He could not of his own authority forbid me the communion: that of the

Consistory, by which I had been admitted to it, was necessary, and as

long as there was no objection from that body I might present myself

without the fear of being refused. Montmollin procured from the Classe

(the ministers) a commission to summon me to the Consistory, there to

give an account of the articles of my faith, and to excommunicate me

should I refuse to comply. This excommunication could not be pronounced

without the aid of the Consistory also, and a majority of the voices.

But the peasants, who under the appellation of elders, composed this

assembly, presided over and governed by their minister, might naturally

be expected to adopt his opinion, especially in matters of the clergy,

which they still less understood than he did. I was therefore summoned,

and I resolved to appear.

What a happy circumstance and triumph would this have been to me could I

have spoken, and had I, if I may so speak, had my pen in my mouth! With

what superiority, with what facility even, should I have overthrown this

poor minister in the midst of his six peasants! The thirst after power

having made the Protestant clergy forget all the principles of the

reformation, all I had to do to recall these to their recollection and

to reduce them to silence, was to make comments upon my first 'Letters

from the Mountain', upon which they had the folly to animadvert.

My text was ready, and I had only to enlarge on it, and my adversary

was confounded. I should not have been weak enough to remain on the

defensive; it was easy to me to become an assailant without his even

perceiving it, or being able to shelter himself from my attack. The

contemptible priests of the Classe, equally careless and ignorant, had

of themselves placed me in the most favorable situation I could desire

to crush them at pleasure. But what of this? It was necessary I should

speak without hesitation, and find ideas, turn of expression, and words

at will, preserving a presence of mind, and keeping myself collected,

without once suffering even a momentary confusion. For what could I

hope, feeling as I did, my want of aptitude to express myself with ease?

I had been reduced to the most mortifying silence at Geneva, before an

assembly which was favorable to me, and previously resolved to approve

of everything I should say. Here, on the contrary, I had to do with a

cavalier who, substituting cunning to knowledge, would spread for me a

hundred snares before I could perceive one of them, and was resolutely

determined to catch me in an error let the consequence be what it would.

The more I examined the situation in which I stood, the greater danger

I perceived myself exposed to, and feeling the impossibility of

successfully withdrawing from it, I thought of another expedient.

I meditated a discourse which I intended to pronounce before the

Consistory, to exempt myself from the necessity of answering. The thing

was easy. I wrote the discourse and began to learn it by memory, with

an inconceivable ardor. Theresa laughed at hearing me mutter and

incessantly repeat the same phrases, while endeavoring to cram them into

my head. I hoped, at length, to remember what I had written: I knew the

chatelain as an officer attached to the service of the prince, would be

present at the Consistory, and that notwithstanding the manoeuvres and

bottles of Montmollin, most of the elders were well disposed towards

me. I had, moreover, in my favor, reason, truth, and justice, with the

protection of the king, the authority of the council of state, and the

good wishes of every real patriot, to whom the establishment of

this inquisition was threatening. In fine, everything contributed to

encourage me.

On the eve of the day appointed, I had my discourse by rote, and recited

it without missing a word. I had it in my head all night: in the morning

I had forgotten it. I hesitated at every word, thought myself before the

assembly, became confused, stammered, and lost my presence of mind. In

fine, when the time to make my appearance was almost at hand, my courage

totally failed me. I remained at home and wrote to the Consistory,

hastily stating my reasons, and pleaded my disorder, which really, in

the state to which apprehension had reduced me, would scarcely have

permitted me to stay out the whole sitting.

The minister, embarrassed by my letter, adjourned the Consistory. In the

interval, he of himself, and by his creatures, made a thousand efforts

to seduce the elders, who, following the dictates of their consciences,

rather than those they received from him, did not vote according to his

wishes, or those of the Classe. Whatever power his arguments drawn from

his cellar might have over this kind of people, he could not gain one of

them, more than the two or three who were already devoted to his will,

and who were called his 'ames damnees'.--[damned souls]--The officer of

the prince, and the Colonel Pury, who, in this affair, acted with great

zeal, kept the rest to their duty, and when Montmollin wished to proceed

to excommunication, his Consistory, by a majority of voices, flatly

refused to authorize him to do it. Thus reduced to the last expedient,

that of stirring up the people against me, he, his colleagues, and

other persons, set about it openly, and were so successful, that

not-withstanding the strong and frequent rescripts of the king, and

the orders of the council of state, I was at length obliged to quit the

country, that I might not expose the officer of the king to be himself

assassinated while he protected me.

The recollection of the whole of this affair is so confused, that it

is impossible for me to reduce to or connect the circumstances of it. I

remember a kind of negotiation had been entered into with the Classe, in

which Montmollin was the mediator. He feigned to believe it was feared I

should, by my writings, disturb the peace of the country, in which

case, the liberty I had of writing would be blamed. He had given me to

understand that if I consented to lay down my pen, what was past would

be forgotten. I had already entered into this engagement with myself,

and did not hesitate in doing it with the Classe, but conditionally and

solely in matters of religion. He found means to have a duplicate of

the agreement upon some change necessary to be made in it, the condition

having been rejected by the Classe; I demanded back the writing, which

was returned to me, but he kept the duplicate, pretending it was lost.

After this, the people, openly excited by the ministers, laughed at the

rescripts of the king, and the orders of the council of state, and

shook off all restraint. I was declaimed against from the pulpit, called

antichrist, and pursued in the country like a mad wolf. My Armenian

dress discovered me to the populace; of this I felt the cruel

inconvenience, but to quit it in such circumstances, appeared to me

an act of cowardice. I could not prevail upon myself to do it, and I

quietly walked through the country with my caffetan and fur bonnet in

the midst of the hootings of the dregs of the people, and sometimes

through a shower of stones. Several times as I passed before houses, I

heard those by whom they were inhabited call out: "Bring me my gun that

I may fire at him." As I did not on this account hasten my pace, my

calmness increased their fury, but they never went further than threats,

at least with respect to firearms.

During the fermentation I received from two circumstances the most

sensible pleasure. The first was my having it in my power to prove

my gratitude by means of the lord marshal. The honest part of the

inhabitants of Neuchatel, full of indignation at the treatment I

received, and the manoeuvres of which I was the victim, held the

ministers in execration, clearly perceiving they were obedient to a

foreign impulse, and the vile agents of people, who, in making them act,

kept themselves concealed; they were moreover afraid my case would

have dangerous consequences, and be made a precedent for the purpose of

establishing a real inquisition.

The magistrates, and especially M. Meuron, who had succeeded M. d'

Ivernois in the office of attorney-general, made every effort to defend

me. Colonel Pury, although a private individual, did more and succeeded

better. It was the colonel who found means to make Montmollin submit in

his Consistory, by keeping the elders to their duty. He had credit,

and employed it to stop the sedition; but he had nothing more than the

authority of the laws, and the aid of justice and reason, to oppose

to that of money and wine: the combat was unequal, and in this point

Montmollin was triumphant. However, thankful for his zeal and cares, I

wished to have it in my power to make him a return of good offices, and

in some measure discharge a part of the obligations I was under to him.

I knew he was very desirous of being named a counsellor of state; but

having displeased the court by his conduct in the affair of the minister

Petitpierre, he was in disgrace with the prince and governor. I however

undertook, at all risks, to write to the lord marshal in his favor: I

went so far as even to mention the employment of which he was

desirous, and my application was so well received that, contrary to the

expectations of his most ardent well wishers, it was almost instantly

conferred upon him by the king. In this manner fate, which has

constantly raised me to too great an elevation, or plunged me into an

abyss of adversity, continued to toss me from one extreme to another,

and whilst the populace covered me with mud I was able to make a

counsellor of state.

The other pleasing circumstance was a visit I received from Madam de

Verdelin with her daughter, with whom she had been at the baths of

Bourbonne, whence they came to Motiers and stayed with me two or three

days. By her attention and cares, she at length conquered my long

repugnancy; and my heart, won by her endearing manner, made her a

return of all the friendship of which she had long given me proofs.

This journey made me extremely sensible of her kindness: my situation

rendered the consolations of friendship highly necessary to support me

under my sufferings. I was afraid she would be too much affected by the

insults I received from the populace, and could have wished to conceal

them from her that her feelings might not be hurt, but this was

impossible; and although her presence was some check upon the insolent

populace in our walks, she saw enough of their brutality to enable her

to judge of what passed when I was alone. During the short residence she

made at Motiers, I was still attacked in my habitation. One morning

her chambermaid found my window blocked up with stones, which had been

thrown at it during the night. A very heavy bench placed in the street

by the side of the house, and strongly fastened down, was taken up and

reared against the door in such a manner as, had it not been perceived

from the window, to have knocked down the first person who should

have opened the door to go out. Madam de Verdelin was acquainted with

everything that passed; for, besides what she herself was witness to,

her confidential servant went into many houses in the village, spoke to

everybody, and was seen in conversation with Montmollin. She did not,

however, seem to pay the least attention to that which happened to me,

nor never mentioned Montmollin nor any other person, and answered in a

few words to what I said to her of him. Persuaded that a residence in

England would be more agreeable to me than any other, she frequently

spoke of Mr. Hume who was then at Paris, of his friendship for me, and

the desire he had of being of service to me in his own country. It is

time I should say something of Hume.

He had acquired a great reputation in France amongst the Encyclopedists

by his essays on commerce and politics, and in the last place by his

history of the House of Stuart, the only one of his writings of which

I had read a part, in the translation of the Abbe Prevot. For want of

being acquainted with his other works, I was persuaded, according to

what I heard of him, that Mr. Hume joined a very republican mind to the

English Paradoxes in favor of luxury. In this opinion I considered his

whole apology of Charles I. as a prodigy of impartiality, and I had

as great an idea of his virtue as of his genius. The desire of being

acquainted with this great man, and of obtaining his friendship, had

greatly strengthened the inclination I felt to go to England, induced

by the solicitations of Madam de Boufflers, the intimate friend of Hume.

After my arrival in Switzerland, I received from him, by means of this

lady, a letter extremely flattering; in which, to the highest encomiums

on my genius, he subjoined a pressing invitation to induce me to go to

England, and the offer of all his interest, and that of his friends, to

make my residence there agreeable. I found in the country to which I

had retired, the lord marshal, the countryman and friend of Hume, who

confirmed my good opinion of him, and from whom I learned a literary

anecdote, which did him great honor in the opinion of his lordship and

had the same effect in mine. Wallace, who had written against Hume upon

the subject of the population of the ancients, was absent whilst his

work was in the press. Hume took upon himself to examine the proofs, and

to do the needful to the edition. This manner of acting was according

to my way of thinking. I had sold at six sous (three pence) a piece,

the copies of a song written against myself. I was, therefore, strongly

prejudiced in favor of Hume, when Madam de Verdelin came and mentioned

the lively friendship he expressed for me, and his anxiety to do me the

honors of England; such was her expression. She pressed me a good

deal to take advantage of this zeal and to write to him. As I had not

naturally an inclination to England, and did not intend to go there

until the last extremity, I refused to write or make any promise; but

I left her at liberty to do whatever she should think necessary to keep

Mr. Hume favorably disposed towards me. When she went from Motiers,

she left me in the persuasion, by everything she had said to me of that

illustrious man, that he was my friend, and she herself still more his.

After her departure, Montmollin carried on his manoeuvres with more

vigor, and the populace threw off all restraint. Yet I still continued

to walk quietly amidst the hootings of the vulgar; and a taste for

botany, which I had begun to contract with Doctor d'Ivernois, making my

rambling more amusing, I went through the country herbalising, without

being affected by the clamors of this scum of the earth, whose fury

was still augmented by my calmness. What affected me most was, seeing

families of my friends, or of persons who gave themselves that name,

openly join the league of my persecutors; such as the D'Ivernois,

without excepting the father and brother of my Isabel le Boy de la Tour,

a relation to the friend in whose house I lodged, and Madam Girardier,

her sister-in-law.

[This fatality had begun with my residence at Yverdon; the banneret

Roguin dying a year or two after my departure from that city, the

old papa Roguin had the candor to inform me with grief, as he said,

that in the papers of his relation, proofs had been found of his

having been concerned in the conspiracy to expel me from Yverdon and

the state of Berne. This clearly proved the conspiracy not to be,

as some people pretended to believe, an affair of hypocrisy; since

the banneret, far from being a devotee, carried materialism and

incredulity to intolerance and fanaticism. Besides, nobody at

Yverdon had shown me more constant attention, nor had so prodigally

bestowed upon me praises and flattery as this banneret. He

faithfully followed the favorite plan of my persecutors.]

This Peter Boy was such a brute; so stupid, and behaved so uncouthly,

that, to prevent my mind from being disturbed, I took the liberty to

ridicule him; and after the manner of the 'Petit Prophete', I wrote a

pamphlet of a few pages, entitled, 'la Vision de Pierre de la Montagne

dit le Voyant,--[The vision of Peter of the Mountain called the

Seer.]--in which I found means to be diverting enough on the miracles

which then served as the great pretext for my persecution. Du Peyrou

had this scrap printed at Geneva, but its success in the country was but

moderate; the Neuchatelois with all their wit, taste but weakly attic

salt or pleasantry when these are a little refined.

In the midst of decrees and persecutions, the Genevese had distinguished

themselves by setting up a hue and cry with all their might; and my

friend Vernes amongst others, with an heroical generosity, chose that

moment precisely to publish against me letters in which he pretended

to prove I was not a Christian. These letters, written with an air of

self-sufficiency, were not the better for it, although it was positively

said the celebrated Bonnet had given them some correction: for this man,

although a materialist, has an intolerant orthodoxy the moment I am in

question. There certainly was nothing in this work which could tempt me

to answer it; but having an opportunity of saying a few words upon it

in my 'Letters from the Mountain', I inserted in them a short note

sufficiently expressive of disdain to render Vernes furious. He filled

Geneva with his furious exclamations, and D'Ivernois wrote me word he

had quite lost his senses. Sometime afterwards appeared an anonymous

sheet, which instead of ink seemed to be written with water of

Phlegethon. In this letter I was accused of having exposed my children

in the streets, of taking about with me a soldier's trull, of being worn

out with debaucheries..., and other fine things of a like nature. It was

not difficult for me to discover the author. My first idea on reading

this libel, was to reduce to its real value everything the world calls

fame and reputation amongst men; seeing thus a man who was never in a

brothel in his life, and whose greatest defect was in being as timid and

shy as a virgin, treated as a frequenter of places of that description;

and in finding myself charged with being......, I, who not only never

had the least taint of such disorder, but, according to the faculty, was

so constructed as to make it almost impossible for me to contract it.

Everything well considered, I thought I could not better refute this

libel than by having it printed in the city in which I longest resided,

and with this intention I sent it to Duchesne to print it as it was with

an advertisement in which I named M. Vernes and a few short notes by way

of eclaircissement. Not satisfied with printing it only, I sent copies

to several persons, and amongst others one copy to the Prince Louis

of Wirtemberg, who had made me polite advances and with whom I was in

correspondence. The prince, Du Peyrou, and others, seemed to have their

doubts about the author of the libel, and blamed me for having named

Vernes upon so slight a foundation. Their remarks produced in me some

scruples, and I wrote to Duchesne to suppress the paper. Guy wrote to

me he had suppressed it: this may or may not be the case; I have been

deceived on so many occasions that there would be nothing extraordinary

in my being so on this, and from the time of which I speak, was so

enveloped in profound darkness that it was impossible for me to come at

any kind of truth.

M. Vernes bore the imputation with a moderation more than astonishing in

a man who was supposed not to have deserved it, and after the fury

with which he was seized on former occasions. He wrote me two or three

letters in very guarded terms, with a view, as it appeared to me, to

endeavor by my answers to discover how far I was certain of his being

the author of the paper, and whether or not I had any proofs against

him. I wrote him two short answers, severe in the sense, but politely

expressed, and with which he was not displeased. To his third letter,

perceiving he wished to form with me a kind of correspondence, I

returned no answer, and he got D'Ivernois to speak to me. Madam Cramer

wrote to Du Peyrou, telling him she was certain the libel was not by

Vernes. This however, did not make me change my opinion. But as it was

possible I might be deceived, and as it is certain that if I were, I

owed Vernes an explicit reparation, I sent him word by D'Ivernois that

I would make him such a one as he should think proper, provided he

would name to me the real author of the libel, or at least prove that he

himself was not so. I went further: feeling that, after all, were he

not culpable, I had no right to call upon him for proofs of any kind,

I stated in a memoir of considerable length, the reasons whence I had

inferred my conclusion, and determined to submit them to the judgment

of an arbitrator, against whom Vernes could not except. But few people

would guess the arbitrator of whom I made choice. I declared at the

end of the memoir, that if, after having examined it, and made such

inquiries as should seem necessary, the council pronounced M. Vernes

not to be the author of the libel, from that moment I should be fully

persuaded he was not, and would immediately go and throw myself at his

feet, and ask his pardon until I had obtained it. I can say with the

greatest truth that my ardent zeal for equity, the uprightness and

generosity of my heart, and my confidence in the love of justice innate

in every mind never appeared more fully and perceptible than in this

wise and interesting memoir, in which I took, without hesitation,

my most implacable enemies for arbitrators between a calumniator

and myself. I read to Du Peyrou what I had written: he advised me to

suppress it, and I did so. He wished me to wait for the proofs Vernes

promised, and I am still waiting for them: he thought it best that I

should in the meantime be silent, and I held my tongue, and shall do so

the rest of my life, censured as I am for having brought against Vernes

a heavy imputation, false and unsupportable by proof, although I am

still fully persuaded, nay, as convinced as I am of my existence, that

he is the author of the libel. My memoir is in the hands of Du Peyrou.

Should it ever be published my reasons will be found in it, and the

heart of Jean Jacques, with which my contemporaries would not be

acquainted, will I hope be known.

I have now to proceed to my catastrophe at Motiers, and to my departure

from Val de Travers, after a residence of two years and a half, and

an eight months suffering with unshaken constancy of the most

unworthy treatment. It is impossible for me clearly to recollect the

circumstances of this disagreeable period, but a detail of them will

be found in a publication to that effect by Du Peyrou, of which I shall

hereafter have occasion to speak.

After the departure of Madam de Verdelin the fermentation increased,

and, notwithstanding the reiterated rescripts of the king, the frequent

orders of the council of state, and the cares of the chatelain and

magistrates of the place, the people, seriously considering me as

antichrist, and perceiving all their clamors to be of no effect, seemed

at length determined to proceed to violence; stones were already thrown

after me in the roads, but I was however in general at too great a

distance to receive any harm from them. At last, in the night of the

fair of Motiers, which is in the beginning of September, I was attacked

in my habitation in such a manner as to endanger the lives of everybody

in the house.

At midnight I heard a great noise in the gallery which ran along the

back part of the house. A shower of stones thrown against the window and

the door which opened to the gallery fell into it with so much noise and

violence, that my dog, which usually slept there, and had begun to bark,

ceased from fright, and ran into a corner gnawing and scratching the

planks to endeavor to make his escape. I immediately rose, and was

preparing to go from my chamber into the kitchen, when a stone thrown

by a vigorous arm crossed the latter, after having broken the window,

forced open the door of my chamber, and fell at my feet, so that had I

been a moment sooner upon the floor I should have had the stone against

my stomach. I judged the noise had been made to bring me to the door,

and the stone thrown to receive me as I went out. I ran into the

kitchen, where I found Theresa, who also had risen, and was tremblingly

making her way to me as fast as she could. We placed ourselves against

the wall out of the direction of the window to avoid the stones,

and deliberate upon what was best to be done; for going out to call

assistance was the certain means of getting ourselves knocked on the

head. Fortunately the maid-servant of an old man who lodged under me

was waked by the noise, and got up and ran to call the chatelain, whose

house was next to mine. He jumped from his bed, put on his robe de

chambre, and instantly came to me with the guard, which, on account of

the fair, went the round that night, and was just at hand. The chatelain

was so alarmed at the sight of the effects of what had happened that he

turned pale and on seeing the stones in the gallery, exclaimed, "Good

God! here is a quarry!" On examining below stairs, a door of a little

court was found to have been forced, and there was an appearance of

an attempt having been made to get into the house by the gallery. On

inquiring the reason why the guard had neither prevented nor perceived

the disturbance, it came out that the guards of Motiers had insisted

upon doing duty that night, although it was the turn of those of another

village.

The next day the chatelain sent his report to the council of state,

which two days afterwards sent an order to inquire into the affair, to

promise a reward and secrecy to those who should impeach such as were

guilty, and in the meantime to place, at the expense of the king, guards

about my house, and that of the chatelain, which joined to it. The day

after the disturbance, Colonel Pury, the Attorney-General Meuron, the

Chatelain Martinet, the Receiver Guyenet, the Treasurer d'Ivernois and

his father, in a word, every person of consequence in the country, came

to see me, and united their solicitations to persuade me to yield to the

storm and leave, at least for a time, a place in which I could no longer

live in safety nor with honor. I perceived that even the chatelain was

frightened at the fury of the people, and apprehending it might extend

to himself, would be glad to see me depart as soon as possible, that he

might no longer have the trouble of protecting me there, and be able to

quit the parish, which he did after my departure. I therefore yielded

to their solicitations, and this with but little pain, for the hatred

of the people so afflicted my heart that I was no longer able to support

it.

I had a choice of places to retire to. After Madam de Verdelin returned

to Paris, she had, in several letters, mentioned a Mr. Walpole, whom she

called my lord, who, having a strong desire to serve me, proposed to me

an asylum at one of his country houses, of the situation of which she

gave me the most agreeable description; entering, relative to lodging

and subsistence, into a detail which proved she and Lord Walpole had

held particular consultations upon the project. My lord marshal had

always advised me to go to England or Scotland, and in case of my

determining upon the latter, offered me there an asylum. But he offered

me another at Potsdam, near to his person, and which tempted me more

than all the rest.

He had just communicated to me what the king had said to him about my

going there, which was a kind of invitation to me from that monarch, and

the Duchess of Saxe-Gotha depended so much upon my taking the journey

that she wrote to me desiring I should go to see her in my way to the

court of Prussia, and stay some time before I proceeded farther; but I

was so attached to Switzerland that I could not resolve to quit it

so long as it was possible for me to live there, and I seized this

opportunity to execute a project of which I had for several months

conceived the idea, and of which I have deferred speaking, that I might

not interrupt my narrative.

This project consisted in going to reside in the island of St. Peter, an

estate belonging to the Hospital of Berne, in the middle of the lake of

Bienne. In a pedestrian pilgrimage I had made the preceding year with Du

Peyrou we had visited this isle, with which I was so much delighted that

I had since that time incessantly thought of the means of making it my

place of residence. The greatest obstacle to my wishes arose from the

property of the island being vested in the people of Berne, who

three years before had driven me from amongst them; and besides the

mortification of returning to live with people who had given me so

unfavorable a reception, I had reason to fear they would leave me

no more at peace in the island than they had done at Yverdon. I had

consulted the lord marshal upon the subject, who thinking as I did, that

the people of Berne would be glad to see me banished to the island, and

to keep me there as a hostage for the works I might be tempted to write,

and sounded their dispositions by means of M. Sturler, his old neighbor

at Colombier. M. Sturler addressed himself to the chiefs of the state,

and, according to their answer assured the marshal the Bernois, sorry

for their past behavior, wished to see me settled in the island of St.

Peter, and to leave me there at peace. As an additional precaution,

before I determined to reside there, I desired the Colonel Chaillet

to make new inquiries. He confirmed what I had already heard, and the

receiver of the island having obtained from his superiors permission to

lodge me in it, I thought I might without danger go to the house, with

the tacit consent of the sovereign and the proprietors; for I could not

expect the people of Berne would openly acknowledge the injustice they

had done me, and thus act contrary to the most inviolable maxim of all

sovereigns.

The island of St. Peter, called at Neuchatel the island of La Motte, in

the middle of the lake of Bienne, is half a league in circumference; but

in this little space all the chief productions necessary to subsistence

are found. The island has fields, meadows, orchards, woods, and

vineyards, and all these, favored by variegated and mountainous

situations, form a distribution of the more agreeable, as the parts, not

being discovered all at once, are seen successively to advantage,

and make the island appear greater than it really is. A very elevated

terrace forms the western part of it, and commands Gleresse and

Neuverville. This terrace is planted with trees which form a long

alley, interrupted in the middle by a great saloon, in which, during

the vintage, the people from the neighboring shores assemble and divert

themselves. There is but one house in the whole island, but that is very

spacious and convenient, inhabited by the receiver, and situated in a

hollow by which it is sheltered from the winds.

Five or six hundred paces to the south of the island of St. Peter

is another island, considerably less than the former, wild and

uncultivated, which appears to have been detached from the greater

island by storms: its gravelly soil produces nothing but willows and

persicaria, but there is in it a high hill well covered with greensward

and very pleasant. The form of the lake is an almost regular oval. The

banks, less rich than those of the lake of Geneva and Neuchatel, form a

beautiful decoration, especially towards the western part, which is well

peopled, and edged with vineyards at the foot of a chain of mountains,

something like those of Cote-Rotie, but which produce not such excellent

wine. The bailiwick of St. John, Neuveville, Berne, and Bienne, lie in

a line from the south to the north, to the extremity of the lake, the

whole interspersed with very agreeable villages.

Such was the asylum I had prepared for myself, and to which I was

determined to retire after quitting Val de Travers.

[It may perhaps be necessary to remark that I left there an enemy in

M. du Teneaux, mayor of Verrieres, not much esteemed in the country,

but who has a brother, said to be an honest man, in the office of M.

de St. Florentin. The mayor had been to see him some time before my

adventure. Little remarks of this kind, though of no consequence,

in themselves, may lead to the discovery of many underhand

dealings.]

This choice was so agreeable to my peaceful inclinations, and my

solitary and indolent disposition, that I consider it as one of the

pleasing reveries of which I became the most passionately fond. I

thought I should in that island be more separated from men, more

sheltered from their outrages, and sooner forgotten by mankind: in a

word, more abandoned to the delightful pleasures of the inaction of a

contemplative life. I could have wished to have been confined in it

in such a manner as to have had no intercourse with mortals, and I

certainly took every measure I could imagine to relieve me from the

necessity of troubling my head about them.

The great question was that of subsistence, and by the dearness of

provisions, and the difficulty of carriage, this is expensive in the

island; the inhabitants are besides at the mercy of the receiver. This

difficulty was removed by an arrangement which Du Peyrou made with me in

becoming a substitute to the company which had undertaken and abandoned

my general edition. I gave him all the materials necessary, and made

the proper arrangement and distribution. To the engagement between us

I added that of giving him the memoirs of my life, and made him the

general depositary of all my papers, under the express condition of

making no use of them until after my death, having it at heart quietly

to end my days without doing anything which should again bring me back

to the recollection of the public. The life annuity he undertook to pay

me was sufficient to my subsistence. My lord marshal having recovered

all his property, had offered me twelve hundred livres (fifty pounds) a

year, half of which I accepted. He wished to send me the principal, and

this I refused on account of the difficulty of placing it. He then sent

the amount to Du Peyrou, in whose hands it remained, and who pays me

the annuity according to the terms agreed upon with his lordship. Adding

therefore to the result of my agreement with Du Peyrou, the annuity of

the marshal, two-thirds of which were reversible to Theresa after my

death, and the annuity of three hundred livres from Duchesne, I was

assured of a genteel subsistence for myself, and after me for Theresa,

to whom I left seven hundred livres (twenty-nine pounds) a year, from

the annuities paid me by Rey and the lord marshal; I had therefore no

longer to fear a want of bread. But it was ordained that honor should

oblige me to reject all these resources which fortune and my labors

placed within my reach, and that I should die as poor as I had lived. It

will be seen whether or not, without reducing myself to the last degree

of infamy, I could abide by the engagements which care has always taken

to render ignominious, by depriving me of every other resource to force

me to consent to my own dishonor. How was it possible anybody could

doubt of the choice I should make in such an alternative? Others have

judged of my heart by their own.

My mind at ease relative to subsistence was without care upon every

other subject. Although I left in the world the field open to my

enemies, there remained in the noble enthusiasm by which my writings

were dictated, and in the constant uniformity of my principles, an

evidence of the uprightness of my heart which answered to that deducible

from my conduct in favor of my natural disposition. I had no need of any

other defense against my calumniators. They might under my name describe

another man, but it was impossible they should deceive such as were

unwilling to be imposed upon. I could have given them my whole life to

animadvert upon, with a certainty, notwithstanding all my faults and

weaknesses, and my want of aptitude to support the lightest yoke,

of their finding me in every situation a just and good man, without

bitterness, hatred, or jealousy, ready to acknowledge my errors, and

still more prompt to forget the injuries I received from others; seeking

all my happiness in love, friendship, and affection, and in everything

carrying my sincerity even to imprudence and the most incredible

disinterestedness.

I therefore in some measure took leave of the age in which I lived and

my contemporaries, and bade adieu to the world, with an intention to

confine myself for the rest of my days to that island; such was my

resolution, and it was there I hoped to execute the great project of the

indolent life to which I had until then consecrated the little activity

with which Heaven had endowed me. The island was to become to me that of

Papimanie, that happy country where the inhabitants sleep:

On n'y fait plus, on n'y fait nulle chose.

[There they do no more: there they do nothing.]

This 'no more' was everything for me, for I never much regretted sleep;

indolence is sufficient to my happiness, and provided I do nothing,

I had rather dream waking than asleep. Being past the age of romantic

projects, and having been more stunned than flattered by the trumpet

of fame, my only hope was that of living at ease, and constantly at

leisure. This is the life of the blessed in the world to come, and for

the rest of mine here below I made it my supreme happiness.

They who reproach me with so many contradictions, will not fail here

to add another to the number. I have observed the indolence of great

companies made them unsupportable to me, and I am now seeking solitude

for the sole purpose of abandoning myself to inaction. This however

is my disposition; if there be in it a contradiction, it proceeds from

nature and not from me; but there is so little that it is precisely on

that account that I am always consistent. The indolence of company is

burdensome because it is forced. That of solitude is charming because

it is free, and depends upon the will. In company I suffer cruelly by

inaction, because this is of necessity. I must there remain nailed to

my chair, or stand upright like a picket, without stirring hand or foot,

not daring to run, jump, sing, exclaim, nor gesticulate when I please,

not allowed even to dream, suffering at the same time the fatigue of

inaction and all the torment of constraint; obliged to pay attention to

every foolish thing uttered, and to all the idle compliments paid,

and constantly to keep my mind upon the rack that I may not fail to

introduce in my turn my jest or my lie. And this is called idleness! It

is the labor of a galley slave.

The indolence I love is not that of a lazy fellow who sits with his arms

across in total inaction, and thinks no more than he acts, but that of a

child which is incessantly in motion doing nothing, and that of a dotard

who wanders from his subject. I love to amuse myself with trifles, by

beginning a hundred things and never finishing one of them, by going or

coming as I take either into my head, by changing my project at every

instant, by following a fly through all its windings, in wishing to

overturn a rock to see what is under it, by undertaking with ardor the

work of ten years, and abandoning it without regret at the end of ten

minutes; finally, in musing from morning until night without order or

coherence, and in following in everything the caprice of a moment.

Botany, such as I have always considered it, and of which after my own

manner I began to become passionately fond, was precisely an idle study,

proper to fill up the void of my leisure, without leaving room for the

delirium of imagination or the weariness of total inaction. Carelessly

wandering in the woods and the country, mechanically gathering here a

flower and there a branch; eating my morsel almost by chance, observing

a thousand and a thousand times the same things, and always with the

same interest, because I always forgot them, were to me the means of

passing an eternity without a weary moment. However elegant, admirable,

and variegated the structure of plants may be, it does not strike an

ignorant eye sufficiently to fix the attention. The constant analogy,

with, at the same time, the prodigious variety which reigns in their

conformation, gives pleasure to those only who have already some idea of

the vegetable system. Others at the sight of these treasures of nature

feel nothing more than a stupid and monotonous admiration. They see

nothing in detail because they know not for what to look, nor do they

perceive the whole, having no idea of the chain of connection and

combinations which overwhelms with its wonders the mind of the observer.

I was arrived at that happy point of knowledge, and my want of memory

was such as constantly to keep me there, that I knew little enough to

make the whole new to me, and yet everything that was necessary to make

me sensible to the beauties of all the parts. The different soils into

which the island, although little, was divided, offered a sufficient

variety of plants, for the study and amusement of my whole life. I was

determined not to leave a blade of grass without analyzing it, and I

began already to take measures for making, with an immense collection of

observations, the 'Flora Petrinsularis'.

I sent for Theresa, who brought with her my books and effects. We

boarded with the receiver of the island. His wife had sisters at Nidau,

who by turns came to see her, and were company for Theresa. I here

made the experiment of the agreeable life which I could have wished

to continue to the end of my days, and the pleasure I found in it only

served to make me feel to a greater degree the bitterness of that by

which it was shortly to be succeeded.

I have ever been passionately fond of water, and the sight of it throws

me into a delightful reverie, although frequently without a determinate

object.

Immediately after I rose from my bed I never failed, if the weather was

fine, to run to the terrace to respire the fresh and salubrious air of

the morning, and glide my eye over the horizon of the lake, bounded

by banks and mountains, delightful to the view. I know no homage

more worthy of the divinity than the silent admiration excited by the

contemplation of his works, and which is not externally expressed. I can

easily comprehend the reason why the inhabitants of great cities, who

see nothing but walls, and streets, have but little faith; but not

whence it happens that people in the country, and especially such as

live in solitude, can possibly be without it. How comes it to pass that

these do not a hundred times a day elevate their minds in ecstasy to

the Author of the wonders which strike their senses. For my part, it

is especially at rising, wearied by a want of sleep, that long habit

inclines me to this elevation which imposes not the fatigue of thinking.

But to this effect my eyes must be struck with the ravishing beauties of

nature. In my chamber I pray less frequently, and not so fervently; but

at the view of a fine landscape I feel myself moved, but by what I am

unable to tell. I have somewhere read of a wise bishop who in a visit to

his diocese found an old woman whose only prayer consisted in the single

interjection "Oh!"--"Good mother," said he to her, "continue to pray

in this manner; your prayer is better than ours." This better prayer is

mine also.

After breakfast, I hastened, with a frown on my brow, to write a few

pitiful letters, longing ardently for the moment after which I should

have no more to write. I busied myself for a few minutes about my books

and papers, to unpack and arrange them, rather than to read what

they contained; and this arrangement, which to me became the work of

Penelope, gave me the pleasure of musing for a while. I then grew weary,

and quitted my books to spend the three or four hours which remained to

me of the morning in the study of botany, and especially of the system

of Linnaeus, of which I became so passionately fond, that, after having

felt how useless my attachment to it was, I yet could not entirely shake

it off. This great observer is, in my opinion, the only one who,

with Ludwig, has hitherto considered botany as a naturalist, and a

philosopher; but he has too much studied it in herbals and gardens, and

not sufficiently in nature herself. For my part, whose garden was always

the whole island, the moment I wanted to make or verify an observation,

I ran into the woods or meadows with my book under my arm, and there

laid myself upon the ground near the plant in question, to examine it at

my ease as it stood. This method was of great service to me in gaining

a knowledge of vegetables in their natural state, before they had been

cultivated and changed in their nature by the hands of men. Fagon, first

physician to Louis XIV., and who named and perfectly knew all the plants

in the royal garden, is said to have been so ignorant in the country

as not to know how to distinguish the same plants. I am precisely the

contrary. I know something of the work of nature, but nothing of that of

the gardener.

I gave every afternoon totally up to my indolent and careless

disposition, and to following without regularity the impulse of the

moment. When the weather was calm, I frequently went immediately after

I rose from dinner, and alone got into the boat. The receiver had taught

me to row with one oar; I rowed out into the middle of the lake. The

moment I withdrew from the bank, I felt a secret joy which almost made

me leap, and of which it is impossible for me to tell or even comprehend

the cause, if it were not a secret congratulation on my being out of

the reach of the wicked. I afterwards rowed about the lake, sometimes

approaching the opposite bank, but never touching at it. I often let

my boat float at the mercy of the wind and water, abandoning myself to

reveries without object, and which were not the less agreeable for their

stupidity. I sometimes exclaimed, "O nature! O my mother! I am here

under thy guardianship alone; here is no deceitful and cunning mortal to

interfere between thee and me." In this manner I withdrew half a league

from land; I could have wished the lake had been the ocean. However, to

please my poor dog, who was not so fond as I was of such a long stay on

the water, I commonly followed one constant course; this was going to

land at the little island where I walked an hour or two, or laid myself

down on the grass on the summit of the hill, there to satiate myself

with the pleasure of admiring the lake and its environs, to examine

and dissect all the herbs within my reach, and, like another Robinson

Crusoe, built myself an imaginary place of residence in the island. I

became very much attached to this eminence. When I brought Theresa, with

the wife of the receiver and her sisters, to walk there, how proud was I

to be their pilot and guide! We took there rabbits to stock it. This was

another source of pleasure to Jean Jacques. These animals rendered

the island still more interesting to me. I afterwards went to it more

frequently, and with greater pleasure to observe the progress of the new

inhabitants.

To these amusements I added one which recalled to my recollection

the delightful life I led at the Charmettes, and to which the season

particularly invited me. This was assisting in the rustic labors of

gathering of roots and fruits, of which Theresa and I made it a pleasure

to partake with the wife of the receiver and his family. I remember a

Bernois, one M. Kirkeberguer, coming to see me, found me perched upon

a tree with a sack fastened to my waist, and already so full of apples

that I could not stir from the branch on which I stood. I was not sorry

to be caught in this and similar situations. I hoped the people of

Berne, witnesses to the employment of my leisure, would no longer think

of disturbing my tranquillity but leave me at peace in my solitude. I

should have preferred being confined there by their desire: this would

have rendered the continuation of my repose more certain.

This is another declaration upon which I am previously certain of the

incredulity of many of my readers, who obstinately continue to judge me

by themselves, although they cannot but have seen, in the course of my

life, a thousand internal affections which bore no resemblance to any

of theirs. But what is still more extraordinary is, that they refuse

me every sentiment, good or indifferent, which they have not, and are

constantly ready to attribute to me such bad ones as cannot enter into

the heart of man: in this case they find it easy to set me in opposition

to nature, and to make of me such a monster as cannot in reality exist.

Nothing absurd appears to them incredible, the moment it has a tendency

to blacken me, and nothing in the least extraordinary seems to them

possible, if it tends to do me honor.

But, notwithstanding what they may think or say, I will still continue

faithfully to state what J. J. Rousseau was, did, and thought; without

explaining, or justifying, the singularity of his sentiments and ideas,

or endeavoring to discover whether or not others have thought as he did.

I became so delighted with the island of St. Peter, and my residence

there was so agreeable to me that, by concentrating all my desires

within it, I formed the wish that I might stay there to the end of my

life. The visits I had to return in the neighborhood, the journeys I

should be under the necessity of making to Neuchatel, Bienne, Yverdon,

and Nidau, already fatigued my imagination. A day passed out of the

island, seemed to me a loss of so much happiness, and to go beyond the

bounds of the lake was to go out of my element. Past experience had

besides rendered me apprehensive. The very satisfaction that I received

from anything whatever was sufficient to make me fear the loss of

it, and the ardent desire I had to end my days in that island, was

inseparable from the apprehension of being obliged to leave it. I had

contracted a habit of going in the evening to sit upon the sandy shore,

especially when the lake was agitated. I felt a singular pleasure in

seeing the waves break at my feet. I formed of them in my imagination

the image of the tumult of the world contrasted with the peace of my

habitation; and this pleasing idea sometimes softened me even to tears.

The repose I enjoyed with ecstasy was disturbed by nothing but the fear

of being deprived of it, and this inquietude was accompanied with some

bitterness. I felt my situation so precarious as not to dare to depend

upon its continuance. "Ah! how willingly," said I to myself, "would I

renounce the liberty of quitting this place, for which I have no desire,

for the assurance of always remaining in it. Instead of being permitted

to stay here by favor, why am I not detained by force! They who

suffer me to remain may in a moment drive me away, and can I hope my

persecutors, seeing me happy, will leave me here to continue to be so?

Permitting me to live in the island is but a trifling favor. I could

wish to be condemned to do it, and constrained to remain here that I may

not be obliged to go elsewhere." I cast an envious eye upon Micheli du

Cret, who, quiet in the castle of Arbourg, had only to determine to be

happy to become so. In fine, by abandoning myself to these reflections,

and the alarming apprehensions of new storms always ready to break over

my head, I wished for them with an incredible ardor, and that instead of

suffering me to reside in the island, the Bernois would give it me for

a perpetual prison; and I can assert that had it depended upon me to get

myself condemned to this, I would most joyfully have done it, preferring

a thousand times the necessity of passing my life there to the danger of

being driven to another place.

This fear did not long remain on my mind. When I least expected what was

to happen, I received a letter from the bailiff of Nidau, within whose

jurisdiction the island of St. Peter was; by his letter he announced to

me from their excellencies an order to quit the island and their states.

I thought myself in a dream. Nothing could be less natural, reasonable,

or foreseen than such an order: for I considered my apprehensions as

the result of inquietude in a man whose imagination was disturbed by his

misfortunes, and not to proceed from a foresight which could have the

least foundation. The measures I had taken to insure myself the tacit

consent of the sovereign, the tranquillity with which I had been left to

make my establishment, the visits of several people from Berne, and that

of the bailiff himself, who had shown me such friendship and attention,

and the rigor of the season in which it was barbarous to expel a man who

was sickly and infirm, all these circumstances made me and many people

believe that there was some mistake in the order and that ill-disposed

people had purposely chosen the time of the vintage and the vacation of

the senate suddenly to do me an injury.

Had I yielded to the first impulse of my indignation, I should

immediately have departed. But to what place was I to go? What was

to become of me at the beginning of the winter, without object,

preparation, guide or carriage? Not to leave my papers and effects

at the mercy of the first comer, time was necessary to make proper

arrangements, and it was not stated in the order whether or not this

would be granted me. The continuance of misfortune began to weigh down

my courage. For the first time in my life I felt my natural haughtiness

stoop to the yoke of necessity, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of my

heart, I was obliged to demean myself by asking for a delay. I applied

to M. de Graffenried, who had sent me the order, for an explanation of

it. His letter, conceived in the strongest terms of disapprobation of

the step that had been taken, assured me it was with the greatest regret

he communicated to me the nature of it, and the expressions of grief and

esteem it contained seemed so many gentle invitations to open to him my

heart: I did so. I had no doubt but my letter would open the eyes of my

persecutors, and that if so cruel an order was not revoked, at least

a reasonable delay, perhaps the whole winter, to make the necessary

preparations for my retreat, and to choose a place of abode, would be

granted me.

Whilst I waited for an answer, I reflected upon my situation,

and deliberated upon the steps I had to take. I perceived so many

difficulties on all sides, the vexation I had suffered had so strongly

affected me, and my health was then in such a bad state, that I was

quite overcome, and the effect of my discouragement was to deprive me of

the little resource which remained in my mind, by which I might, as well

as it was possible to do it, have withdrawn myself from my melancholy

situation. In whatever asylum I should take refuge, it appeared

impossible to avoid either of the two means made use of to expel me. One

of which was to stir up against me the populace by secret manoeuvres;

and the other to drive me away by open force, without giving a reason

for so doing. I could not, therefore, depend upon a safe retreat, unless

I went in search of it farther than my strength and the season seemed

likely to permit. These circumstances again bringing to my recollection

the ideas which had lately occurred to me, I wished my persecutors to

condemn me to perpetual imprisonment rather than oblige me incessantly

to wander upon the earth, by successively expelling me from the

asylums of which I should make choice: and to this effect I made them a

proposal. Two days after my first letter to M. de Graffenried, I wrote

him a second, desiring he would state what I had proposed to their

excellencies. The answer from Berne to both was an order, conceived in

the most formal and severe terms, to go out of the island, and leave

every territory, mediate and immediate of the republic, within the

space of twenty-four hours, and never to enter them again under the most

grievous penalties.

This was a terrible moment. I have since that time felt greater anguish,

but never have I been more embarrassed. What afflicted me most was being

forced to abandon the project which had made me desirous to pass the

winter in the island. It is now time I should relate the fatal anecdote

which completed my disasters, and involved in my ruin an unfortunate

people, whose rising virtues already promised to equal those of Rome and

Sparta, I had spoken of the Corsicans in the 'Social Contract' as a new

people, the only nation in Europe not too worn out for legislation,

and had expressed the great hope there was of such a people, if it were

fortunate enough to have a wise legislator. My work was read by some of

the Corsicans, who were sensible of the honorable manner in which I had

spoken of them; and the necessity under which they found themselves

of endeavoring to establish their republic, made their chiefs think of

asking me for my ideas upon the subject. M. Buttafuoco, of one of the

first families in the country, and captain in France, in the Royal

Italians, wrote to me to that effect, and sent me several papers for

which I had asked to make myself acquainted with the history of the

nation and the state of the country. M. Paoli, also, wrote to me several

times, and although I felt such an undertaking to be superior to my

abilities; I thought I could not refuse to give my assistance to so

great and noble a work, the moment I should have acquired all the

necessary information. It was to this effect I answered both these

gentlemen, and the correspondence lasted until my departure.

Precisely at the same time, I heard that France was sending troops to

Corsica, and that she had entered into a treaty with the Genoese. This

treaty and sending of troops gave me uneasiness, and, without imagining

I had any further relation with the business, I thought it impossible

and the attempt ridiculous, to labor at an undertaking which required

such undisturbed tranquillity as the political institution of a people

in the moment when perhaps they were upon the point of being subjugated.

I did not conceal my fears from M. Buttafuoco, who rather relieved

me from them by the assurance that, were there in the treaty things

contrary to the liberty of his country, a good citizen like himself

would not remain as he did in the service of France. In fact, his zeal

for the legislation of the Corsicans, and his connections with M. Paoli,

could not leave a doubt on my mind respecting him; and when I heard

he made frequent journeys to Versailles and Fontainebleau, and had

conversations with M. de Choiseul, all I concluded from the whole was,

that with respect to the real intentions of France he had assurances

which he gave me to understand, but concerning which he did not choose

openly to explain himself by letter.

This removed a part of my apprehensions. Yet, as I could not comprehend

the meaning of the transportation of troops from France, nor reasonably

suppose they were sent to Corsica to protect the liberty of the

inhabitants, which they of themselves were very well able to defend

against the Genoese, I could neither make myself perfectly easy, nor

seriously undertake the plan of the proposed legislation, until I had

solid proofs that the whole was serious, and that the parties meant not

to trifle with me. I much wished for an interview with M. Buttafuoco, as

that was certainly the best means of coming at the explanation I

wished. Of this he gave me hopes, and I waited for it with the greatest

impatience. I know not whether he really intended me any interview

or not; but had this even been the case, my misfortunes would have

prevented me from profiting by it.

The more I considered the proposed undertaking, and the further I

advanced in the examination of the papers I had in my hands, the greater

I found the necessity of studying, in the country, the people for whom

institutions were to be made, the soil they inhabited, and all the

relative circumstances by which it was necessary to appropriate to them

that institution. I daily perceived more clearly the impossibility of

acquiring at a distance all the information necessary to guide me. This

I wrote to M. Buttafuoco, and he felt as I did. Although I did not form

the precise resolution of going to Corsica. I considered a good deal of

the means necessary to make that voyage. I mentioned it to M. Dastier,

who having formerly served in the island under M. de Maillebois, was

necessarily acquainted with it. He used every effort to dissuade me from

this intention, and I confess the frightful description he gave me of

the Corsicans and their country, considerably abated the desire I had of

going to live amongst them.

But when the persecutions of Motiers made me think of quitting

Switzerland, this desire was again strengthened by the hope of at length

finding amongst these islanders the repose refused me in every other

place. One thing only alarmed me, which was my unfitness for the active

life to which I was going to be condemned, and the aversion I had always

had to it. My disposition, proper for meditating at leisure and in

solitude, was not so for speaking and acting, and treating of affairs

with men. Nature, which had endowed me with the first talent, had

refused me the last. Yet I felt that, even without taking a direct and

active part in public affairs, I should as soon as I was in Corsica,

be under the necessity of yielding to the desires of the people, and

of frequently conferring with the chiefs. The object even of the voyage

required that, instead of seeking retirement, I should in the heart of

the country endeavor to gain the information of which I stood in need.

It was certain that I should no longer be master of my own time, and

that, in spite of myself, precipitated into the vortex in which I was

not born to move, I should there lead a life contrary to my inclination,

and never appear but to disadvantage. I foresaw that ill-supporting by

my presence the opinion my books might have given the Corsicans of my

capacity, I should lose my reputation amongst them, and, as much to

their prejudice as my own, be deprived of the confidence they had in me,

without which, however, I could not successfully produce the work they

expected from my pen. I am certain that, by thus going out of my sphere,

I should become useless to the inhabitants, and render myself unhappy.

Tormented, beaten by storms from every quarter, and, for several years

past, fatigued by journeys and persecution, I strongly felt a want of

the repose of which my barbarous enemies wantonly deprived me: I sighed

more than ever after that delicious indolence, that soft tranquillity of

body and mind, which I had so much desired, and to which, now that I had

recovered from the chimeras of love and friendship, my heart limited

its supreme felicity. I viewed with terror the work I was about to

undertake; the tumultuous life into which I was to enter made me

tremble, and if the grandeur, beauty, and utility of the object animated

my courage, the impossibility of conquering so many difficulties

entirely deprived me of it.

Twenty years of profound meditation in solitude would have been less

painful to me than an active life of six months in the midst of men and

public affairs, with a certainty of not succeeding in my undertaking.

I thought of an expedient which seemed proper to obviate every

difficulty. Pursued by the underhand dealings of my secret persecutors

to every place in which I took refuge, and seeing no other except

Corsica where I could in my old days hope for the repose I had until

then been everywhere deprived of, I resolved to go there with the

directions of M. Buttafuoco as soon as this was possible, but to live

there in tranquillity; renouncing, in appearance, everything relative to

legislation, and, in some measure, to make my hosts a return for their

hospitality, to confine myself to writing in the country the history

of the Corsicans, with a reserve in my own mind of the intention of

secretly acquiring the necessary information to become more useful

to them should I see a probability of success. In this manner, by not

entering into an engagement, I hoped to be enabled better to meditate

in secret and more at my ease, a plan which might be useful to their

purpose, and this without much breaking in upon my dearly beloved

solitude, or submitting to a kind of life which I had ever found

insupportable.

But the journey was not, in my situation, a thing so easy to get over.

According to what M. Dastier had told me of Corsica, I could not expect

to find there the most simple conveniences of life, except such as

I should take with me; linen, clothes, plate, kitchen furniture, and

books, all were to be conveyed thither. To get there myself with my

gouvernante, I had the Alps to cross, and in a journey of two hundred

leagues to drag after me all my baggage; I had also to pass through the

states of several sovereigns, and according to the example set to all

Europe, I had, after what had befallen me, naturally to expect to find

obstacles in every quarter, and that each sovereign would think he did

himself honor by overwhelming me with some new insult, and violating in

my person all the rights of persons and humanity. The immense expense,

fatigue, and risk of such a journey made a previous consideration of

them, and weighing every difficulty, the first step necessary. The idea

of being alone, and, at my age, without resource, far removed from all

my acquaintance, and at the mercy of these semi-barbarous and ferocious

people, such as M. Dastier had described them to me, was sufficient to

make me deliberate before I resolved to expose myself to such dangers.

I ardently wished for the interview for which M. Buttafuoco had given

me reason to hope, and I waited the result of it to guide me in my

determination.

Whilst I thus hesitated came on the persecutions of Motiers, which

obliged me to retire. I was not prepared for a long journey, especially

to Corsica. I expected to hear from Buttafuoco; I took refuge in the

island of St. Peter, whence I was driven at the beginning of winter,

as I have already stated. The Alps, covered with snow, then rendered my

emigration impracticable, especially with the promptitude required from

me. It is true, the extravagant severity of a like order rendered the

execution of it almost impossible; for, in the midst of that concentred

solitude, surrounded by water, and having but twenty-four hours after

receiving the order to prepare for my departure, and find a boat and

carriages to get out of the island and the territory, had I had wings,

I should scarcely have been able to pay obedience to it. This I wrote to

the bailiff of Nidau, in answer to his letter, and hastened to take my

departure from a country of iniquity. In this manner was I obliged

to abandon my favorite project, for which reason, not having in my

oppression been able to prevail upon my persecutors to dispose of me

otherwise, I determined, in consequence of the invitation of my lord

marshal, upon a journey to Berlin, leaving Theresa to pass the winter

in the island of St. Peter, with my books and effects, and depositing my

papers in the hands of M. du Peyrou. I used so much diligence that the

next morning I left the island and arrived at Bienne before noon. An

accident, which I cannot pass over in silence, had here well nigh put an

end to my journey.

As soon as the news or my having received an order to quit my asylum was

circulated, I received a great number of visits from the neighborhood,

and especially from the Bernois, who came with the most detestable

falsehood to flatter and soothe me, protesting that my persecutors had

seized the moment of the vacation of the senate to obtain and send me

the order, which, said they, had excited the indignation of the two

hundred. Some of these comforters came from the city of Bienne, a little

free state within that of Berne, and amongst others a young man of

the name of Wildremet whose family was of the first rank, and had the

greatest credit in that city. Wildremet strongly solicited me in the

name of his fellow-citizens to choose my retreat amongst them, assuring

me that they were anxiously desirous of it, and that they would think

it an honor and their duty to make me forget the persecutions I had

suffered; that with them I had nothing to fear from the influence of the

Bernois, that Bienne was a free city, governed by its own laws, and

that the citizens were unanimously resolved not to hearken to any

solicitation which should be unfavorable to me.

Wildremet perceiving all he could say to be ineffectual, brought to his

aid several other persons, as well from Bienne and the environs as from

Berne; even, and amongst others, the same Kirkeberguer, of whom I have

spoken, who, after my retreat to Switzerland had endeavored to obtain

my esteem, and by his talents and principles had interested me in his

favor. But I received much less expected and more weighty solicitations

from M. Barthes, secretary to the embassy from France, who came with

Wildremet to see me, exhorted me to accept his invitation, and surprised

me by the lively and tender concern he seemed to feel for my situation.

I did not know M. Barthes; however I perceived in what he said the

warmth and zeal of friendship, and that he had it at heart to persuade

me to fix my residence at Bienne. He made the most pompous eulogium of

the city and its inhabitants, with whom he showed himself so intimately

connected as to call them several times in my presence his patrons and

fathers.

This from Barthes bewildered me in my conjectures. I had always

suspected M. de Choisuel to be the secret author of all the persecutions

I suffered in Switzerland. The conduct of the resident of Geneva, and

that of the ambassador at Soleure but too much confirmed my suspicion; I

perceived the secret influence of France in everything that happened

to me at Berne, Geneva and Neuchatel, and I did not think I had any

powerful enemy in that kingdom, except the Duke de Choiseul. What

therefore could I think of the visit of Barthes and the tender concern

he showed for my welfare? My misfortunes had not yet destroyed the

confidence natural to my heart, and I had still to learn from experience

to discern snares under the appearance of friendship. I sought with

surprise the reason of the benevolence of M. Barthes; I was not weak

enough to believe he had acted from himself; there was in his manner

something ostentatious, an affectation even which declared a concealed

intention, and I was far from having found in any of these little

subaltern agents, that generous intrepidity which, when I was in a

similar employment, had often caused a fermentation in my heart. I had

formerly known something of the Chevalier Beauteville, at the castle of

Montmorency; he had shown me marks of esteem; since his appointment to

the embassy he had given me proofs of his not having entirely forgotten

me, accompanied with an invitation to go and see him at Soleure. Though

I did not accept this invitation, I was extremely sensible of his

civility, not having been accustomed to be treated with such kindness

by people in place. I presume M. de Beauteville, obliged to follow his

instructions in what related to the affairs of Geneva, yet pitying

me under my misfortunes, had by his private cares prepared for me the

asylum of Bienne, that I might live there in peace under his auspices. I

was properly sensible of his attention, but without wishing to profit by

it and quite determined upon the journey to Berlin, I sighed after the

moment in which I was to see my lord marshal, persuaded I should in

future find real repose and lasting happiness nowhere but near his

person.

On my departure from the island, Kirkeberguer accompanied me to Bienne.

I found Wildremet and other Biennois, who, by the water side, waited

my getting out of the boat. We all dined together at the inn, and on my

arrival there my first care was to provide a chaise, being determined

to set off the next morning. Whilst we were at dinner these gentlemen

repeated their solicitations to prevail upon me to stay with them, and

this with such warmth and obliging protestations, that notwithstanding

all my resolutions, my heart, which has never been able to resist

friendly attentions, received an impression from theirs; the moment they

perceived I was shaken, they redoubled their efforts with so much effect

that I was at length overcome, and consented to remain at Bienne, at

least until the spring.

Wildremet immediately set about providing me with a lodging, and

boasted, as of a fortunate discovery, of a dirty little chamber in the

back of the house, on the third story, looking into a courtyard, where I

had for a view the display of the stinking skins of a dresser of chamois

leather. My host was a man of a mean appearance, and a good deal of a

rascal; the next day after I went to his house I heard that he was a

debauchee, a gamester, and in bad credit in the neighborhood. He

had neither wife, children, nor servants, and shut up in my solitary

chamber, I was in the midst of one of the most agreeable countries in

Europe, lodged in a manner to make me die of melancholy in the course of

a few days. What affected me most was, that, notwithstanding what I had

heard of the anxious wish of the inhabitants to receive me amongst them,

I had not perceived, as I passed through the streets, anything polite

towards me in their manners, or obliging in their looks. I was, however,

determined to remain there; but I learned, saw, and felt, the day after,

that there was in the city a terrible fermentation, of which I was the

cause. Several persons hastened obligingly to inform me that on the

next day I was to receive an order conceived in the most severe terms,

immediately to quit the state, that is the city. I had nobody in whom

I could confide; they who had detained me were dispersed. Wildremet had

disappeared; I heard no more of Barthes, and it did not appear that his

recommendation had brought me into great favor with those whom he had

styled his patrons and fathers. One M. de Van Travers, a Bernois, who

had an agreeable house not far from the city, offered it to me for my

asylum, hoping, as he said, that I might there avoid being stoned. The

advantage this offer held out was not sufficiently flattering to tempt

me to prolong my abode with these hospitable people.

Yet, having lost three days by the delay, I had greatly exceeded the

twenty-four hours the Bernois had given me to quit their states, and

knowing their severity, I was not without apprehensions as to the manner

in which they would suffer me to cross them, when the bailiff of Nidau

came opportunely and relieved me from my embarrassment. As he had

highly disapproved of the violent proceedings of their excellencies, he

thought, in his generosity, he owed me some public proof of his taking

no part in them, and had courage to leave his bailiwick to come and

pay me a visit at Bienne. He did me this favor the evening before my

departure, and far from being incognito he affected ceremony, coming in

fiocchi in his coach with his secretary, and brought me a passport

in his own name that I might cross the state of Berne at my ease, and

without fear of molestation. I was more flattered by the visit than by

the passport, and should have been as sensible of the merit of it, had

it had for object any other person whatsoever. Nothing makes a greater

impression on my heart than a well-timed act of courage in favor of the

weak unjustly oppressed.

At length, after having with difficulty procured a chaise, I next

morning left this barbarous country, before the arrival of the

deputation with which I was to be honored, and even before I had seen

Theresa, to whom I had written to come to me, when I thought I should

remain at Bienne, and whom I had scarcely time to countermand by a

short letter, informing her of my new disaster. In the third part of my

memoirs, if ever I be able to write them, I shall state in what manner,

thinking to set off for Berlin, I really took my departure for England,

and the means by which the two ladies who wished to dispose of my

person, after having by their manoeuvres driven me from Switzerland,

where I was not sufficiently in their power, at last delivered me into

the hands of their friend.

I added what follows on reading my memoirs to M. and Madam, the Countess

of Egmont, the Prince Pignatelli, the Marchioness of Mesme, and the

Marquis of Juigne.

I have written the truth: if any person has heard of things contrary

to those I have just stated, were they a thousand times proved, he has

heard calumny and falsehood; and if he refuses thoroughly to examine

and compare them with me whilst I am alive, he is not a friend either

to justice or truth. For my part, I openly, and without the least fear

declare, that whoever, even without having read my works, shall

have examined with his own eyes, my disposition, character, manners,

inclinations, pleasures, and habits, and pronounce me a dishonest man,

is himself one who deserves a gibbet.

Thus I concluded, and every person was silent; Madam d'Egmont was

the only person who seemed affected; she visibly trembled, but soon

recovered herself, and was silent like the rest of the company. Such

were the fruits of my reading and declaration.

[NOTE: Here is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the

file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making

an entire meal of them. D.W.]

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A feeling heart the foundation of all my misfortunes

A religion preached by such missionaries must lead to paradise!

A subject not even fit to make a priest of

A man, on being questioned, is immediately on his guard

Adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained

All animals are distrustful of man, and with reason

All your evils proceed from yourselves!

An author must be independent of success

Ardor for learning became so far a madness

Aversion to singularity

Avoid putting our interests in competition with our duty

Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all vices

Bilboquet

Catholic must content himself with the decisions of others

Caution is needless after the evil has happened

Cemented by reciprocal esteem

Considering this want of decency as an act of courage

Conversations were more serviceable than his prescriptions

Degree of sensuality had mingled with the smart and shame

Die without the aid of physicians

Difficult to think nobly when we think for a livelihood

Dine at the hour of supper; sup when I should have been asleep

Disgusted with the idle trifling of a convent

Dissembler, though, in fact, I was only courteous

Dying for love without an object

Endeavoring to hide my incapacity, I rarely fail to show it

Endeavoring to rise too high we are in danger of falling

Ever appearing to feel as little for others as herself

Finding in every disease symptoms similar to mine

First instance of violence and oppression is so deeply engraved

First time in my life, of saying, "I merit my own esteem"

Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice

Force me to be happy in the manner they should point out

Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment

Hastening on to death without having lived

Hat, only fit to be carried under his arm

Have the pleasure of seeing an ass ride on horseback

Have ever preferred suffering to owing

Her excessive admiration or dislike of everything

Hold fast to aught that I have, and yet covet nothing more

Hopes, in which self-love was by no means a loser

How many wrongs are effaced by the embraces of a friend!

I never much regretted sleep

I strove to flatter my idleness

I never heard her speak ill of persons who were absent

I loved her too well to wish to possess her

I felt no dread but that of being detected

I was long a child, and am so yet in many particulars

I am charged with the care of myself only

I only wished to avoid giving offence

I did not fear punishment, but I dreaded shame

I had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two friends

Idea of my not being everything to her

Idleness is as much the pest of society as of solitude

If you have nothing to do, you must absolutely speak continually

In the course of their lives frequently unlike themselves

In company I suffer cruelly by inaction

In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings

Indolence, negligence and delay in little duties to be fulfilled

Indolence of company is burdensome because it is forced

Injustice of mankind which embitters both life and death

Insignificant trash that has obtained the name of education

Instead of being delighted with the journey only wished arrival

Is it possible to dissimulate with persons whom we love?

Jean Bapiste Rousseau

Knew how to complain, but not how to act

Law that the accuser should be confined at the same time

Left to nature the whole care of my own instruction

Less degree of repugnance in divulging what is really criminal

Letters illustrious in proportion as it was less a trade

Loaded with words and redundancies

Looking on each day as the last of my life

Love of the marvellous is natural to the human heart

Make men like himself, instead of taking them as they were

Making their knowledge the measure of possibilities

Making me sensible of every deficiency

Manoeuvres of an author to the care of publishing a good book

Men, in general, make God like themselves

Men of learning more tenaciously retain their predjudices

Mistake wit for sense

Moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer a friend

Money that we possess is the instrument of liberty

Money we lack and strive to obtain is the instrument of slavery

More stunned than flattered by the trumpet of fame

More folly than candor in the declaration without necessity

Multiplying persons and adventures

My greatest faults have been omissions

Myself the principal object

Necessity, the parent of industry, suggested an invention

Neither the victim nor witness of any violent emotions

No sooner had lost sight of men than I ceased to despise them

No longer permitted to let old people remain out of Paris

Not so easy to quit her house as to enter it

Not knowing how to spend their time, daily breaking in upon me

Nothing absurd appears to them incredible

Obliged to pay attention to every foolish thing uttered

Obtain their wishes, without permitting or promising anything

One of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive

Only prayer consisted in the single interjection "Oh!"

Painful to an honest man to resist desires already formed

Passed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admire

Piety was too sincere to give way to any affectation of it

Placing unbounded confidence in myself and others

Prescriptions serve to flatter the hopes of the patient

Priests ought never to have children--except by married women

Proportioned rather to her ideas than abilities

Protestants, in general, are better instructed

Rather bashful than modest

Rather appeared to study with than to instruct me

Read the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our own

Read description of any malady without thinking it mine

Read without studying

Remorse wakes amid the storms of adversity

Remorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of prosperity

Reproach me with so many contradictions

Return of spring seemed to me like rising from the grave

Rogues know how to save themselves at the expense of the feeble

Satisfaction of weeping together

Seeking, by fresh offences, a return of the same chastisement

Sin consisted only in the scandal

Slighting her favors, if within your reach, a unpardonable crime

Sometimes encourage hopes they never mean to realize

Substituting cunning to knowledge

Supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable

Taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had imagined

That which neither women nor authors ever pardon

The malediction of knaves is the glory of an honest man

The conscience of the guilty would revenge the innocent

There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune

There is no clapping of hands before the king

This continued desire to control me in all my wishes

Though not a fool, I have frequently passed for one

To make him my apologies for the offence he had given me

True happiness is indescribable, it is only to be felt

Trusting too implicitly to their own innocence

Tyranny of persons who called themselves my friends

Virtuous minds, which vice never attacks openly

Voltaire was formed never to be happy

We learned to dissemble, to rebel, to lie

What facility everything which favors the malignity of man

When once we make a secret of anything to the person we love

When everyone is busy, you may continue silent

Whence comes it that even a child can intimidate a man

Where merit consists in belief, and not in virtue

Whole universe would be interested in my concerns

Whose discourses began by a distribution of millions

Wish thus to be revenged of me for their humiliation

Without the least scruple, freely disposing of my time

Writing for bread would soon have extinguished my genius

Yielded him the victory, or rather declined the contest