent as I did and was obliged to do, unless I had exceeded
the offer of M. Grimm. Father Berthier afterwards cured me a little of
my opinion of his good nature and cordiality with which I had so
unthinkingly charged him.
  This same Father Berthier was acquainted with two men, who, for what
reason I know not, were to become so with me; there was but little
similarity between their taste and mine. They were the children of
Melchisedec, of whom neither the country nor the family was known,
no more than, in all probability, the real name. They were Jansenists,
and passed for priests in disguise, perhaps on account of their
ridiculous manner of wearing long swords, to which they appeared to
have been fastened. The prodigious mystery in all their proceedings
gave them the appearance of the heads of a party, and I never had
the lead doubt of their being the authors of the Gazette
Ecclesiastique. The one, tall, smooth-tongued, and sharping, was named
Ferrand; the other, short, squat, a sneerer, and punctilious, was a M.
Minard. They called each other cousin. They lodged at Paris with
D'Alembert, in the house of his nurse named Madam Rousseau, and had
taken at Montmorency a little apartment to pass the summers there.
They did everything for themselves, and had neither a servant nor
runner; each had his turn weekly to purchase provisions, do the
business of the kitchen, and sweep the house. They managed tolerably
well, and we sometimes ate with each other. I know not for what reason
they gave themselves any concern about me: for my part, my only motive
for beginning an acquaintance with them was their playing at chess,
and to make a poor little party I suffered four hours' fatigue. As
they thrust themselves into all companies, and wished to intermeddle
in everything, Theresa called them the gossips, and by this name
they were long known at Montmorency.
  Such, with my host M. Mathas, who was a good man, were my
principal country acquaintance. I still had a sufficient number at
Paris to live there agreeably whenever I chose it, out of the sphere
of men of letters, amongst whom Duclos was the only friend I reckoned:
for De Leyre was still too young, and although, after having been a
witness to the maneuvers of the philosophical tribe against me, he had
withdrawn from it, at least I thought so, I could not yet forget the
facility with which he made himself the mouthpiece of all the people
of that description.
  In the first place I had my old and respectable friend Rougin.
This was a good old-fashioned friend for whom I was not indebted to my
writings but to myself, and whom for that reason I have always
preserved. I had the good Lenieps, my countryman, and his daughter,
then alive, Madam Lambert. I had a young Genevese, named Coindet, a
good creature, careful, officious, zealous, who came to see me soon
after I had gone to reside at the Hermitage, and, without any other
introducer than himself, had made his way into my good graces. He
had a taste for drawing, and was acquainted with artists. He was of
service to me relative to the engravings of the New Eloisa; he
undertook the direction of the drawings and the plates, and
acquitted himself well of the commission.
  I had free access to the house of M. Dupin which, less brilliant
than in the young days of Madam Dupin, was still, by the merit of
the heads of the family, and the choice of company which assembled
there, one of the best houses in Paris. As I had not preferred anybody
to them, and had separated myself from their society to live free
and independent, they had always received me in a friendly manner, and
I was always certain of being well received by Madam Dupin. I might
even have counted her amongst my country neighbors after her
establishment at Clichy, to which place I sometimes went to pass a day
or two, and where I should have been more frequently had Madam Dupin
and Madam de Chenonceaux been upon better terms. But the difficulty of
dividing my time in the same house between two women whose manner of
thinking was unfavorable to each other, made this disagreeable:
however I had the pleasure of seeing her more at my ease at Deuil,
where, at a trifling distance from me, she had taken a small house,
and even at my own habitation, where she often came to see me.
  I had likewise for a friend Madam de Crequi, who, having become
devout, no longer received D'Alembert, Marmontel, nor a single man
of letters, except, I believe, the Abbe Trublet, half a hypocrite,
of whom she was weary. I, whose acquaintance she had sought, lost
neither her good wishes nor intercourse. She sent me young fat pullets
from Mans, and her intention was to come and see me the year following
had not a journey, upon which Madam de Luxembourg determined,
prevented her. I here owe her a place apart; she will always hold a
distinguished one in my remembrance.
  In this list I should also place a man whom, except Roguin, I
ought to have mentioned as the first upon it: my old friend and
brother politician, De Carrio, formerly titulary secretary to the
embassy from Spain to Venice, afterwards in Sweden, where he was
charge des affaires, and at length really secretary to the embassy
from Spain at Paris. He came and surprised me at Montmorency when I
least expected him. He was decorated with the insignia of a Spanish
order, the name of which I have forgotten, with a fine cross in
jewelry. He had been obliged, in his proofs of nobility, to add a
letter to his name, and to bear that of the Chevalier de Carrion. I
found him still the same man, possessing the same excellent heart, and
his mind daily improving, and becoming more and more amiable. We
should have renewed our former intimacy had not Coindet interposed
according to custom, taken advantage of the distance I was at from
town to insinuate himself into my place, and, in my name, into his
confidence, and supplant me by the excess of his zeal to render me
services.
  The remembrance of Carrion makes me recollect one of my country
neighbors, of whom I should be inexcusable not to speak, as I have
to make confession of an unpardonable neglect of which I was guilty
towards him: this was the honest M. le Blond, who had done me a
service at Venice, and, having made an excursion to France with his
family, had taken a house in the country, at Briche, not far from
Montmorency.* As soon as I heard he was my neighbor, I, in the joy
of my heart, and making it more a pleasure than a duty, went to pay
him a visit. I set off upon this errand the next day. I was met by
people who were coming to see me, and with whom I was obliged to
return. Two days afterwards I set off again for the same purpose: he
had dined at Paris with all his family. A third time he was at home: I
heard the voice of women, and saw, at the door, a coach which
alarmed me. I wished to see him, at least for the first time, quite at
my ease, that we might talk over what had passed during our former
connection.

  * When I wrote this, full of my blind confidence, I was far from
suspecting the real motive and the effect of this journey to Paris.

  In fine, I so often postponed my visit from day to day, that the
shame of discharging a like duty so late prevented me from doing it at
all; after having dared to wait so long, I no longer dared to
present myself. This negligence, at which M. le Blond could not but be
justly offended, gave, relative to him, the appearance of
ingratitude to my indolence, and yet I felt my heart so little
culpable that, had it been in my power to do M. le Blond the least
service, even unknown to himself, I am certain he would not have found
me idle. But indolence, negligence and delay in little duties to be
fulfilled have been more prejudicial to me than great vices. My
greatest faults have been omissions: I have seldom done what I ought
not to have done, and unfortunately it has still more rarely
happened that I have done what I ought.
  Since I am now upon the subject of my Venetian acquaintance, I
must not forget one which I still preserved for a considerable time
after my intercourse with the rest had ceased. This was M. de
Joinville, who continued after his return from Genoa to show me much
friendship. He was fond of seeing me and of conversing with me upon
the affairs of Italy, and the follies of M. de Montaigu, of whom he of
himself knew many anecdotes, by means of his acquaintance in the
office for foreign affairs in which he was much connected. I had
also the pleasure of seeing at my house my old comrade, Dupont, who
had purchased a place in the province of which he was, and whose
affairs had brought him to Paris. M. de Joinville became by degrees so
desirous of seeing me, that he in some measure laid me under
constraint; and, although our places of residence were at a great
distance from each other, we had a friendly quarrel when I let a
week pass without going to dine with him. When he went to Joinville he
was always desirous of my accompanying him; but having once been there
to pass a week I had not the least desire to return. M. de Joinville
was certainly an honest man, and even amiable in certain respects, but
his understanding was beneath mediocrity; he was handsome, rather fond
of his person and tolerably fatiguing. He had one of the most singular
collections perhaps in the world, to which he gave much of his
attention, and endeavored to acquire it that of his friends, to whom
it sometimes afforded less amusement than it did to himself. This
was a complete collection of songs of the court and Paris for
upwards of fifty years past, in which many anecdotes were to be
found that would have been sought for in vain elsewhere. These are
memoirs for the history of France, which would scarcely be thought
of in any other country.
  One day, whilst we were still upon the very best terms, he
received me so coldly and in a manner so different from that which was
customary to him, that after having given him an opportunity to
explain, and even having begged him to do it, I left his house with
a resolution, in which I have persevered, never to return to it again;
for I am seldom seen where I have been once ill received, and in
this case there was no Diderot who pleaded for M. de Joinville. I
vainly endeavored to discover what I had done to offend him; I could
not recollect a circumstance at which he could possibly have taken
offense. I was certain of never having spoken of him or his in any
other than in the most honorable manner; for he had acquired my
friendship, and besides my having nothing but favorable things to
say of him, my most inviolable maxim has been that of never speaking
but in an honorable manner of the houses I frequented.
  At length, by continually ruminating, I formed the following
conjecture: the last time we had seen each other, I had supped with
him at the apartment of some girls of his acquaintance, in company
with two or three clerks in the office of foreign affairs, very
amiable men, and who had neither the manner nor appearance of
libertines; and on my part, I can assert that the whole evening passed
in making melancholy reflections on the wretched fate of the creatures
with whom we were. I did not pay anything, as M. de Joinville gave the
supper, nor did I make the girls the least present, because I gave
them not the opportunity I had done to the padonana of establishing
a claim to the trifle I might have offered. We all came away together,
cheerfully and upon very good terms. Without having made a second
visit to the girls, I went three or four days afterwards to dine
with M. de Joinville, whom I had not seen during that interval, and
who gave me the reception of which I have spoken. Unable to suppose
any other cause for it than some misunderstanding relative to the
supper, and perceiving he had no inclination to explain, I resolved to
visit him no longer, but I still continued to send him my works: he
frequently sent me his compliments, and one evening, meeting him in
the green-room of the French theater, he obligingly reproached me with
not having called to see him, which, however, did not induce me to
depart from my resolution. Therefore this affair had rather the
appearance of a coolness than a rupture. However, not having heard
of nor seen him since that time, it would have been too late after
an absence of several years, to renew my acquaintance with him. It
is for this reason M. de Joinville is not named in my list, although I
had for a considerable time frequented his house.
  I will not swell my catalogue with the names of many other persons
with whom I was or had become less intimate, although I sometimes
saw them in the country, either at my own house or that of some
neighbor, such for instance as the Abbes De Condillac and De Mably, M.
de Mairan, De la Lalive, De Boisgelou, Vatelet, Ancelet, and others. I
will also pass lightly over that of M. de Margency, gentleman in
ordinary of the king, an ancient member of the Coterie Holbachique,
which he had quitted as well as myself, and the old friend of Madam
d'Epinay from whom he had separated as I had done; I likewise consider
that of M. Desmahis, his friend, the celebrated but short-lived author
of the comedy of L'Impertinent, of much the same importance. The first
was my neighbor in the country, his estate at Margency being near to
Montmorency. We were old acquaintances, but the neighborhood and a
certain conformity of experience connected us still more. The last
died soon afterwards. He had merit and even wit, but he was in some
degree the original of his comedy, and a little of a coxcomb with
women, by whom he was not much regretted.
  I cannot, however, omit taking notice of a new correspondence I
entered into at this period, which has had too much influence over the
rest of my life not to make it necessary for me to mark its origin.
The person in question is De Lamoignon de Malesherbes of the Cour
des aides, then censor of books, which office he exercised with
equal intelligence and mildness, to the great satisfaction of men of
letters. I had not once been to see him at Paris; yet I had never
received from him any other than the most obliging condescensions
relative to the censorship, and I knew that he had more than once very
severely reprimanded persons who had written against me. I had new
proofs of his goodness upon the subject of the edition of Julie. The
proofs of so great a work being very expensive from Amsterdam by post,
he, to whom all letters were free, permitted these to be addressed
to him, and sent them to me under the countersign of the chancellor
his father. When the work was printed he did not permit the sale of it
in the kingdom until, contrary to my wishes, an edition had been
sold for my benefit. As the profit of this would on my part have
been a theft committed upon Rey, to whom I had sold the manuscript,
I not only refused to accept the present intended me, without his
consent, which he very generously gave, but insisted upon dividing
with him the hundred pistoles (a thousand livres- forty pounds), the
amount of it, but of which he would not receive anything. For these
hundred pistoles I had the mortification, against which M. de
Malesherbes had not guarded me, of seeing my work horribly
mutilated, and the sale of the good edition stopped until the bad
one was entirely disposed of.
  I have always considered M. de Malesherbes as a man whose
uprightness was proof against every temptation. Nothing that has
happened has even made me doubt for a moment of his probity; but, as
weak as he is polite, he sometimes injures those he wishes to serve by
the excess of his zeal to preserve them from evil. He not only
retrenched a hundred pages in the edition of Paris, but he made
another retrenchment, which no person but the author could permit
himself to do, in the copy of the good edition he sent to Madam de
Pompadour. It is somewhere said in that work that the wife of a
coal-heaver is more respectable than the mistress of a prince. This
phrase had occurred to me in the warmth of composition without any
application. In reading over the work I perceived it would be applied,
yet in consequence of the very imprudent maxim I had adopted of not
suppressing anything, on account of the application which might be
made, when my conscience bore witness to me that I had not made them
at the time I wrote, I determined not to expunge the phrase, and
contented myself with substituting the word Prince to King, which I
had first written. This softening did not seem sufficient to M. de
Malesherbes; he retrenched the whole expression in a new sheet which
he had printed on purpose and stuck in between the other with as
much exactness as possible in the copy of Madam de Pompadour. She
was not ignorant of this maneuver. Some good-natured people took the
trouble to inform her of it. For my part it was not until a long
time afterwards, and when I began to feel the consequences of it, that
the matter came to my knowledge.
  Is not this the origin of the concealed but implacable hatred of
another lady who was in a like situation, without my knowing it or
even being acquainted with her person when I wrote the passage? When
the book was published the acquaintance was made, and I was very
uneasy. I mentioned this to the Chevalier de Lorenzi, who laughed at
me, and said the lady was so little offended that she had not even
taken notice of the matter. I believed him, perhaps rather too
lightly, and made myself easy when there was much reason for my
being otherwise.
  At the beginning of the winter I received an additional mark of
the goodness of M. de Malesherbes of which I was very sensible,
although I did not think proper to take advantage of it. A place was
vacant in the journal des Savants. Margency wrote to me, proposing
to me the place, as from himself. But I easily perceived from the
manner of the letter that he was dictated to and authorized; he
afterwards told me he had been desired to make me the offer. The
occupations of this place were but trifling. All I should have had
to do would have been to make two extracts a month, from the books
brought to me for that purpose, without being under the necessity of
going once to Paris, not even to pay the magistrate a visit of thanks.
By this employment I should have entered a society of men of letters
of the first merit; M. de Mairan, Clairaut, De Guignes and the Abbe
Barthelemi, with the first two of whom I had already made an
acquaintance, and that of the two others was very desirable. In
fine, for this trifling employment, the duties of which I might so
commodiously have discharged, there was a salary of eight hundred
francs per annum. I was for a few hours undecided, and this from a
fear of making Margency angry and displeasing M. de Malesherbes. But
at length the insupportable constraint of not having it in my power to
work when I thought proper, and to be commanded by time; and
moreover the certainty of badly performing the functions with which
I was to charge myself, prevailed over everything, and determined me
to refuse a place for which I was unfit. I knew that my whole talent
consisted in a certain warmth of mind with respect to the subjects
of which I had to treat, and that nothing but the love of that which
was great, beautiful and sublime, could animate my genius. What
would the subjects of the extracts I should have had to make from
books, or even the books themselves, have signified to me? My
indifference about them would have frozen my pen, and stupefied my
mind. People thought I could make a trade of writing, as most of the
other men of letters did, instead of which I never could write but
from the warmth of imagination. This certainly was not necessary for
the Journal des Savants. I therefore wrote to Margency a letter of
thanks in the politest terms possible, and so well explained to him my
reasons, that it was not possible that either he or M. de
Malesherbes could imagine there was pride or ill-humor in my
refusal. They both approved of it without receiving me less
politely, and the secret was so well kept that it was never known to
the public.
  The proposition did not come in a favorable moment. I had some
time before this formed the project of quitting literature, and
especially the trade of an author. I had been disgusted with men of
letters by everything that had lately befallen me, and had learned
from experience that it was impossible to proceed in the same track
without having some connections with them. I was not much less
dissatisfied with men of the world, and in general with the mixed life
I had lately led, half to myself and half devoted to societies for
which I was unfit. I felt more than ever, and by constant
experience, that every unequal association is disadvantageous to the
weaker person. Living with opulent people, and in a situation
different from that I had chosen, without keeping a house as they did,
I was obliged to imitate them in many things; and little expenses,
which were nothing to their fortunes, were for me not less ruinous
than indispensable. If another man goes to the country-house of a
friend, he is served by his own servant, as well at table as in his
chamber; he sends him to seek for everything he wants; having
nothing directly to do with the servants of the house, not even seeing
them, he gives them what he pleases, and when he thinks proper; but I,
alone, and without a servant, was at the mercy of the servants of
the house, of whom it was necessary to gain the good graces, that I
might not have much to suffer; and being treated as the equal of their
master, I was obliged to treat them accordingly, and better than
another would have done, because, in fact, I stood in greater need
of their services. This, where there are but few domestics, may be
complied with; but in the houses I frequented there were a great
number, and the knaves so well understood their interests that they
knew how to make me want the services of them all successively. The
women of Paris, who have so much wit, have no just idea of this
inconvenience, and in their zeal to economize my purse they ruined me.
If I supped in town, at any considerable distance from my lodgings,
instead of permitting me to send for a hackney-coach, the mistress
of the house ordered her horses to be put to and sent me home in her
carriage; she was very glad to save me the twenty-four sous for the
fiacre, but never thought of the ecus I gave to her coachman and
footman. If a lady wrote to me from Paris to the Hermitage or to
Montmorency, she regretted the four sous the postage of the letter
would have cost me, and sent it by one of her servants, who came
sweating on foot, and to whom I gave a dinner and half an ecu, which
he certainly had well earned. If she proposed to me to pass with her a
week or a fortnight at her country-house, she still said to herself,
"It will be a saving to the poor man; during that time his eating will
cost him nothing." She never recollected that I was the whole time
idle, that the expenses of my family, my rent, linen and clothes
were still going on, that I paid my barber double, that it cost me
more being in her house than in my own, and although I confined my
little largesses to the house in which I customarily lived, that these
were still ruinous to me. I am certain I have paid upwards of
twenty-five ecus in the house of Madam d'Houdetot, at Eaubonne,
where I never slept more than four or five times, and upwards of a
thousand pistoles as well at Epinay as at the Chevrette, during the
five or six years I was most assiduous there. These expenses are
inevitable to a man like me, who knows not how to provide anything for
himself, and cannot support the sight of a lackey who grumbles and
serves him with a sour look. With Madam Dupin, even where I was one of
the family, and in whose house I rendered many services to the
servants, I never received theirs but for my money. In course of
time it was necessary to renounce these little liberalities, which
my situation no longer permitted me to bestow, and I felt still more
severely the inconvenience of associating with people in a situation
different from my own.
  Had this manner of life been to my taste, I should have been
consoled for a heavy expense, which I dedicated to my pleasures; but
to ruin myself at the same time that I fatigued my mind, was
insupportable, and I had so felt the weight of this, that, profiting
by the interval of liberty I then had, I was determined to
perpetuate it, and entirely to renounce great companies, the
composition of books, and all literary concerns, and for the remainder
of my days to confine myself to the narrow and peaceful sphere in
which I felt I was born to move.
  The product of this Letter to D'Alembert, and of the Nouvelle
Heloise, had a little improved the state of my finances, which had
been considerably exhausted at the Hermitage. Emile, to which, after I
had finished Heloise, I had given great application, was in
forwardness, and the product of this could not be less than the sum of
which I was already in possession. I intended to place this money in
such a manner as to produce me a little annual income, which, with
my copying, might be sufficient to my wants without writing any
more. I had two other works upon the stocks. The first of these was my
Institutions Politiques.* I examined the state of this work, and found
it required several years' labor. I had not courage enough to continue
it, and to wait until it was finished before I carried my intentions
into execution. Therefore, laying the book aside, I determined to take
from it all I could, and to burn the rest; and continuing this with
zeal without interrupting Emile, I finished the Contrat Social.*(2)

  * Political Institutions.
  *(2) Social Contract.

  The dictionary of music now remained. This was mechanical, and might
be taken up at any time; the object of it was entirely pecuniary. I
reserved to myself the liberty of laying it aside, or of finishing
it at my ease, according as my other resources collected should render
this necessary or superfluous. With respect to the Morale
Sensitive,* of which I had made nothing more than a sketch, I entirely
gave it up.

  * Sensitive Morality.

  As my last project, if I found I could not entirely do without
copying, was that of removing from Paris, where the affluence of my
visitors rendered my housekeeping expensive, and deprived me of the
time I should have turned to advantage to provide for it; to prevent
in my retirement the state of lassitude into which an author is said
to fall when he has laid down his pen, I reserved to myself an
occupation which might fill up the void in my solitude without
tempting me to print anything more. I know not for what reason they
had long tormented me to write the memoirs of my life. Although
these were not until that time interesting as to the facts, I felt
they might become so by the candor with which I was capable of
giving them, and I determined to make of these the only work of the
kind, by an unexampled veracity, that, for once at least, the world
might see a man such as he internally was. I had always laughed at the
false ingenuousness of Montagne, who, feigning to confess his
faults, takes great care not to give himself any, except such as are
amiable; whilst I, who have ever thought, and still think myself,
considering everything, the best of men, felt there is no human being,
however pure he may be, who does not internally conceal some odious
vice. I knew I was described to the public very different from what
I really was, and so opposite, that notwithstanding my faults, all
of which I was determined to relate, I could not but be a gainer by
showing myself in my proper colors. This, besides, not being to be
done without setting forth others also in theirs, and the work for the
same reason not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime, and
that of several other persons, I was the more encouraged to make my
confession, at which I should never have to blush before any person. I
therefore resolved to dedicate my leisure to the execution of this
undertaking, and immediately began to collect such letters and
papers as might guide or assist my memory, greatly regretting the loss
of all I had burned, mislaid and destroyed.
  The project of absolute retirement, one of the most reasonable I had
ever formed, was strongly impressed upon my mind, and for the
execution of it I was already taking measures, when Heaven, which
prepared me a different destiny, plunged me into another vortex.
  Montmorency, the ancient and fine patrimony of the illustrious
family of that name, was taken from it by confiscation. It passed by
the sister of Duc Henri, to the house of Conde, which has changed
the name of Montmorency to that of Enghien, and the duchy has no other
castle than an old tower, where the archives are kept, and to which
the vassals come to do homage. But at Montmorency, or Enghien, there
is a private house, built by Crosat, called le pauvre, which having
the magnificence of the most superb chateaux, deserves and bears the
name of a castle. The majestic appearance of this noble edifice, the
view from it, not equaled perhaps in any country; the spacious saloon,
painted by the hand of a master; the garden, planted by the celebrated
Le Nostre; all combined to form a whole strikingly majestic, in
which there is still a simplicity that enforces admiration. The
Marechal Duc de Luxembourg, who then inhabited this house, came
every year into the neighborhood where formerly his ancestors were the
masters, to pass, at least, five or six weeks as a private inhabitant,
but with a splendor which did not degenerate from the ancient luster
of his family. On the first journey he made to it after my residing at
Montmorency, he and his lady sent to me a valet de chamber, with their
compliments, inviting me to sup with them as often as it should be
agreeable to me; and at each time of their coming they never failed to
reiterate the same compliments and invitation. This called to my
recollection Madam Beuzenval sending me to dine in the servants' hall.
Times were changed; but I was still the same man. I did not choose
to be sent to dine in the servants' hall, and was but little
desirous of appearing at the table of the great; I should have been
much better pleased had they left me as I was, without caressing me
and rendering me ridiculous. I answered politely and respectfully to
Monsieur and Madam de Luxembourg, but I did not accept their offers,
and my indisposition and timidity, with my embarrassment in
speaking, making me tremble at the idea alone of appearing in an
assembly of people of the court. I did not even go to the castle to
pay a visit of thanks, although I sufficiently comprehended this was
all they desired, and that their eager politeness was rather a
matter of curiosity than benevolence.
  However, advances still were made, and even became more pressing.
The Comtesse de Boufflers, who was very intimate with the lady of
the marechal, sent to inquire after my health, and to beg I would go
and see her. I returned her a proper answer, but did not stir from
my house. At the journey of Easter, the year following, 1759, the
Chevalier de Lorenzy, who belonged to the court of the Prince of
Conti, and was intimate with Madam de Luxembourg, came several times
to see me, and we became acquainted; he pressed me to go to the
castle, but I refused to comply. At length, one afternoon, when I
least expected anything of the kind, I saw coming up to the house
the Marechal de Luxembourg, followed by five or six persons. There was
now no longer any means of defense; and I could not, without being
arrogant and unmannerly, do otherwise than return this visit, and make
my court to Madam la Marechale, from whom the marshall had been the
bearer of the most obliging compliments to me. Thus, under unfortunate
auspices, began the connections from which I could no longer
preserve myself, although a too well-founded foresight made me
afraid of them until they were made.
  I was excessively afraid of Madam de Luxembourg. I knew she was
amiable as to manner. I had seen her several times at the theater, and
with the Duchess of Boufflers, and in the bloom of her beauty; but she
was said to be malignant; and this in a woman of her rank made me
tremble. I had scarcely seen her before I was subjugated. I thought
her charming with that charm proof against time and which had the most
powerful action upon my heart. I expected to find her conversation
satirical and full of pleasantries and points. It was not so; it was
much better. The conversation of Madam de Luxembourg is not remarkably
full of wit; it has no sallies, nor even finesse; it is exquisitely
delicate, never striking, but always pleasing. Her flattery is the
more intoxicating as it is natural; it seems to escape her
involuntarily, and her heart to overflow because it is too full. I
thought I perceived, on my first visit, that notwithstanding my
awkward manner and embarrassed expression, I was not displeasing to
her. All the women of the court know how to persuade us of this when
they please, whether it be true or not, but they do not all, like
Madam de Luxembourg, possess the art of rendering that persuasion so
agreeable that we are no longer disposed ever to have a doubt
remaining. From the first day my confidence in her would have been
as full as it soon afterwards became, had not the Duchess of
Montmorency, her daughter-in-law, young, giddy, and malicious also,
taken it into her head to attack me, and in the midst of the eulogiums
of her mamma, and feigned allurements on her own account, made me
suspect I was only considered by them as a subject of ridicule.
  It would perhaps have been difficult to relieve me from this fear
with these two ladies had not the extreme goodness of the marechal
confirmed me in the belief that theirs was not real. Nothing is more
surprising, considering my timidity, than the promptitude with which I
took him at his word on the footing of equality to which he would
absolutely reduce himself with me, except it be that with which he
took me at mine with respect to the absolute independence in which I
was determined to live. Both persuaded I had reason to be content with
my situation, and that I was unwilling to change it, neither he nor
Madam de Luxembourg seemed to think a moment of my purse or fortune;
although I can have no doubt of the tender concern they had for me,
they never proposed to me a place nor offered me their interest,
except it were once, when Madam de Luxembourg seemed to wish me to
become a member of the French Academy. I alleged my religion; this she
told me was no obstacle, or if it was one she engaged to remove it.
I answered, that however great the honor of becoming a member of so
illustrious a body might be, having refused M. de Tressan, and, in
some measure, the King of Poland, to become a member of the Academy at
Nancy, I could not with propriety enter into any other. Madam de
Luxembourg did not insist, and nothing more was said upon the subject.
This simplicity of intercourse with persons of such rank, and who
had the power of doing anything in my favor, M. de Luxembourg being,
and highly deserving to be, the particular friend of the king, affords
a singular contrast with the continual cares, equally importunate
and officious, of the friends and protectors from whom I had just
separated, and who endeavored less to serve me than to render me
contemptible.
  When the marechal came to see me at Mont-Louis, was uneasy at
receiving him and his retinue in my only chamber; not because I was
obliged to make them all sit down in the midst of my dirty plates
and broken pots, but on account of the state of the floor, which was
rotten and falling to ruin, and I was afraid the weight of his
attendants would entirely sink it. Less concerned on account of my own
danger than for that to which the affability of the marechal exposed
him, I hastened to remove him from it by conducting him,
notwithstanding the coldness of the weather, to my alcove, which was
quite open to the air, and had no chimney. When he was there I told
him my reason for having brought him to it; he told it to his lady,
and they both pressed me to accept, until the floor was repaired, a
lodging at the castle; or, if I preferred it, in a separate edifice
called the Little Castle, which was in the middle of the park. This
delightful abode deserves to be spoken of.
  The park or garden of Montmorency is not a plain, like that of the
Chevrette. It is uneven, mountainous, raised by little hills and
valleys, of which the able artist has taken advantage, and thereby
varied his groves, ornaments, waters, and points of view, and, if I
may so speak, multiplied by art and genius a space in itself rather
narrow. This park is terminated at the top by a terrace and the
castle; at bottom it forms a narrow passage which opens and becomes
wider towards the valley, the angle of which is filled up with a large
piece of water. Between the orangery, which is in this widening, and
the piece of water, the banks of which are agreeably decorated, stands
the Little Castle, of which I have spoken. This edifice, and the
ground about it, formerly belonged to the celebrated Le Brun, who
amused himself in building and decorating it in the exquisite taste of
architectural ornaments which that great painter had formed to
himself. The castle has since been rebuilt, but still according to the
plan and design of its first master. It is little and simple, but
elegant. As it stands in a hollow between the orangery and the large
piece of water, and consequently is liable to be damp, it is open in
the middle by a peristyle between two rows of columns, by which
means the air circulating throughout the whole edifice keeps it dry,
notwithstanding its unfavorable situation. When the building, is
seen from the opposite elevation, which is a point of view it
appears absolutely surrounded with water, and we imagine we have
before our eyes an enchanted island, or the most beautiful of the
three Borromeans, called Isola Bella, in the greater lake.
  In this solitary edifice I was offered the choice of four complete
apartments it contains, besides the ground-floor, consisting of a
dancing room, billiard room and a kitchen. I chose the smallest over
the kitchen, which also I had with it. It was charmingly neat, with
blue and white furniture. In this profound and delicious solitude,
in the midst of woods, the singing of birds of every kind, and the
perfume of orange flowers, I composed, in a continual ecstasy, the
fifth book of Emile, the coloring of which I owed in a great measure
to the lively impression I received from the place I inhabited.
  With what eagerness did I run every morning at sunrise to respire
the perfumed air in the peristyle! What excellent coffee I took
there tete-a-tete with my Theresa. My cat and dog were our company.
This retinue alone would have been sufficient for me during my whole
life, in which I should not have had one weary moment. I was there
in a terrestrial paradise; I lived in innocence and tasted of
happiness.
  At the journey of July, M. and Madam de Luxembourg showed me so much
attention, and were so extremely kind, that, lodged in their house,
and overwhelmed with their goodness, I could not do less than make
them a proper return in assiduous respect near their persons; I
scarcely quitted them; I went in the morning to pay my court to
Madam la Marechale; after dinner I walked with the marechal; but did
not sup at the castle on account of the numerous guests, and because
they supped too late for me. Thus far everything was as it should
be, and no harm would have been done could I have remained at this
point. But I have never known how to preserve a medium in my
attachments, and simply fulfill the duties of society. I have ever
been everything or nothing. I was soon everything; and receiving the
most polite attention from persons of the highest rank, I passed the
proper bounds, and conceived for them a friendship not permitted
except among equals. Of these I had all the familiarity in my manners,
whilst they still preserved in theirs the same politeness to which
they had accustomed me. Yet I was never quite at my ease with Madam de
Luxembourg. Although I was not quite relieved from my fears relative
to her character, I apprehended less danger from it than from her wit.
It was by this especially that she impressed me with awe. I knew she
was difficult as to conversation, and she had a right to be so. I knew
women, especially those of her rank, would absolutely be amused,
that it was better to offend than to weary them, and I judged by her
commentaries upon what the people who went away had said what she must
think of my blunders. I thought of an expedient to spare me with her
the embarrassment of speaking; this was reading. She had heard of my
Heloise, and knew it was in the press; she expressed a desire to see
the work; I offered to read it to her, and she accepted my offer. I
went to her every morning at ten o'clock; M. de Luxembourg was
present, and the door was shut. I read by the side of her bed, and
so well proportioned my readings that there would have been sufficient
for the whole time she had to stay, had they even not been
interrupted.* The success of this expedient surpassed my
expectation. Madam de Luxembourg took a great liking to Julia and
the author; she spoke of nothing but me, thought of nothing else, said
civil things to me from morning till night, and embraced me ten
times a day. She insisted on me always having my place by her side
at table, and when any great lords wished to take it she told them
it was mine, and made them sit down somewhere else. The impression
these charming manners made upon me, who was subjugated by the least
mark of affection, may easily be judged of. I became really attached
to her in proportion to the attachment she showed me. All my fear in
perceiving this infatuation, and feeling the want of agreeableness
in myself to support it, was that it would be changed into disgust;
and unfortunately this fear was but too well founded.

  * The loss of a great battle, which much afflicted the king, obliged
M. de Luxembourg precipitately to return to court.

  There must have been a natural opposition between her turn of mind
and mine, since, independently of the numerous stupid things which
at every instant escaped me in conversation, and even in my letters,
and when I was upon the best terms with her, there were certain
other things with which she was displeased without my being able to
imagine the reason. I will quote one instance from among twenty. She
knew I was writing for Madam d'Houdetot a copy of the Nouvelle
Heloise. She was desirous to have one on the same terms. I promised to
do so; and entering her name as one of my customers, I wrote her a
polite letter of thanks, at least such was my intention. Her answer,
which was as follows, stupefied me with surprise. (Packet C, No. 43.)

                                       VERSAILLES, Tuesday.
  "I am ravished, I am satisfied: your letter has given me infinite
pleasure, and I take the earliest moment to acquaint you with, and
thank you for it.
  "These are the exact words of your letter: Although you are
certainly a very good customer, I have some pain in receiving your
money: according to regular order I ought to pay for the pleasure I
should have in working for you. I will not mention the subject
again. I have to complain of your not speaking of your state of
health: nothing interests me more. I love you with all my heart; and
be assured that I write this to you in a very melancholy mood, for I
should have much pleasure in telling it you myself. M. de Luxembourg
loves and embraces you with all his heart."

  On receiving the letter I hastened to answer it, reserving to myself
more fully to examine the matter, protesting against all disobliging
interpretation, and after having given several days to this
examination with an inquietude which may easily be conceived, and
still without being able to discover in what I could have erred,
what follows was my final answer on the subject.

                           MONTMORENCY, 8th December, 1759.
  "Since my last letter I have examined a hundred times the passage in
question. I have considered it in its proper and natural meaning, as
well as in every other which may be given to it, and I confess to you,
madam, that I know not whether it be I who owe to you excuses, or
you from whom they are due to me."

  It is now ten years since these letters were written. I have since
that time frequently thought of the subject of them; and such is still
my stupidity that I have hitherto been unable to discover what in
the passage, quoted from my letter, she could find offensive, or
even displeasing.
  I must here mention, relative to the manuscript copy of Heloise
Madam de Luxembourg wished to have, in what manner I thought to give
it some marked advantage which should distinguish it from all
others. I had written separately the adventures of Lord Edward, and
had long been undetermined whether I should insert them wholly, or
in extracts, in the work in which they seemed to be wanting. I at
length determined to retrench them entirely, because, not being in the
manner of the rest, they would have spoiled the interesting
simplicity, which was its principal merit. I had still a stronger
reason when I came to know Madam de Luxembourg. There was in these
adventures a Roman marchioness, of a bad character, some parts of
which, without being applicable, might have been applied to her by
those to whom she was not particularly known. I was therefore,
highly pleased with the determination to which I had come, and
resolved to abide by it. But in the ardent desire to enrich her copy
with something which was not in the other, what should I fall upon but
these unfortunate adventures, and I concluded on making an extract
from them to add to the work; a project dictated by madness, of
which the extravagance is inexplicable, except by the blind fatality
which led me on to destruction.

            Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat.

  I was stupid enough to make this extract with the greatest care
and pains, and to send it her as the finest thing in the world; it
is true, I at the same time informed her the original was burned,
which was really the case, that the extract was for her alone, and
would never be seen, except by herself, unless she chose to show it;
which, far from proving to her my prudence and discretion, as it was
my intention to do, clearly intimated what I thought of the
application by which she might be offended. My stupidity was such,
that I had no doubt of her being delighted with what I had done. She
did not make me the compliment upon it which I expected, and, to my
great surprise, never once mentioned the paper I had sent her. I was
so satisfied with myself, that it was not until a long time
afterwards, I judged, from other indications, of the effect it had
produced.
  I had still, in favor of her manuscript, another idea more
reasonable, but which, by more distant effects, has not been much less
prejudicial to me; so much does everything concur with the work of
destiny, when that hurries on a man to misfortune. I thought of
ornamenting the manuscript with the engravings of the New Eloisa,
which were of the same size. I asked Coindet for these engravings,
which belonged to me by every kind of title, and the more so as I
had given him the produce of the plates, which had a considerable
sale. Coindet is as cunning as I am the contrary. By frequently asking
him for the engravings he came to the knowledge of the use I
intended to make of them. He then, under pretense of adding some new
ornament, still kept them from me, and at length presented them
himself.

            Ego versiculos feci: tulit alter honores.

  This gave him an introduction upon a certain footing to the Hotel de
Luxembourg. After my establishment at the little castle he came rather
frequently to see me, and always in the morning, especially when M.
and Madam de Luxembourg were at Montmorency. Therefore that I might
pass the day with him, I did not go to the castle. Reproaches were
made me on account of my absence; I told the reason of them. I was
desired to bring with me M. Coindet; I did so. This was what he had
sought after. Therefore, thanks to the excessive goodness M. and Madam
de Luxembourg had for me, a clerk to M. Trelusson, who was sometimes
pleased to give him his table when he had nobody else to dine with
him, was suddenly placed at that of a marechal of France, with
princes, duchesses, and persons of the highest rank at court. I
shall never forget, that one day being obliged to return early to
Paris, the marechal said, after dinner, to the company, "Let us take a
walk upon the road to St. Denis, and we will accompany M. Coindet."
This was too much for the poor man; his head was quite turned. For
my part my heart was so affected that I could not say a word. I
followed the company, weeping like a child, and having the strongest
desire to kiss the foot of the good marechal but the continuation of
the history of the manuscript has made me anticipate. I will go a
little back, and, as far as my memory will permit, mark each event
in its proper order.
  As soon as the little house of Mont-Louis was ready, I had it neatly
furnished and again established myself there. I could not break
through the resolution I had made on quitting the Hermitage of
always having my apartment to myself; but I found a difficulty in
resolving to quit the little castle. I kept the key of it, and being
delighted with the charming breakfasts of the peristyle, frequently
went to the castle to sleep, and stayed three or four days as at a
country-house, I was at that time perhaps better and more agreeably
lodged than any private individual in Europe. My host, M. Mathas,
one of the best men in the world, had left me the absolute direction
of the repairs at Mont-Louis, and insisted upon my disposing of his
workmen without his interference. I found the means of making a single
chamber upon the first story, into a complete set of apartments,
consisting of a chamber, ante-chamber, and a water-closet. Upon the
ground-floor was the kitchen and the chamber of Theresa. The alcove
served me for a closet by means of a glazed partition and a chimney
I had made there. After my return to this habitation, I amused
myself in decorating the terrace, which was already shaded by two rows
of linden trees; I added two others to make a cabinet of verdure,
and placed in it a table and stone benches; I surrounded it with
lilacs, seringa and honeysuckle, and had a beautiful border of flowers
parallel with the two rows of trees. This terrace, more elevated
than that of the castle, from which the view was at least as fine, and
where I had tamed a great number of birds, was my drawing-room, in
which I received M. and Madam de Luxembourg, the Duke of Villeroy, the
Prince of Tingry, the Marquis of Armentieres, the Duchess of
Montmorency, the Duchess of Boufflers, the Countess of Valentinois,
the Countess of Boufflers, and other persons of the first rank; who,
from the castle, disdained not to make, over a very fatiguing
mountain, the pilgrimage of Mont-Louis. I owed all these visits to the
favor of M. and Madam de Luxembourg; this I felt, and my heart on that
account did them all due homage. It was with the same sentiment that I
once said to M. de Luxembourg, embracing him: "Ah! Monsieur le
Marechal, I hated the great before I knew you, and I have hated them
still more since you have shown me with what ease they might acquire
universal respect." Further than this, I defy any person with whom I
was then acquainted, to say I was ever dazzled for an instant with
splendor, or that the vapor of the incense I received ever affected my
head; that I was less uniform in my manner, less plain in my dress,
less easy of access to people of the lowest rank, less familiar with
neighbors, or less ready to render service to every person when I
had it in my power so to do, without ever once being discouraged by
the numerous and frequently unreasonable importunities with which I
was incessantly assailed.
  Although my heart led me to the castle of Montmorency, by my sincere
attachment to those by whom it was inhabited, it by the same means
drew me back to the neighborhood of it, there to taste the sweets of
the equal and simple life, in which my only happiness consisted.
Theresa had contracted a friendship with the daughter of one of my
neighbors, a mason of the name of Pilleu; I did the same with the
father, and after having dined at the castle, not without some
constraint, to please Madam de Luxembourg, with what eagerness did I
return in the evening to sup with the good man Pilleu and his
family, sometimes at his own house and at others at mine!
  Besides my two lodgings in the country, I soon had a third at the
Hotel de Luxembourg, the proprietors of which pressed me so much to go
and see them there that I consented, notwithstanding my aversion to
Paris, where, since my retiring to the Hermitage, I had been but
twice, upon the two occasions of which I have spoken. I did not now go
there except on the days agreed upon, solely to supper, and the next
morning I returned to the country. I entered and came out by the
garden which faces the boulevard, so that I could with the greatest
truth, say I had not set my foot upon the stones of Paris.
  In the midst of this transient prosperity, a catastrophe, which
was to be the conclusion of it, was preparing at a distance. A short
time after my return to Mont-Louis, I made there, and as it was
customary, against my inclination, a new acquaintance, which makes
another era in my private history. Whether this be favorable or
unfavorable, the reader will hereafter be able to judge. The person
with whom I became acquainted was the Marchioness of Verdelin, my
neighbor, whose husband had just bought a country-house at Soisy, near
Montmorency. Mademoiselle d'Ars, daughter to the Comte d'Ars, a man of
fashion, but poor, had married M. de Verdelin, old, ugly, deaf,
uncouth, brutal, jealous, with gashes in his face, and blind of one
eye, but, upon the whole, a good man when properly managed, and in
possession of a fortune of from fifteen to twenty thousand a year.
This charming object, swearing, roaring, scolding, storming, and
making his wife cry all day long, ended by doing whatever she
thought proper, and this to set her in a rage, because she knew how to
persuade him that it was he who would, and she who would not have it
so. M. de Margency, of whom I have spoken, was the friend of madam,
and became that of monsieur. He had a few years before let them his
castle of Margency, near Eaubonne and Andilly, and they resided
there precisely at the time of my passion for Madam d'Houdetot.
Madam d'Houdetot and Madam de Verdelin became acquainted with each
other, by means of Madam d'Aubeterre their common friend; and as the
garden of Margency was in the road by which Madam d'Houdetot went to
Mont Olympe, her favorite walk, Madam de Verdelin gave her a key
that she might pass through it. By means of this key I crossed it
several times with her; but I did not like unexpected meetings, and
when Madam de Verdelin was by chance upon our way I left them together
without speaking to her, and went on before. This want of gallantry
must have made on her an impression unfavorable to me. Yet when she
was at Soisy she was anxious to have my company. She came several
times to see me at Mont-Louis, without finding me at home, and
perceiving I did not return her visit, took it into her head, as a
means of forcing me to do it, to send me pots of flowers for my
terrace. I was under the necessity of going to thank her; this was all
she wanted, and we thus became acquainted.
  This connection, like every other I formed, or was led into contrary
to my inclination, began rather boisterously. There never reigned in
it a real calm. The turn of mind of Madam de Verdelin was too opposite
to me. Malignant expressions and pointed sarcasms came from her with
so much simplicity, that a continual attention too fatiguing for me
was necessary to perceive she was turning into ridicule the person
to whom she spoke. One trivial circumstance which occurs to my
recollection will be sufficient to give an idea of her manner. Her
brother had just obtained the command of a frigate cruising against
the English. I spoke of the manner of fitting out this frigate without
diminishing its swiftness of sailing. "Yes," replied she, in the
most natural tone of voice, "no more cannon are taken than are
necessary for fighting." I seldom have heard her speak well of any
of her absent friends without letting slip something to their
prejudice. What she did not see with an evil eye she looked upon
with one of ridicule, and her friend Margency was not excepted. What I
found most insupportable in her was the perpetual constraint
proceeding from her little messages, presents and billets, to which it
was a labor for me to answer, and I had continual embarrassments
either in thanking or refusing. However, by frequently seeing this
lady I became attached to her. She had her troubles as well as I had
mine. Reciprocal confidence rendered our conversations interesting.
Nothing so cordially attaches two persons as the satisfaction of
weeping together. We sought the company of each other for our
reciprocal consolation, and the want of this has frequently made me
pass over many things. I had been so severe in my frankness with
her, that after having sometimes shown so little esteem for her
character, a great deal was necessary to be able to believe she
could sincerely forgive me.
  The following letter is a specimen of the epistles I sometimes wrote
to her, and it is to be remarked that she never once in any of her
answers to them seemed to be in the least degree piqued.

                           MONTMORENCY, 5th November, 1760.
  "You tell me, madam, you have not well explained yourself, in
order to make me understand I have explained myself ill. You speak
of your pretended stupidity for the purpose of making me feel my
own. You boast of being nothing more than a good kind of woman, as
if you were afraid to be taken at your word, and you make me apologies
to tell me I owe them to you. Yes, madam, I know it; it is I who am
a fool, a good kind of man; and, if it be possible, worse than all
this; it is I who make a bad choice of my expressions in the opinion
of a fine French lady, who pays as much attention to words, and speaks
as well as you do. But consider that I take them in the common meaning
of the language without knowing or troubling my head about the
polite acceptations in which they are taken in the virtuous
societies of Paris. If my expressions are sometimes equivocal, I
endeavored by my conduct to determine their meaning," etc. The rest of
the letter is much the same.

  Coindet, enterprising, bold, even to effrontery, and who was upon
the watch after all my friends, soon introduced himself in my name
to the house of Madam de Verdelin, and, unknown to me, shortly
became there more familiar than myself. This Coindet was an
extraordinary man. He presented himself in my name in the houses of
all my acquaintance, gained a footing in them, and ate there without
ceremony. Transported with zeal to do me service, he never mentioned
my name without his eyes being suffused with tears; but, when he
came to see me, he kept the most profound silence on the subject of
all these connections, and especially on that in which he knew I
must be interested. Instead of telling me what he had heard, said,
or seen, relative to my affairs, he waited for my speaking to him, and
even interrogated me. He never knew anything of what passed in
Paris, except that which I told him: finally, although everybody spoke
to me of him, he never once spoke to me of any person; he was secret
and mysterious with his friend only; but I will for the present
leave Coindet and Madam de Verdelin, and return to them at a proper
time.
  Sometime after my return to Mont-Louis, La Tour, the painter, came
to see me, and brought with him my portrait in crayons, which a few
years before he had exhibited at the saloon. He wished to give me this
portrait, which I did not choose to accept. But Madam d'Epinay, who
had given me hers, and would have had this, prevailed upon me to ask
him for it. He had taken some time to retouch the features. In the
interval happened my rupture with Madam d'Epinay; I returned her her
portrait; and giving her mine being no longer in question, I put it
into my chamber, in the castle. M. de Luxembourg saw it there, and
found it a good one; I offered it him, he accepted it, and I sent it
to the castle He and his lady comprehended I should be very. glad to
have theirs. They had them taken in miniature by a very skillful hand,
set in a box of rock crystal, mounted with gold, and in a very
handsome manner, with which I was delighted, made me a present of
both. Madam de Luxembourg would never consent that her portrait should
be on the upper part of the box. She had reproached me several times
with loving M. de Luxembourg better than I did her; I had not denied
it because it was true. By this manner of placing her portrait she
showed very politely, but very clearly, she had not forgotten the
preference.
  Much about this time I was guilty of a folly which did not
contribute to preserve to me her good graces. Although I had no
knowledge of M. de Silhouette, and was not much disposed to like
him, I had a great opinion of his administration. When he began to let
his hand fall rather heavily upon financiers, I perceived he did not
begin his operation in a favorable moment, but he had my warmest
wishes for his success; and as soon as I heard he was displaced I
wrote to him, in my intrepid, heedless manner, the following letter,
which I certainly do not undertake to justify.

                            MONTMORENCY, 2d December, 1769.
  "Vouchsafe, sir, to receive the homage of a solitary man, who is not
known to you, but who esteems you for your talents, respects you for
your administration, and who did you the honor to believe you would
not long remain in it. Unable to save the State, except at the expense
of the capital by which it has been ruined, you have braved the
clamors of the gainers of money. When I saw you crush these
wretches, I envied you your place; and at seeing you quit it without
departing from your system, I admire you. Be satisfied with
yourself, sir; the step you have taken will leave you an honor you
will long enjoy without a competitor. The malediction of knaves is the
glory of an honest man."

  Madam de Luxembourg, who knew I had written this letter, spoke to me
of it when she came into the country at Easter. I showed it to her and
she was desirous of a copy; this I gave her, but when I did it I did
not know she was interested in under-farms, and the displacing of M.
de Silhouette. By my numerous follies any person would have imagined I
willfully endeavored to bring on myself the hatred of an amiable woman
who had power, and to whom, in truth, I daily became more attached,
and was far from wishing to occasion her displeasure, although by my
awkward manner of proceeding, I did everything proper for that
purpose. I think it superfluous to remark here, that it is to her
the history of the opiate of M. Tronchin, of which I have spoken in
the first part of my memoirs, relates; the other lady was Madam de
Mirepoix. They have never mentioned to me the circumstance, nor has
either of them, in the least, seemed to have preserved a remembrance
of it; but to presume that Madam de Luxembourg can possibly have
forgotten it appears to me very difficult, and would still remain
so, even were the subsequent events entirely unknown. For my part, I
fell into a deceitful security relative to the effects of my stupid
mistakes, by an internal evidence of my not having taken any step with
an intention to offend; as if a woman could ever forgive what I had
done, although she might be certain the will had not the least part in
the matter.
  Although she seemed not to see or feel anything, and that I did
not immediately find either her warmth of friendship diminished or the
least change in her manner, the continuation and even increase of a
too well founded foreboding made me incessantly tremble, lest
disgust should succeed to infatuation. Was it possible for me to
expect in a lady of such high rank, a constancy proof against my
want of address to support it? I was unable to conceal from her this
secret foreboding, which made me uneasy, and rendered me still more
disagreeable. This will be judged of by the following letter, which
contains a very singular prediction.

  N. B. This letter, without date in my rough copy, was written in
October, 1760, at latest.

  "How cruel is your goodness! Why disturb the peace of a solitary
mortal who had renounced the pleasures of life, that he might no
longer suffer the fatigues of them? I have passed my days in vainly
searching for solid attachments. I have not been able to form any in
the ranks to which I was equal; is it in yours that I ought to seek
for them? Neither ambition nor interest can tempt me; I am not vain,
but little fearful; I can resist everything except caresses. Why do
you both attack me by a weakness which I must overcome, because in the
distance by which we are separated, the overflowings of susceptible
hearts cannot bring mine near to you? Will gratitude be sufficient for
a heart which knows not two manners of bestowing its affections, and
feels itself incapable of everything except friendship? Of friendship,
madam la marechale! Ah! there is my misfortune! It is good in you
and the marechal to make use of this expression; but I am mad when I
take you at your word. You amuse yourselves, and I become attached;
and the end of this prepares for me new regrets. How do I hate all
your titles, and pity you on account of your being obliged to bear
them! You seem to me to be so worthy of tasting the charms of
private life! Why do not you reside at Clarens? I would go there in
search of happiness; but the castle of Montmorency, and the Hotel de
Luxembourg! Is it in these places Jean-Jacques ought to be seen? Is it
there a friend to equality ought to carry the affections of a sensible
heart, and who thus paying the esteem in which he is held, thinks he
returns as much as he receives? You are good and susceptible also:
this I know and have seen; I am sorry I was not sooner convinced of
it; but in the rank you hold, in your manner of living, nothing can
make a lasting impression; a succession of new objects efface each
other so that not one of them remains. You will forget me, madam,
after having made it impossible for me to imitate you. You have done a
great deal to render me unhappy, to be inexcusable."

  I joined with her the marechal, to render the compliment less
severe; for I was moreover so sure of him, that I never had a doubt in
my mind of the continuation of his friendship. Nothing that
intimidated me in madam la marechale, ever for a moment extended to
him. I never have had the least mistrust relative to his character,
which I knew to be feeble, but constant. I no more feared a coldness
on his part than I expected from him an heroic attachment. The
simplicity and familiarity of our manners with each other proved how
far dependence was reciprocal. We were both always right: I shall ever
honor and hold dear the memory of this worthy man, and,
notwithstanding everything that was done to detach him from me, I am
as certain of his having died my friend as if I had been present in
his last moments.
  At the second journey to Montmorency, in the year 1760, the
reading of Eloisa being finished, I had recourse to that of Emile,
to support myself in the good graces of Madam de Luxembourg; but this,
whether the subject was less to her taste, or that so much reading
at length fatigued her, did not succeed so well. However, as she
reproached me with suffering myself to be the dupe of booksellers, she
wished me to leave to her care the printing the work, that I might
reap from it a greater advantage. I consented to her doing it, on
the express condition of its not being printed in France, on which
we had a long dispute; I affirming that it was impossible to obtain,
and even imprudent to solicit, a tacit permission; and being unwilling
to permit the impression upon any other terms in the kingdom; she,
that the censor could not make the least difficulty, according to
the system government had adopted. She found means to make M. de
Malesherbes enter into her views. He wrote to me on the subject a long
letter with his own hand, to prove the profession of faith of the
Savoyard vicar to be a composition which must everywhere gain the
approbation of its readers and that of the court, as things were
then circumstanced. I was surprised to see this magistrate, always
so prudent, become so smooth in the business, as the printing of a
book was by that alone legal, I had no longer any objection to make to
that of the work. Yet, by an extraordinary scruple, I still required
it should be printed in Holland, and by the bookseller Neaulme,
whom, not satisfied with indicating him, I informed of my wishes,
consenting the edition should be brought out for the profit of a
French bookseller, and that as soon as it was ready it should be
sold at Paris, or wherever else it might be thought proper, as with
this I had no manner of concern. This is exactly what was agreed
upon between Madam de Luxembourg and myself, after which I gave her my
manuscript.
  Madam de Luxembourg was this time accompanied by her granddaughter
Mademoiselle de Boufflers, now Duchess of Lauzun. Her name was Amelie.
She was a charming girl. She really had a maiden beauty, mildness
and timidity. Nothing could be more lovely than her person, nothing
more chaste and tender than the sentiments she inspired. She was,
besides, still a child under eleven years of age. Madam de Luxembourg,
who thought her too timid, used every endeavor to animate her. She
permitted me several times to give her a kiss, which I did with my
usual awkwardness. instead of saying flattering things to her, as
any other person would have done, I remained silent and
disconcerted, and I know not which of the two, the little girl or
myself, was most ashamed. I met her one day alone in the staircase
of the little castle. She had been to see Theresa, with whom her
governess still was. Not knowing what else to say, I proposed to her a
kiss, which, in the innocence of her heart, she did not refuse; having
in the morning received one from me by order of her grandmother, and
in her presence. The next day, while reading Emilie by the side of the
bed of Madam de Luxembourg, I came to a passage in which I justly
censure that which I had done the preceding evening. She thought the
reflection extremely just, and said some very sensible things upon the
subject which made me blush. How was I enraged at my incredible
stupidity, which has frequently given me the appearance of guilt
when I was nothing more than a fool and embarrassed! a stupidity,
which in a man known to be endowed with some wit, is considered as a
false excuse. I can safely swear that in this kiss, as well as in
the others, the heart and thoughts of Mademoiselle Amelie were not
more pure than my own, and that if I could have avoided meeting her
I should have done it; not that I had not great pleasure in seeing
her, but from the embarrassment of not finding a word proper to say.
Whence comes it that even a child can intimidate a man, whom the power
of kings has never inspired with fear? What is to be done? How,
without presence of mind, am I to act? If I strive to speak to the
persons I meet, I certainly say some stupid thing to them: if I remain
silent, I am a misanthrope, an unsociable animal, a bear. Total
imbecility would have been more favorable to me; but the talents which
I have failed to improve in the world have become the instruments of
my destruction, and of that of the talents I possessed.
  At the latter end of this journey, Madam de Luxembourg did a good
action in which I had some share. Diderot having very imprudently
offended the Princess of Robeck, daughter of M. de Luxembourg,
Palissot, whom she protected, took up the quarrel, and revenged her by
the comedy of The Philosophers, in which I was ridiculed, and
Diderot very roughly handled. The author treated me with more
gentleness, less, I am of opinion, on account of the obligation he was
under to me, than from the fear of displeasing the father of his
protectress, by whom he knew I was beloved. The bookseller Duchesne,
with whom I was not at that time acquainted, sent me the comedy when
it was printed, and this I suspect was by the order of Palissot, who,.
perhaps, thought I should have a pleasure in seeing a man with whom
I was no longer connected defamed. He was greatly deceived. When I
broke with Diderot, whom I thought less ill-natured than weak and
indiscreet, I still always preserved for his person an attachment,
an esteem even, and a respect for our ancient friendship, which I know
was for a long time as sincere on his part as on mine. The case was
quite different with Grimm; a man false by nature, who never loved me,
who is not even capable of friendship, and a person who, without the
least subject of complaint, and solely to satisfy his gloomy jealousy,
became, under the mask of friendship, my most cruel calumniator.
This man is to me a cipher; the other will always be my old friend.
  My very bowels yearned at the sight of this odious piece: the
reading of it was insupportable to me, and, without going through
the whole, I returned the copy to Duchesne with the following letter:

                               MONTMORENCY, 21st May, 1760.
  "In casting my eye over the piece you sent me, I trembled at
seeing myself well spoken of in it. I do not accept the horrid
present. I am persuaded that in sending it me, you did not intend an
insult; but you do not know, or have forgotten, that I have the
honor to be the friend of a respectable man, who is shamefully defamed
and calumniated in this libel."

  Duchesne showed the letter. Diderot, upon whom it ought to have
had an effect quite contrary, was vexed at it. His pride could not
forgive me the superiority of a generous action, and I was informed
his wife everywhere inveighed against me with a bitterness with
which I was not in the least affected, as I knew she was known to
everybody to be a noisy babbler.
  Diderot in his turn found an avenger in the Abbe Morrellet, who
wrote against Palissot a little work, imitated from the Petit
prophete, and entitled the Vision. In this production he very
imprudently offended Madam de Robeck, whose friends got him sent to
the Bastile; though she, not naturally vindictive, and at that time in
a dying state, I am certain had nothing to do in the affair.
  D'Alembert, who was very intimately connected with Morrellet,
wrote me a letter, desiring I would beg of Madam de Luxembourg to
solicit his liberty, promising her in return encomiums in the
Encyclopedie; my answer to his letter was as follows:

  "I did not wait the receipt of your letter before I expressed to
Madam de Luxembourg the pain the confinement of the Abbe Morrellet
gave me. She knows my concern, and shall be made acquainted with
yours, and her knowing that the abbe is a man of merit will be
sufficient to make her interest herself in his behalf. However,
although she and the marechal honor me with a benevolence which is
my greatest consolation, and that the name of your friend be to them a
recommendation in favor of the Abbe Morrellet, I know not how far,
on this occasion, it may be proper for them to employ the credit
attached to the rank they hold, and the consideration due to their
persons. I am not even convinced that the vengeance in question
relates to the Princess of Robeck so much as you seem to imagine;
and were this even the case, we must not suppose that the pleasure
of vengeance belongs to philosophers exclusively, and that when they
choose to become women, women will become philosophers.
  "I will communicate to you whatever Madam de Luxembourg may say to
me after having shown her your letter. In the meantime, I think I know
her well enough to assure you that, should she have the pleasure of
contributing to the enlargement of the Abbe Morrellet, she will not
accept the tribute of acknowledgment you promise her in the
Encyclopedie, although she might think herself honored by it,
because she does not do good in the expectation of praise, but from
the dictates of her heart."

  I made every effort to excite the zeal and commiseration of Madame
de Luxembourg in favor of the poor captive, and succeeded to my
wishes. She went to Versailles on purpose to speak to M. de St.
Florentin, and this journey shortened the residence at Montmorency,
which the marechal was obliged to quit at the same time to go to
Rouen, whither the king sent him as governor of Normandy, on account
of the motions of the parliament, which government wished to keep
within bounds. Madame de Luxembourg wrote me the following letter
the day after her departure (Packet D, No. 23):

                                     VERSAILLES, Wednesday.
  "M. de Luxembourg set off yesterday morning at six o'clock. I do not
yet know that I shall follow him. I wait until he writes to me, as
he is not yet certain of the stay it will be necessary for him to
make. I have seen M. de St. Florentin, who is as favorably disposed as
possible towards the Abbe Morrellet; but he finds some obstacles to
his wishes, which, however, he is in hopes of removing the first
time he has to do business with the king, which will be next week. I
have also desired as a favor that he might not be exiled, because this
was intended; he was to be sent to Nancy. This, sir, is what I have
been able to obtain; but I promise you I will not let M. de St.
Florentin rest until the affair is terminated in the manner you
desire. Let me now express to you how sorry I am on account of my
being obliged to leave you so soon, of which I flatter myself you have
not the least doubt. I love you with all my heart, and shall do so for
my whole life."

    A few days afterwards I received the following note from
D'Alembert, which gave me real joy. (Packet D, No. 26.)

                                               August 1st.
  "Thanks to your cares, my, dear philosopher, the abbe has left the
Bastile, and his imprisonment will have no other consequence. He is
setting off for the country, and, as well as myself, returns you a
thousand thanks and compliments. Vale et me ama."

  The abbe also wrote to me a few days afterwards a letter of
thanks, which did not, in my opinion, seem to breathe a certain
effusion of the heart, and in which he seemed in some measure to
extenuate the service I had rendered him. Some time afterwards, I
found that he and D'Alembert had, to a certain degree, I will not
say supplanted, but succeeded me in the good graces of Madam de
Luxembourg, and that I had lost in them all they had gained.
However, I am far from suspecting the Abbe Morrellet of having
contributed to my disgrace; I have too much esteem for him to harbor
any such suspicion. With respect to D'Alembert, I shall at present
leave him out of the question, and hereafter say of him what may
seem necessary.
  I had, at the same time, another affair which occasioned the last
letter I wrote to Voltaire; a letter against which he vehemently
exclaimed, as an abominable insult, although he never showed it to any
person. I will here supply the want of that which he refused to do.
  The Abbe Trublet, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, but whom
I had but seldom seen, wrote to me on the 13th of June, 1760,
informing me that M. Formey, his friend and correspondent, had printed
in his journal my letter to Voltaire upon the disaster at Lisbon.
The abbe wished to know how the letter came to be printed, and, in his
Jesuitical manner, asked me my opinion, without giving me his own oh
the necessity of reprinting it. As I most sovereignly hate this kind
of artifice and stratagem, I returned such thanks as were proper,
but in a manner so reserved as to make him feet it, although this
did not prevent him from wheedling me in two or three other letters
until he had gathered all he wished to know.
  I clearly understood that, notwithstanding all Trublet could say,
Formey had not found the letter printed, and that the first impression
of it came from himself. I knew him to be an impudent pilferer, who,
without ceremony, made himself a revenue by the works of others.
Although he had not yet had the incredible effrontery to take from a
book already published the name of the author, to put his own in the
place of it, and to sell the book for his own profit.* But by what
means had this manuscript fallen into his hands? That was a question
not easy to resolve, but by which I had the weakness to be
embarrassed. Although Voltaire was excessively honored by the
letter, as in fact, notwithstanding his rude proceedings, he would
have had a right to complain had I had it printed without his consent,
I resolved to write to him upon the subject. The second letter was
as follows, to which he returned no answer, and, giving greater
scope to his brutality, he feigned to be irritated to fury.

  * In this manner he afterwards appropriated to himself Emile.

                              MONTMORENCY, 17th June, 1760.
  SIR: I never thought I should ever have occasion to correspond
with you. But learning the letter I wrote to you in 1756 has been
printed at Berlin, I owe you an account of my conduct in that respect,
and will fulfill, this duty with truth and simplicity.
  "The letter having really been addressed to you was not intended
to be printed. I communicated the contents of it, on certain
conditions, to three persons, to whom the rights of friendship did not
permit me to refuse anything of the kind, and whom the same rights
still less permitted to abuse my confidence by betraying their
promise. These persons are Madam de Chenonceaux, daughter-in-law to
Madam Dupin, the Comtesse d'Houdetot, and a German of the name of
Grimm. Madam de Chenonceaux was desirous the letter should be printed,
and asked my consent. I told her that depended upon yours. This was
asked of you, which you refused, and the matter dropped.
  "However, the Abbe Trublet, with whom I have not the least
connection, has just written to me from a motive of the most polite
attention, that having received the papers of the Journal of M.
Formey, he found in them this same letter with an advertisement, dated
on the 23d of October, 1759, in which the editor states that he had
a few weeks before found it in the shops of the booksellers of Berlin,
and, as it is one of those loose sheets which shortly disappear, he
thought proper to give it a place in his Journal.
  "This, sir, is all I know of the matter. It is certain the letter
had not until lately been heard of at Paris. It is also as certain
that the copy, either in manuscript or print, fallen into the hands of
M. de Formey, could never have reached them except by your means
(which is not probable) or of those of one of the three persons I have
mentioned. Finally, it is well known the two ladies are incapable of
such a perfidy. I cannot, in my retirement, learn more relative to the
affair. You have a correspondence by means of which you may, if you
think it worth the trouble, go back to the source and verify the fact.
  "In the same letter the Abbe Trublet informs me that he keeps the
paper in reserve, and will not lend it without my consent, which
most assuredly I will not give. But it is possible this copy may not
be the only one in Paris. I wish, sir, the letter may not be printed
there, and I will do all in my power to prevent this from happening;
but if I cannot succeed, and that, timely perceiving it, I can have
the preference, I will not then hesitate to have it immediately
printed. This to me appears just and natural.
  "With respect to your answer to the same letter, it has not been
communicated to any one, and you may be assured it shall not be
printed without your consent, which I certainly shall not be
indiscreet enough to ask of you, well knowing that what one man writes
to another is not written to the public. But should you choose to
write one you wish to have published and address it to me, I promise
you faithfully to add to it my letter and not to make to it a single
word of reply.
  "I love you not, sir; you have done me, your disciple and
enthusiastic admirer, injuries that might have caused me the most
exquisite pain. You have ruined Geneva, in return for the asylum it
has afforded you; you have alienated from me my fellow-citizens, in
return for the eulogiums I made of you amongst them; it is you who
render to me the residence of my own country insupportable; it is
you who will oblige me to die in a foreign land, deprived of all the
consolations usually administered to a dying person; and cause me,
instead of receiving funeral rites, to be thrown to the dogs, whilst
all the honors a man can expect will accompany you in my country.
Finally I hate you because you have been desirous I should; but I hate
you as a man more worthy of loving you had you chosen it. Of all the
sentiments with which my heart was penetrated for you, admiration,
which cannot be refused your fine genius, and a partiality to your
writings, are those you have not effaced. If I can honor nothing in
you except your talents, the fault is not mine. I shall never be
wanting in the respect due to them, nor in that which this respect
requires."

  In the midst of these little literary cavillings, which still
fortified my resolution, I received the greatest honor letters ever
acquired me, and of which I was the most sensible, in the two visits
the Prince of Conti deigned to make to me, one at the Little Castle
and the other at Mont-Louis. He chose the time for both these when
M. de Luxembourg was not at Montmorency, in order to render it more
manifest that he came there solely on my account. I have never had a
doubt of my owing the first condescensions of this prince to Madam
de Luxembourg and Madam de Boufflers; but I am of opinion I owe to his
own sentiments and to myself those with which he has since that time
continually honored me.*

  * Remark the perseverance of this blind and stupid confidence in the
midst of all the treatment which should soonest have undeceived me. It
continued until my return to Paris in 1770.

  My apartments at Mont-Louis being small, and the situation of the
alcove charming, I conducted the prince to it, where, to complete
the condescension he was pleased to show me, he chose I should have
the honor of playing with him a game at chess. I knew he beat the
Chevalier de Lorenzi, who played better than I did. However,
notwithstanding the signs and grimace of the chevalier and the
spectators, which I feigned not to see, I won the two games we played.
When they were ended, I said to him in a respectful but very grave
manner: "My lord, I honor your serene highness too much not to beat
you always at chess." This great prince, who had real wit, sense,
and knowledge, and so was worthy not to be treated with mean
adulation, felt in fact, at least I think so, that I was the only
person present who treated him like a man, and I have every reason
to believe he was not displeased with me for it.
  Had this even been the case, I should not have reproached myself
with having been unwilling to deceive him in anything, and I certainly
cannot do it with having in my heart made an ill return for his
goodness, but solely with having sometimes done it with an ill
grace, whilst he himself accompanied with infinite gracefulness, the
manner in which he showed me the marks of it. A few days afterwards he
ordered a hamper of game to be sent me, which I received as I ought.
This in a little time was succeeded by another, and one of his
gamekeepers wrote me, by order of his highness, that the game it
contained had been shot by the prince himself. I received this
second hamper, but I wrote to Madam de Boufflers that I would not
receive a third. This letter was generally blamed, and deservedly
so. Refusing to accept presents of game from a prince of the blood,
who moreover sends it in so polite a manner, is less the delicacy of a
haughty man, who wishes to preserve his independence, than the
rusticity of a clown, who does not know himself. I have never read
this letter in my collection without blushing and reproaching myself
for having written it. But I have not undertaken my Confession with an
intention of concealing my faults, and that of which I have just
spoken is too shocking in my own eyes to suffer me to pass it over
in silence.
  If I were not guilty of the offense of becoming his rival I was very
near doing it; for Madam de Boufflers was still his mistress, and I
knew nothing of the matter. She came rather frequently to see me
with the Chevalier de Lorenzi. She was yet young and beautiful,
affected to be whimsical, and my mind was always romantic, which was
much of the same nature. I was near being laid hold of; I believe
she perceived it. the chevalier saw it also, at least he spoke to me
upon the subject, and in a manner not discouraging. But I was this
time reasonable, and at the age of fifty it was time I should be so.
Full of the doctrine I had just preached to graybeards in my letter to
D'Alembert, I should have been ashamed of not profiting by it
myself; besides, coming to the knowledge of that of which I had been
ignorant, I must have been mad to have carried my pretensions so far
as to expose myself to such an illustrious rivalry. Finally, ill cured
perhaps of my passion for Madam d'Houdetot, I felt nothing could
replace it in my heart, and I bade adieu to love for the rest of my
life. I have this moment just withstood the dangerous allurements of a
young woman who had her views; but if she feigned to forget my sixty
years, I remembered them. After having thus withdrawn myself from
danger, I am no longer afraid of a fall, and I answer for myself for
the rest of my days.
  Madam de Boufflers, perceiving the emotion she caused in me, might
also observe I had triumphed over it. I am neither mad nor vain enough
to believe I was at my age capable of inspiring her with the same
feelings; but, from certain words which she let drop to Theresa, I
thought I had inspired her with a curiosity; if this be the case,
and that she has not forgiven me the disappointment she met with, it
must be confessed I was born to be the victim of my weaknesses,
since triumphant love was so prejudicial to me, and love triumphed
over not less so.
  Here finishes the collection of letters which has served me as a
guide in the last two books. My steps will in future be directed by
memory only; but this is of such a nature, relative to the period to
which I am now come, and the strong impression of objects has remained
so perfectly upon my mind, that lost in the immense sea of my
misfortunes, I cannot forget the detail of my first shipwreck,
although the consequences present to me but a confused remembrance.
I therefore shall be able to proceed in the succeeding book with
sufficient confidence. If I go further it will be groping in the dark.