BOOK XII.

|With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last

eight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible

for me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into

which I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the

hand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and

misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of

my heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a

man who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the

inconceivable art of rendering the public, unknown to itself, or without

its perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.

Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the

treatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not

be able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor

assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes

are all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am

interested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible

for me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different

causes are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst

my readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine

the mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully

read over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each

fact he shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain

such information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to

intrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of

all. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I

lose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which

his steps must be directed.

During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my

friend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,

and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed, I

formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle

and his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,

delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition. I

conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.

The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man

already verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of

great esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set

upon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and

I was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great

disproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made

me join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was

at length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,

his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has

made him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has

not yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the

certainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the

most pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,

but in advising for the best.

I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at

Geneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,

and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been

given at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the

republic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second

decree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I

refused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were

well confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every

law, beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest

confusion in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears;

everything remained quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace,

it was unfavorable to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips

and pedants like a scholar threatened with a flogging for not having

said his catechism.

These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised

against me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the

gazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French

especially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much

pique themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the

unfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized

themselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while

each seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me. I

was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The continuator

of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of extravagance in

attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means proof of his

own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was afraid of

incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work of any

kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain the

cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe the

world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the 'Perpetual

Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the Savoyard

Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the author of

'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have been had I

published the treatise of 'Esprit', or any similar work? And yet, in

the storm raised against the author of that book, the public, far from

joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by eulogium.

Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with, and the

treatment of the two authors in the different countries of Europe, be

compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to a man of

sense be found, and I will ask no more.

I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield

to the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous

of keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,

encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The

colonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion

he had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied

with his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything

necessary for my little household establishment. The banneret Roguin,

one of the persons who showed me the most assiduous attention, did not

leave me for an instant during the whole day. I was much flattered by

his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The day on which I

was to take possession of my new habitation was already fixed, and I

had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm was raised

against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but I have

never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited against

me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer me to

remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was informed of

the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the members

of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,

and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under

oppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their

states. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had

rather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However

this may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the

blow. Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to

me, he gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its

arrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know

where to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and

foreseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its

neighbor.

Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited

but completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village

of Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had

only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more

opportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally

be sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve

as a pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that

moment to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me

hesitate. The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly

subject, added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me

with an aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct,

seemed to tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of

humanity. Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my

alcove at Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a

distich, the last line of which was as follows:

Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.

[He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king.]

This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,

from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the

verse by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody

who came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de

Lorenzy had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had

no doubt but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to

the prince. I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in

'Emilius', where under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it

was clearly seen whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped

critics, because Madam de Boufflers had several times mentioned the

subject to me. I was, therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink

in the registers of the King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his

majesty to have the principles I had dared to attribute to him, he,

for that reason, could not but be displeased with my writings and their

author; for everybody knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants

have never failed to conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely

on reading my works, without being acquainted with my person.

However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far

from thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves

to the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong

minds, such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of

reigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this

occasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I

thought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance

his love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage

of circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man

who had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.

I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I

imagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean

Jacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below

the General of the Volsci?

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing

me at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam

Girardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very

convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with

a good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I ate with her

until Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a

fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to

me and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I

felt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and

that what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would

in future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my

misfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief

would add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she

would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of

feeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,

she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was

driven by fate.

I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of

my poor mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and

whatever pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to

me, I will not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an

error, if an involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one.

I had long perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no

longer for me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the

more sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the

same inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma,

and this effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for

perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing

with any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,

however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my

heart at ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had

neglected duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse

at length became so strong that it almost forced from me a public

confession of my fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage

is so clear, that it is astonishing any person should, after reading

it, have had the courage to reproach me with my error. My situation

was however still the same, or something worse, by the animosity of

my enemies, who sought to find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and

unwilling to run the risk, I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to

a similar mortification. I had besides remarked that a connection with

women was prejudicial to my health; this double reason made me form

resolutions to which I had but sometimes badly kept, but for the last

three or four years I had more constantly adhered to them. It was

in this interval I had remarked Theresa's coolness; she had the same

attachment to me from duty, but not the least from love. Our intercourse

naturally became less agreeable, and I imagined that, certain of the

continuation of my cares wherever she might be, she would choose to stay

at Paris rather than to wander with me. Yet she had given such signs of

grief at our parting, had required of me such positive promises that we

should meet again, and, since my departure, had expressed to the Prince

de Conti and M. de Luxembourg so strong a desire of it, that, far from

having the courage to speak to her of separation, I scarcely had enough

to think of it myself; and after having felt in my heart how impossible

it was for me to do without her, all I thought of afterwards was to

recall her to me as soon as possible. I wrote to her to this effect, and

she came. It was scarcely two months since I had quitted her; but it was

our first separation after a union of so many years. We had both of

us felt it most cruelly. What emotion in our first embrace! O how

delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy! How does my heart drink

them up! Why have I not had reason to shed them more frequently?

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of

Scotland and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the

states of his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection.

He answered me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had

expected from him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet,

lord of the manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his

excellency. The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous

Scotchman powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began

between him and me the strong attachment, which on my part still

remains the same, and would be so on his, had not the traitors, who

have deprived me of all the consolation of life, taken advantage of my

absence to deceive his old age and depreciate me in his esteem.

George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous

General Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had

quitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account

of his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he

soon became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked

in the ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time

in Spain, the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length

attached himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King

of Prussia, who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His

majesty received a great return for this reception, in the services

rendered him by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious,

the sincere friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy

man, haughty and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of

friendship, but to this it was so obedient, that with very different

maxims he saw nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him.

The king charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to

Paris, to Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years,

let him retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful

employment of passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the

inhabitants happy.

The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to

distinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.

When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they

mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his

laconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,

wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to

flatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the

minister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having

been unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the

usurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the

part, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur

had not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the

prejudices with which he was inspired by others, and of all the

imputations brought against him it was the most devoid of truth. My

first sentiment on seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender

commiseration, on account of his extreme leanness of body, years having

already left him little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my

eyes to his animated, open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled

with confidence, which absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the

very short compliment I made him when I first came into his presence

by speaking of something else, as if I had already been a week in his

house. He did not bid us sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the

manor, remained standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine

and piercing eye of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling

myself entirely at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side

upon the sofa. By the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived

the liberty I took gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This

is not a Neuchatelois.

Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the

heart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by

his attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to

see me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there

two days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each

other that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,

where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there

at least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and

then returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my

host. The emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the

Hermitage to Eaubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more

pleasing than that with which I approached Columbier.

What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while

thinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming

philosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he

called me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea

of the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the

want we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.

He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and

for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I

lodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my

ease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my

life to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards

spoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father! How

is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous

wretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your

friendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,

who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.

My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is

still a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,

and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to

be deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular

and foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people

he sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect

it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice

and not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes

into his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,

desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal

application to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave

him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On

receiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission

to the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a

language which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of

my lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered

him still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had

proofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did

it affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions,

yet in his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his

manners in general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a

matter of no great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier

being too long for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by

setting off after dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The

landlord of the house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit

at Berlin a favor of importance to him, begged I would request his

excellency to ask it in his behalf. "Most willingly," said I, and took

him with me. I left him in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter

to his lordship, who returned me no answer. After passing with him the

whole morning, I saw as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz,

who was fatigued to death with waiting. Thinking the governor had

forgotten what I had said to him, I again spoke of the business before

we sat down to table, but still received no answer. I thought this

manner of making me feel I was importunate rather severe, and, pitying

the poor man in waiting, held my tongue. On my return the next day I

was much surprised at the thanks he returned me for the good dinner

his excellency had given him after receiving his paper. Three weeks

afterwards his lordship sent him the rescript he had solicited,

dispatched by the minister, and signed by the king, and this without

having said a word either to myself or Sandoz concerning the business,

about which I thought he did not wish to give himself the least concern.

I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my

recollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my

life, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of

heart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was

impossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that

in future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving

them a regular arrangement.

I was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of

my asylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom,

as it will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king

not only approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must

relate everything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, rather

embarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute it

properly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money into

provisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish me

with wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added,

and perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me a

little house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would

fix upon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the

last offer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without

accepting either, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector,

and became so sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I

interested myself as much in his glory as until then I had thought his

successes unjust. At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by

an illumination in a very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with

which I decorated the house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I

had the vindictive haughtiness to spend almost as much money as he

had wished to give me. The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the

highest pinnacle of military and political fame, he would think of

acquiring that of another nature, by reanimating his states, encouraging

in them commerce and agriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with

a new people, maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming

the arbitrator, after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a

situation to sheath his sword without danger, certain that no sovereign

would oblige him again to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was

afraid he would profit but little by the advantages he had gained, and

that he would be great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon

the subject, and with a familiarity of a nature to please men of his

character, conveying to him the sacred voice of truth, which but few

kings are worthy to hear. The liberty I took was a secret between him

and myself. I did not communicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I

sent my letter to the king sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch

without asking what it contained. His majesty returned me no answer

and the marshal going soon after to Berlin, the king told him he had

received from me a scolding. By this I understood my letter had been

ill received, and the frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the

rusticity of a pedant. In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps

I did not say what was necessary, nor in the manner proper to the

occasion. All I can answer for is the sentiment which induced me to take

up the pen.

Shortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possible

assurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took the

Armenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it. I

had formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, where

the frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made me

more clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience

of an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had at

Montmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress,

troubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet,

before I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion of M.

de Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination. I

therefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of the

storm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it

until I should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months

afterwards that, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could

properly, and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers,

especially after having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me

I might wear it even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the

waistcoat, caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this

dress attended divine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to

visit his lordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner

made me no other compliment than that which consisted in saying "Salaam

aleki," i.e., "Peace be with you;" the common Turkish salutation; after

which nothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my

new dress.

Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading a

quiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I

have never felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction;

my imagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up my

attention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seated

opposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue,

is the only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking and

rambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet and

eyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of

the weather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment

each other, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live

like a savage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the

women, I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat

down to work at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the

better support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time

with my female neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very

amiable and not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois,

daughter of the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as

to induce me to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from

which she derived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and

the services she received from me on occasions of importance, so that

now a worthy and virtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to

me for her reason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I

received from her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy

winter, throughout the whole of which when my sufferings were most

cruel, she came to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she

made very short for us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual

openness of heart. She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and

these names, which we still give to each other, will, I hope, continue

to be as dear to her as they are to me. That my laces might be of some

utility, I gave them to my young female friends at their marriages, upon

condition of their suckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had

one upon these terms, and well deserved it by her observance of them;

Isabella herself also received another, which, by intention, she as

fully merited. She has not been happy enough to be able to pursue her

inclination. When I sent the laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of

them a letter; the first has been shown about in the world; the second

has not the same celebrity: friendship proceeds with less noise.

Amongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will not

enter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had a

house upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was not

anxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon bad

terms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet,

as he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under the

necessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimes

dined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. du

Perou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his name

over in silence.

M. du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whose

successor, M. le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left a

widow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of her

second husband.

Du Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother,

had been carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him.

He had acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself

upon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance,

yellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored this

opinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered

his motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond of

disputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad.

I was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker,

a man of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a

friend. He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the least

compliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had already

formed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and still

less of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said was

just. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neither the

elevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but he

had all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. I

did not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment from

esteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totally

forgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich.

For a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go to

Neuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury.

Why did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness upon

which I must not be silent.

Although protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while

I avoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of the

public, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happened

in France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would have

been afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by

not imitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers of

that city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of state

against me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressed

themselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited my

book, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying,

that had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been suffered

to do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupid

hypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animated

the people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from setting

forth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live

at Motiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have

measured me the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear

price. They would have it that I was obliged to them for the protection

the king granted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to

deprive me of it. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all

the injury they could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power,

they made a merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in

suffering me to stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their

vain efforts, but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had

the weakness to be unwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded

for almost two years, as if it was not doing too much honor to such

wretches, to pay attention to their proceedings, which, good or bad,

could not be imputed to them, because they never act but from a foreign

impulse. Besides, minds without sense or knowledge, whose objects of

esteem are influence, power and money, and far from imagining even that

some respect is due to talents, and that it is dishonorable to injure

and insult them.

A certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had been

deprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, the

husband of Isabella: "I am told this Rousseau has great wit,--bring him

to me that I may see whether he has or not." The disapprobation of such

a man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls.

After the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even

at Neuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had,

however, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he had

given me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer is

indiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after

my solemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestant

country, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as in

the duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion

into which I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the

other hand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing

myself to a refusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the

tumult excited at Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe

(the ministers), he would, without difficulty, administer to me the

sacrament in his church. The time of communion approaching, I wrote

to M. de Montmollin, the minister, to prove to him my desire of

communicating, and declaring myself heartily united to the Protestant

church; I also told him, in order to avoid disputing upon articles of

faith, that I would not hearken to any particular explanation of the

point of doctrine. After taking these steps I made myself easy, not

doubting but M. de Montmollin would refuse to admit me without the

preliminary discussion to which I refused to consent, and that in this

manner everything would be at an end without any fault of mine. I was

deceived: when I least expected anything of the kind, M. de Montmollin

came to declare to me not only that he admitted me to the communion

under the condition which I had proposed, but that he and the elders

thought themselves much honored by my being one of their flock. I

never in my whole life felt greater surprise or received from it more

consolation. Living always alone and unconnected appeared to me a

melancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so many

proscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be

able to say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to

the communion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears

of tenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him

to whose table I was drawing near.

Sometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam de

Boufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means of

D'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, the

first this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency,

she rebuked me severely for having written to M. de Montmollin, and

especially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meant

by her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declared

myself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollande

without incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me

diverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct my

conscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of the

purity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and

I answered her without anger, stating to her my reasons.

Calumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benign

authors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly.

For my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without giving

myself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was a

censure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could the

Sorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to a

certainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was not

one. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of what

consequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singular

care, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this

publication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne,

by way of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the

case. But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all

I could bring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have

been better placed in a madhouse than they were in the college.

I was more affected by another publication, because it came from a man

for whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though

I pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by the

archbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty I

owed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;

the case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I had

always detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I never

combat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must be

certain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I

had no doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although

they were at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old

principle of crushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow

my ancient maxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work

which I think I did completely.

I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wanting

to determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means

of subsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my

old projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my household

arrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale

or squandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since my

departure. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished.

Two or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without my

having the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literary

pursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned.

Persuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that the

public, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, all

my endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolution

should take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a

resource from amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect

I took up my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far

advanced as to leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My

books which I had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my

papers sent me by the same conveyance, furnished me with the means

of beginning my memoirs to which I was determined to give my whole

attention. I began by transcribing the letters into a book, by which

my memory might be guided in the order of fact and time. I had already

selected those I intended to keep for this purpose, and for ten years

the series was not interrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I

found an interruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six

months, from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put

into my selection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d'

Epinay, Madam de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were

missing. What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon

my papers whilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was not

conceivable, and I had seen M. de Luxembourg take the key of the chamber

in which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, and

all those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had been

under the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be put

in order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked

them over for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those

which ought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I

perceived the vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly

been taken away. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could not

comprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and at

the time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could

not be interesting to any person. They contained nothing more than

cavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendship

from M. de Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was then

upon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? To

what use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwards

that I suspected the nature of the theft.

The deficiency being no longer doubtful, I looked over my rough drafts

to see whether or not it was the only one. I found several, which on

account of the badness of my memory, made me suppose others in the

multitude of my papers. Those I remarked were that of the 'Morale

Sensitive', and the extract of the adventures of Lord Edward. The last,

I confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg. La Roche, her valet de

chambre, had sent me the papers, and I could think of nobody but herself

to whom this fragment could be of consequence; but what concern could

the other give her, any more than the rest of the letters missing, with

which, even with evil intentions, nothing to my prejudice could be done,

unless they were falsified? As for the marechal, with whose friendship

for me, and invariable integrity, I was perfectly acquainted, I never

could suspect him for a moment. The most reasonable supposition, after

long tormenting my mind in endeavoring to discover the author of the

theft, was that which imputed it to D'Alembert, who, having thrust

himself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, might have found means

to turn over these papers, and take from amongst them such manuscripts

and letters as he might have thought proper, either for the purpose of

endeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or to appropriate

those he should find useful to his own private purposes. I imagined

that, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might have supposed

it to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with which he

would have armed himself against me in a manner easy to be imagined.

Certain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketch and

determined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me

but little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand had

committed upon me without having complained of these pilferings.

[I had found in his 'Elemens de Musique' (Elements of Music)

several things taken from what I had written for the 'Encyclopedie',

and which were given to him several years before the publication of

his elements. I know not what he may have had to do with a book

entitled 'Dictionaire des Beaux Arts' (Dictionary of the Fine Arts)

but I found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and

this long before the same articles were printed in the

Encyclopedie.]

In a very little time I thought no more of the trick that had been

played me than if nothing had happened, and began to collect the

materials I had left for the purpose of undertaking my projected

confessions.

I had long thought the company of ministers, or at least the citizens

and burgesses of Geneva, would remonstrate against the infraction of the

edict in the decree made against me. Everything remained quiet, at least

to all exterior appearance; for discontent was general, and ready, on

the first opportunity, openly to manifest itself. My friends, or persons

calling themselves such, wrote letter after letter exhorting me to come

and put myself at their head, assuring me of public separation from the

council. The fear of the disturbance and troubles which might be caused

by my presence, prevented me from acquiescing with their desires, and,

faithful to the oath I had formerly made, never to take the least part

in any civil dissension in my country, I chose rather to let the offence

remain as it was, and banish myself forever from the country, than to

return to it by means which were violent and dangerous. It is true,

I expected the burgesses would make legal remonstrances against an

infraction in which their interests were deeply concerned; but no such

steps were taken. They who conducted the body of citizens sought less

the real redress of grievances than an opportunity to render themselves

necessary. They caballed but were silent, and suffered me to be

bespattered by the gossips and hypocrites set on to render me odious in

the eyes of the populace, and pass off their misdemeanors as religious

zeal.

After having, during a whole year, vainly expected that some one would

remonstrate against an illegal proceeding, and seeing myself abandoned

by my fellow-citizens, I determined to renounce my ungrateful country

in which I never had lived, from which I had not received either

inheritance or services, and by which, in return for the honor I had

endeavored to do it, I saw myself so unworthily treated by unanimous

consent, since they, who should have spoken, had remained silent. I

therefore wrote to the first syndic for that year, to M. Favre, if I

remember right, a letter in which I solemnly gave up my freedom of the

city of Geneva, carefully observing in it, however, that decency and

moderation, from which I have never departed in the acts of haughtiness

which, in my misfortunes, the cruelty of my enemies have frequently

forced upon me,

This step opened the eyes of the citizens, who feeling they had

neglected their own interests by abandoning my defence, took my part

when it was too late. They had wrongs of their own which they joined

to mine, and made these the subject of several well-reasoned

representations, which they strengthened and extended, as the refusal of

the council, supported by the ministry of France, made them more clearly

perceive the project formed to impose on them a yoke. These altercations

produced several pamphlets which were undecisive, until that appeared

entitled 'Lettres ecrites de la Campagne', a work written in favor of

the council, with infinite art, and by which the remonstrating party,

reduced to silence, was crushed for a time. This production, a

lasting monument of the rare talents of its author, came from

the Attorney-General Tronchin, a man of wit and an enlightened

understanding, well versed in the laws and government of the republic.

'Siluit terra'.

The remonstrators, recovered from their first overthrow, undertook

to give an answer, and in time produced one which brought them off

tolerably well. But they all looked to me, as the only person capable

of combating a like adversary with hope of success. I confess I was of

their opinion, and excited by my former fellow-citizens, who thought it

was my duty to aid them with my pen, as I had been the cause of

their embarrassment, I undertook to refute the 'Lettres ecrites de la

Campagne', and parodied the title of them by that of 'Lettres ecrites

de la Montagne,' which I gave to mine. I wrote this answer so secretly,

that at a meeting I had at Thonon, with the chiefs of the malcontents

to talk of their affairs, and where they showed me a sketch of their

answer, I said not a word of mine, which was quite ready, fearing

obstacles might arise relative to the impression of it, should the

magistrate or my enemies hear of what I had done. This work was, however

known in France before the publication; but government chose rather

to let it appear, than to suffer me to guess at the means by which my

secret had been discovered. Concerning this I will state what I know,

which is but trifling: what I have conjectured shall remain with myself.

I received, at Motiers, almost as many visits as at the Hermitage and

Montmorency; but these, for the most part were a different kind. They

who had formerly come to see me were people who, having taste, talents,

and principles, something similar to mine, alleged them as the causes

of their visits, and introduced subjects on which I could converse. At

Motiers the case was different, especially with the visitors who came

from France. They were officers or other persons who had no taste for

literature, nor had many of them read my works, although, according to

their own accounts, they had travelled thirty, forty, sixty, and even a

hundred leagues to come and see me, and admire the illustrious man, the

very celebrated, the great man, etc. For from the time of my settling at

Motiers, I received the most impudent flattery, from which the esteem of

those with whom I associated had formerly sheltered me. As but few of my

new visitors deigned to tell me who or what they were, and as they had

neither read nor cast their eye over my works, nor had their researches

and mine been directed to the same objects, I knew not what to speak to

them upon: I waited for what they had to say, because it was for them

to know and tell me the purpose of their visit. It will naturally be

imagined this did not produce conversations very interesting to me,

although they, perhaps, were so to my visitors, according to the

information they might wish to acquire; for as I was without suspicion,

I answered without reserve, to every question they thought proper to

ask me, and they commonly went away as well informed as myself of the

particulars of my situation.

I was, for example, visited in this manner by M. de Feins, equerry to

the queen, and captain of cavalry, who had the patience to pass several

days at Motiers, and to follow me on foot even to La Ferriere, leading

his horse by the bridle, without having with me any point of union,

except our acquaintance with Mademoiselle Fel, and that we both played

at 'bilboquet'. [A kind of cup and ball.]

Before this I had received another visit much more extraordinary. Two

men arrived on foot, each leading a mule loaded with his little baggage,

lodging at the inn, taking care of their mules and asking to see me. By

the equipage of these muleteers they were taken for smugglers, and the

news that smugglers were come to see me was instantly spread. Their

manner of addressing me sufficiently showed they were persons of another

description; but without being smugglers they might be adventurers,

and this doubt kept me for some time on my guard. They soon removed my

apprehensions. One was M. de Montauban, who had the title of Comte de

la Tour du Pin, gentleman to the dauphin; the other, M. Dastier de

Carpentras, an old officer who had his cross of St. Louis in his pocket,

because he could not display it. These gentlemen, both very amiable,

were men of sense, and their manner of travelling, so much to my own

taste, and but little like that of French gentlemen, in some measure

gained them my attachment, which an intercourse with them served to

improve. Our acquaintance did not end with the visit; it is still kept

up, and they have since been several times to see me, not on foot, that

was very well for the first time; but the more I have seen of these

gentlemen the less similarity have I found between their taste and mine;

I have not discovered their maxims to be such as I have ever observed,

that my writings are familiar to them, or that there is any real

sympathy between them and myself. What, therefore, did they want with

me? Why came they to see me with such an equipage? Why repeat their

visit? Why were they so desirous of having me for their host? I did not

at that time propose to myself these questions; but they have sometimes

occurred to me since.

Won by their advances, my heart abandoned itself without reserve,

especially to M. Dastier, with whose open countenance I was more

particularly pleased. I even corresponded with him, and when I

determined to print the 'Letters from the Mountains', I thought of

addressing myself to him, to deceive those by whom my packet was waited

for upon the road to Holland. He had spoken to me a good deal, and

perhaps purposely, upon the liberty of the press at Avignon; he offered

me his services should I have anything to print there: I took advantage

of the offer and sent him successively by the post my first sheets.

After having kept these for some time, he sent them back to me,

"Because," said he, "no bookseller dared to sell them;" and I was

obliged to have recourse to Rey taking care to send my papers, one after

the other, and not to part with those which succeeded until I had advice

of the reception of those already sent. Before the work was published,

I found it had been seen in the office of the ministers, and D'Escherny,

of Neuchatel, spoke to me of the book, entitled 'De l'Homme de la

Montagne', which D'Holbach had told him was by me. I assured him, and

it was true, that I never had written a book which bore that title. When

the letters appeared he became furious, and accused me of falsehood;

although I had told him truth. By this means I was certain my manuscript

had been read; as I could not doubt the fidelity of Rey, the most

rational conjecture seemed to be, that my packets had been opened at the

post-house.

Another acquaintance I made much about the same time, but which was

begun by letters, was that with M. Laliand of Nimes, who wrote to me

from Paris, begging I would send him my profile; he said he was in want

of it for my bust in marble, which Le Moine was making for him to be

placed in his library. If this was a pretence invented to deceive me,

it fully succeeded. I imagined that a man who wished to have my bust in

marble in his library had his head full of my works, consequently of

my principles, and that he loved me because his mind was in unison with

mine. It was natural this idea should seduce me. I have since seen M.

Laliand. I found him very ready to render me many trifling services,

and to concern himself in my little affairs, but I have my doubts of his

having, in the few books he ever read, fallen upon any one of those I

have written. I do not know that he has a library, or that such a thing

is of any use to him; and for the bust he has a bad figure in plaster,

by Le Moine, from which has been engraved a hideous portrait that bears

my name, as if it bore to me some resemblance.

The only Frenchman who seemed to come to see me, on account of my

sentiments, and his taste for my works, was a young officer of the

regiment of Limousin, named Seguier de St. Brisson. He made a figure

in Paris, where he still perhaps distinguishes himself by his pleasing

talents and wit. He came once to Montmorency, the winter which preceded

my catastrophe. I was pleased with his vivacity. He afterwards wrote to

me at Motiers, and whether he wished to flatter me, or that his head was

turned with Emilius, he informed me he was about to quit the service to

live independently, and had begun to learn the trade of a carpenter. He

had an elder brother, a captain in the same regiment, the favorite of

the mother, who, a devotee to excess, and directed by I know not

what hypocrite, did not treat the youngest son well, accusing him of

irreligion, and what was still worse, of the unpardonable crime of being

connected with me. These were the grievances, on account of which he

was determined to break with his mother, and adopt the manner of life

of which I have just spoken, all to play the part of the young Emilius.

Alarmed at his petulance, I immediately wrote to him, endeavoring to

make him change his resolution, and my exhortations were as strong as I

could make them. They had their effect. He returned to his duty, to his

mother, and took back the resignation he had given the colonel, who had

been prudent enough to make no use of it, that the young man might

have time to reflect upon what he had done. St. Brisson, cured of these

follies, was guilty of another less alarming, but, to me, not less

disagreeable than the rest: he became an author. He successively

published two or three pamphlets which announced a man not devoid of

talents, but I have not to reproach myself with having encouraged him by

my praises to continue to write.

Some time afterwards he came to see me, and we made together a

pilgrimage to the island of St. Pierre. During this journey I found him

different from what I saw of him at Montmorency. He had, in his manner,

something affected, which at first did not much disgust me, although I

have since thought of it to his disadvantage. He once visited me at the

hotel de St. Simon, as I passed through Paris on my way to England. I

learned there what he had not told me, that he lived in the great world,

and often visited Madam de Luxembourg. Whilst I was at Trie, I never

heard from him, nor did he so much as make inquiry after me, by means of

his relation Mademoiselle Seguier, my neighbor. This lady never seemed

favorably disposed towards me. In a word, the infatuation of M. de St.

Brisson ended suddenly, like the connection of M. de Feins: but this man

owed me nothing, and the former was under obligations to me, unless

the follies I prevented him from committing were nothing more than

affectation; which might very possibly be the case.

I had visits from Geneva also. The Delucs, father and son, successively

chose me for their attendant in sickness. The father was taken ill on

the road, the son was already sick when he left Geneva; they both came

to my house. Ministers, relations, hypocrites, and persons of every

description came from Geneva and Switzerland, not like those from

France, to laugh at and admire me, but to rebuke and catechise me. The

only person amongst them who gave me pleasure, was Moultou, who passed

with me three or four days, and whom I wished to remain much longer;

the most persevering of all, the most obstinate, and who conquered me

by importunity, was a M. d'Ivernois, a merchant at Geneva, a French

refugee, and related to the attorney-general of Neuchatel. This man came

from Geneva to Motiers twice a year, on purpose to see me, remained with

me several days together from morning to night, accompanied me in my

walks, brought me a thousand little presents, insinuated himself in

spite of me into my confidence, and intermeddled in all my affairs,

notwithstanding there was not between him and myself the least

similarity of ideas, inclination, sentiment, or knowledge. I do not

believe he ever read a book of any kind throughout, or that he knows

upon what subject mine are written. When I began to herbalize, he

followed me in my botanical rambles, without taste for that amusement,

or having anything to say to me or I to him. He had the patience to pass

with me three days in a public house at Goumoins, whence, by wearying

him and making him feel how much he wearied me, I was in hopes

of driving him away. I could not, however, shake his incredible

perseverance, nor by any means discover the motive of it.

Amongst these connections, made and continued by force, I must not omit

the only one that was agreeable to me, and in which my heart was really

interested: this was that I had with a young Hungarian who came to live

at Neuchatel, and from that place to Motiers, a few months after I had

taken up my residence there. He was called by the people of the country

the Baron de Sauttern, by which name he had been recommended from

Zurich. He was tall, well made, had an agreeable countenance, and mild

and social qualities. He told everybody, and gave me also to understand

that he came to Neuchatel for no other purpose, than that of forming his

youth to virtue, by his intercourse with me. His physiognomy, manner,

and behavior, seemed well suited to his conversation, and I should have

thought I failed in one of the greatest duties had I turned my back upon

a young man in whom I perceived nothing but what was amiable, and who

sought my acquaintance from so respectable a motive. My heart knows not

how to connect itself by halves. He soon acquired my friendship, and all

my confidence, and we were presently inseparable. He accompanied me in

all my walks, and became fond of them. I took him to the marechal, who

received him with the utmost kindness. As he was yet unable to explain

himself in French, he spoke and wrote to me in Latin, I answered

in French, and this mingling of the two languages did not make our

conversations either less smooth or lively. He spoke of his family, his

affairs, his adventures, and of the court of Vienna, with the domestic

details of which he seemed well acquainted. In fine, during two years

which we passed in the greatest intimacy, I found in him a mildness of

character proof against everything, manners not only polite but elegant,

great neatness of person, an extreme decency in his conversation, in a

word, all the marks of a man born and educated a gentleman, and which

rendered him in my eyes too estimable not to make him dear to me.

At the time we were upon the most intimate and friendly terms, D'

Ivernois wrote to me from Geneva, putting me upon my guard against

the young Hungarian who had taken up his residence in my neighborhood;

telling me he was a spy whom the minister of France had appointed to

watch my proceedings. This information was of a nature to alarm me

the more, as everybody advised me to guard against the machinations of

persons who were employed to keep an eye upon my actions, and to entice

me into France for the purpose of betraying me. To shut the mouths,

once for all, of these foolish advisers, I proposed to Sauttern, without

giving him the least intimation of the information I had received, a

journey on foot to Pontarlier, to which he consented. As soon as we

arrived there I put the letter from D'Ivernois into his hands, and after

giving him an ardent embrace, I said: "Sauttern has no need of a proof

of my confidence in him, but it is necessary I should prove to the

public that I know in whom to place it." This embrace was accompanied

with a pleasure which persecutors can neither feel themselves, nor take

away from the oppressed.

I will never believe Sauttern was a spy, nor that he betrayed me: but I

was deceived by him. When I opened to him my heart without reserve, he

constantly kept his own shut, and abused me by lies. He invented I know

not what kind of story, to prove to me his presence was necessary in his

own country. I exhorted him to return to it as soon as possible. He

set off, and when I thought he was in Hungary, I learned he was at

Strasbourgh. This was not the first time he had been there. He had

caused some disorder in a family in that city; and the husband knowing I

received him in my house, wrote to me. I used every effort to bring the

young woman back to the paths of virtue, and Sauttern to his duty.

When I thought they were perfectly detached from each other, they

renewed their acquaintance, and the husband had the complaisance to

receive the young man at his house; from that moment I had nothing

more to say. I found the pretended baron had imposed upon me by a

great number of lies. His name was not Sauttern, but Sauttersheim. With

respect to the title of baron, given him in Switzerland, I could not

reproach him with the impropriety, because he had never taken it; but

I have not a doubt of his being a gentleman, and the marshal, who knew

mankind, and had been in Hungary, always considered and treated him as

such.

He had no sooner left my neighborhood, than the girl at the inn where he

ate, at Motiers, declared herself with child by him. She was so dirty

a creature, and Sauttern, generally esteemed in the country for his

conduct and purity of morals, piqued himself so much upon cleanliness,

that everybody was shocked at this impudent pretension. The most amiable

women of the country, who had vainly displayed to him their charms,

were furious: I myself was almost choked with indignation. I used every

effort to get the tongue of this impudent woman stopped, offering to pay

all expenses, and to give security for Sauttersheim. I wrote to him in

the fullest persuasion, not only that this pregnancy could not relate to

him, but that it was feigned, and the whole a machination of his enemies

and mine. I wished him to return and confound the strumpet, and those by

whom she was dictated to. The pusillanimity of his answer surprised me.

He wrote to the master of the parish to which the creature belonged, and

endeavored to stifle the matter. Perceiving this, I concerned myself no

more about it, but I was astonished that a man who could stoop so low

should have been sufficiently master of himself to deceive me by his

reserve in the closest familiarity.

From Strasbourgh, Sauttersheim went to seek his fortune in Paris, and

found there nothing but misery. He wrote to me acknowledging his error.

My compassion was excited by the recollection of our former friendship,

and I sent him a sum of money. The year following, as I passed through

Paris, I saw him much in the same situation; but he was the intimate

friend of M. de Laliand, and I could not learn by what means he had

formed this acquaintance, or whether it was recent or of long standing.

Two years afterwards Sauttersheim returned to Strasbourgh, whence he

wrote to me and where he died. This, in a few words, is the history of

our connection, and what I know of his adventures; but while I mourn the

fate of the unhappy young man, I still, and ever shall, believe he was

the son of people of distinction, and the impropriety of his conduct was

the effect of the situations to which he was reduced.

Such were the connections and acquaintance I acquired at Motiers. How

many of these would have been necessary to compensate the cruel losses I

suffered at the same time.

The first of these was that of M. de Luxembourg, who, after having been

long tormented by the physicians, at length became their victim, by

being treated for the gout which they would not acknowledge him to have,

as for a disorder they thought they could cure.

According to what La Roche, the confidential servant of Madam de

Luxembourg, wrote to me relative to what had happened, it is by this

cruel and memorable example that the miseries of greatness are to be

deplored.

The loss of this good nobleman afflicted me the more, as he was the only

real friend I had in France, and the mildness of his character was such

as to make me quite forget his rank, and attach myself to him as his

equal. Our connection was not broken off on account of my having quitted

the kingdom; he continued to write to me as usual.

I nevertheless thought I perceived that absence, or my misfortune, had

cooled his affection for me. It is difficult to a courtier to preserve

the same attachment to a person whom he knows to be in disgrace with

courts. I moreover suspected the great ascendancy Madam de Luxembourg

had over his mind had been unfavorable to me, and that she had taken

advantage of our separation to injure me in his esteem. For her part,

notwithstanding a few affected marks of regard, which daily became less

frequent, she less concealed the change in her friendship. She wrote to

me four or five times into Switzerland, after which she never wrote to

me again, and nothing but my prejudice, confidence and blindness, could

have prevented my discovering in her something more than a coolness

towards me.

Guy the bookseller, partner with Duchesne, who, after I had left

Montmorency, frequently went to the hotel de Luxembourg, wrote to me

that my name was in the will of the marechal. There was nothing in this

either incredible or extraordinary, on which account I had no doubt of

the truth of the information. I deliberated within myself whether or not

I should receive the legacy. Everything well considered, I determined to

accept it, whatever it might be, and to do that honor to the memory of

an honest man, who, in a rank in which friendship is seldom found, had

had a real one for me. I had not this duty to fulfill. I heard no more

of the legacy, whether it were true or false; and in truth I should have

felt some pain in offending against one of the great maxims of my system

of morality, in profiting by anything at the death of a person whom

I had once held dear. During the last illness of our friend Mussard,

Leneips proposed to me to take advantage of the grateful sense he

expressed for our cares, to insinuate to him dispositions in our favor.

"Ah! my dear Leneips," said I, "let us not pollute by interested ideas

the sad but sacred duties we discharge towards our dying friend. I hope

my name will never be found in the testament of any person, at least not

in that of a friend." It was about this time that my lord marshal spoke

to me of his, of what he intended to do in it for me, and that I made

him the answer of which I have spoken in the first part of my memoirs.

My second loss, still more afflicting and irreparable, was that of the

best of women and mothers, who, already weighed down with years, and

overburthened with infirmities and misery, quitted this vale of tears

for the abode of the blessed, where the amiable remembrance of the good

we have done here below is the eternal reward of our benevolence. Go,

gentle and beneficent shade, to those of Fenelon, Bernex, Catinat, and

others, who in a more humble state have, like them, opened their hearts

to pure charity; go and taste of the fruit of your own benevolence, and

prepare for your son the place he hopes to fill by your side. Happy in

your misfortunes that Heaven, in putting to them a period, has spared

you the cruel spectacle of his! Fearing, lest I should fill her heart

with sorrow by the recital of my first disasters, I had not written to

her since my arrival in Switzerland; but I wrote to M. de Conzie, to

inquire after her situation, and it was from him I learned she had

ceased to alleviate the sufferings of the afflicted, and that her own

were at an end. I myself shall not suffer long; but if I thought I

should not see her again in the life to come, my feeble imagination

would less delight in the idea of the perfect happiness I there hope to

enjoy.

My third and last loss, for since that time I have not had a friend to

lose, was that of the lord marshal. He did not die but tired of serving

the ungrateful, he left Neuchatel, and I have never seen him since. He

still lives, and will, I hope, survive me: he is alive, and thanks to

him all my attachments on earth are not destroyed. There is one man

still worthy of my friendship; for the real value of this consists

more in what we feel than in that which we inspire; but I have lost the

pleasure I enjoyed in his, and can rank him in the number of those only

whom I love, but with whom I am no longer connected. He went to England

to receive the pardon of the king, and acquired the possession of

the property which formerly had been confiscated. We did not separate

without an intention of again being united, the idea of which seemed to

give him as much pleasure as I received from it. He determined to reside

at Keith Hall, near Aberdeen, and I was to join him as soon as he was

settled there: but this project was too flattering to my hopes to give

me any of its success. He did not remain in Scotland. The affectionate

solicitations of the King of Prussia induced him to return to Berlin,

and the reason of my not going to him there will presently appear.

Before this departure, foreseeing the storm which my enemies began

to raise against me, he of his own accord sent me letters of

naturalization, which seemed to be a certain means of preventing me from

being driven from the country. The community of the Convent of Val de

Travers followed the example of the governor, and gave me letters of

Communion, gratis, as they were the first. Thus, in every respect,

become a citizen, I was sheltered from legal expulsion, even by the

prince; but it has never been by legitimate means, that the man who,

of all others, has shown the greatest respect for the laws, has been

persecuted. I do not think I ought to enumerate, amongst the number of

my losses at this time, that of the Abbe Malby. Having lived sometime at

the house of his mother, I have been acquainted with the abbe, but

not very intimately, and I have reason to believe the nature of his

sentiments with respect to me changed after I acquired a greater

celebrity than he already had. But the first time I discovered his

insincerity was immediately after the publication of the 'Letters from

the Mountain'. A letter attributed to him, addressed to Madam Saladin,

was handed about in Geneva, in which he spoke of this work as the

seditious clamors of a furious demagogue.

The esteem I had for the Abbe Malby, and my great opinion of his

understanding, did not permit me to believe this extravagant letter was

written by him. I acted in this business with my usual candor. I sent

him a copy of the letter, informing him he was said to be the author of

it. He returned me no answer. This silence astonished me: but what was

my surprise when by a letter I received from Madam de Chenonceaux, I

learned the Abbe was really the author of that which was attributed to

him, and found himself greatly embarrassed by mine. For even supposing

for a moment that what he stated was true, how could he justify so

public an attack, wantonly made, without obligation or necessity,

for the sole purpose of overwhelming in the midst of his greatest

misfortunes, a man to whom he had shown himself a well-wisher, and who

had not done anything that could excite his enmity? In a short time

afterwards the 'Dialogues of Phocion', in which I perceived nothing but

a compilation, without shame or restraint, from my writings, made their

appearance.

In reading this book I perceived the author had not the least regard for

me, and that in future I must number him among my most bitter enemies.

I do not believe he has ever pardoned me for the Social Contract, far

superior to his abilities, or the Perpetual Peace; and I am, besides, of

opinion that the desire he expressed that I should make an extract

from the Abbe de St. Pierre, proceeded from a supposition in him that I

should not acquit myself of it so well.

The further I advance in my narrative, the less order I feel myself

capable of observing. The agitation of the rest of my life has deranged

in my ideas the succession of events. These are too numerous, confused,

and disagreeable to be recited in due order. The only strong impression

they have left upon my mind is that of the horrid mystery by which the

cause of them is concealed, and of the deplorable state to which they

have reduced me. My narrative will in future be irregular, and according

to the events which, without order, may occur to my recollection.

I remember about the time to which I refer, full of the idea of my

confessions, I very imprudently spoke of them to everybody, never

imagining it could be the wish or interest, much less within the power

of any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in the way of this

undertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would not have rendered

me more discreet, as from the nature of my disposition it is totally

impossible for me to conceal either my thoughts or feelings. The

knowledge of this enterprise was, as far as I can judge, the cause of

the storm that was raised to drive me from Switzerland, and deliver me

into the hands of those by whom I might be prevented from executing it.

I had another project in contemplation which was not looked upon with

a more favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first: this was a

general edition of my works. I thought this edition of them necessary to

ascertain what books, amongst those to which my name was affixed,

were really written by me, and to furnish the public with the means of

distinguishing them from the writings falsely attributed to me by my

enemies, to bring me to dishonor and contempt. This was besides a simple

and an honorable means of insuring to myself a livelihood, and the only

one that remained to me. As I had renounced the profession of an author,

my memoirs not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime; as I no

longer gained a farthing in any manner whatsoever, and constantly lived

at a certain expense, I saw the end of my resources in that of the

produce of the last things I had written. This reason had induced me

to hasten the finishing of my Dictionary of Music, which still was

incomplete. I had received for it a hundred louis (guineas) and a life

annuity of three hundred livres; but a hundred louis could not last

long in the hands of a man who annually expended upwards of sixty, and

three-hundred livres (twelve guineas) a year was but a trifling sum to

one upon whom parasites and beggarly visitors lighted like a swarm of

flies.

A company of merchants from Neuchatel came to undertake the general

edition, and a printer or bookseller of the name of Reguillat, from

Lyons, thrust himself, I know not by what means, amongst them to direct

it. The agreement was made upon reasonable terms, and sufficient to

accomplish my object. I had in print and manuscript, matter for six

volumes in quarto. I moreover agreed to give my assistance in bringing

out the edition. The merchants were, on their part, to pay me a thousand

crowns (one hundred and twenty-five pounds) down, and to assign me an

annuity of sixteen hundred livres (sixty-six pounds) for life.

The agreement was concluded but not signed, when the Letters from the

Mountain appeared. The terrible explosion caused by this infernal work,

and its abominable author, terrified the company, and the undertaking

was at an end. I would compare the effect of this last production

to that of the Letter on French Music, had not that letter, while it

brought upon me hatred, and exposed me to danger, acquired me respect

and esteem. But after the appearance of the last work, it was a matter

of astonishment at Geneva and Versailles that such a monster as the

author of it should be suffered to exist. The little council, excited

by the French resident, and directed by the attorney-general, made a

declaration against my work, by which, in the most severe terms, it was

declared to be unworthy of being burned by the hands of the hangman,

adding, with an address which bordered upon the burlesque, there was

no possibility of speaking of or answering it without dishonor. I would

here transcribe the curious piece of composition, but unfortunately I

have it not by me. I ardently wish some of my readers, animated by the

zeal of truth and equity, would read over the Letters from the Mountain:

they will, I dare hope, feel the stoical moderation which reigns

throughout the whole, after all the cruel outrages with which the author

was loaded. But unable to answer the abuse, because no part of it

could be called by that name nor to the reasons because these were

unanswerable, my enemies pretended to appear too much enraged to reply:

and it is true, if they took the invincible arguments it contains for

abuse, they must have felt themselves roughly treated.

The remonstrating party, far from complaining of the odious declaration,

acted according to the spirit of it, and instead of making a trophy of

the Letters from the Mountain, which they veiled to make them serve as

a shield, were pusillanimous enough not to do justice or honor to that

work, written to defend them, and at their own solicitation. They did

not either quote or mention the letters, although they tacitly drew from

them all their arguments, and by exactly following the advice with which

they conclude, made them the sole cause of their safety and triumph.

They had imposed on me this duty: I had fulfilled it, and unto the end

had served their cause and the country. I begged of them to abandon me,

and in their quarrels to think of nobody but themselves. They took me

at my word, and I concerned myself no more about their affairs, further

than constantly to exhort them to peace, not doubting, should they

continue to be obstinate, of their being crushed by France; this however

did not happen; I know the reason why it did not, but this is not the

place to explain what I mean.

The effect produced at Neuchatel by the Letters from the Mountain was at

first very mild. I sent a copy of them to M. de Montmollin, who received

it favorably, and read it without making any objection. He was ill as

well as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in a friendly manner to

see me, and conversed on general subjects. A rumor was however begun;

the book was burned I know not where. From Geneva, Berne, and perhaps

from Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed to Neuchatel, and

especially to Val de Travers, where, before even the ministers had taken

any apparent steps, an attempt was secretly made to stir up the people.

I ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by the people of that

country in which I have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leaving

about me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing to do

any service in my power, and which was consistent with justice, making

myself perhaps too familiar with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it

was possible for me to do it, all distinction which might excite the

least jealousy. This, however, did not prevent the populace, secretly

stirred up against me, by I know not whom, from being by degrees

irritated against me, even to fury, nor from publicly insulting me, not

only in the country and upon the road, but in the street. Those to whom

I had rendered the greatest services became most irritated against me,

and even people who still continued to receive my benefactions, not

daring to appear, excited others, and seemed to wish thus to be revenged

of me for their humiliation, by the obligations they were under for the

favors I had conferred upon them. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention

to what was passing, and did not yet come forward. But as the time of

communion approached, he came to advise me not to present myself at the

holy table, assuring me, however, he was not my enemy, and that he

would leave me undisturbed. I found this compliment whimsical enough;

it brought to my recollection the letter from Madam de Boufflers, and

I could not conceive to whom it could be a matter of such importance

whether I communicated or not. Considering this condescension on my part

as an act of cowardice, and moreover, being unwilling to give to the

people a new pretext under which they might charge me with impiety,

I refused the request of the minister, and he went away dissatisfied,

giving me to understand I should repent of my obstinacy.