I can rely upon the discretion of Madam Dupin, and the frien

Produced by David Widger

THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU

(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK VIII.

At the end of the preceding book a pause was necessary. With this begins

the long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin.

Having lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had,

notwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance. Among

others at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha, and

of the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M. de la Popliniere,

that of M. Seguy, friend to the Baron de Thun, and known in the literary

world by his beautiful edition of Rousseau. The baron invited M. Seguy

and myself to go and pass a day or two at Fontenai sous bois, where the

prince had a house. As I passed Vincennes, at the sight of the dungeon,

my feelings were acute; the effect of which the baron perceived on my

countenance. At supper the prince mentioned the confinement of Diderot.

The baron, to hear what I had to say, accused the prisoner of imprudence;

and I showed not a little of the same in the impetuous manner in which I

defended him. This excess of zeal, inspired by the misfortune which had

befallen my friend, was pardoned, and the conversation immediately

changed. There were present two Germans in the service of the prince.

M. Klupssel, a man of great wit, his chaplain, and who afterwards, having

supplanted the baron, became his governor. The other was a young man

named M. Grimm, who served him as a reader until he could obtain some

place, and whose indifferent appearance sufficiently proved the pressing

necessity he was under of immediately finding one. From this very

evening Klupssel and I began an acquaintance which soon led to

friendship. That with the Sieur Grimm did not make quite so rapid a

progress; he made but few advances, and was far from having that haughty

presumption which prosperity afterwards gave him. The next day at

dinner, the conversation turned upon music; he spoke well on the subject.

I was transported with joy when I learned from him he could play an

accompaniment on the harpsichord. After dinner was over music was

introduced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon on the

harpischord of the prince. Thus began that friendship which, at first,

was so agreeable to me, afterwards so fatal, and of which I shall

hereafter have so much to say.

At my return to Paris, I learned the agreeable news that Diderot was

released from the dungeon, and that he had on his parole the castle and

park of Vincennes for a prison, with permission to see his friends. How

painful was it to me not to be able instantly to fly to him! But I was

detained two or three days at Madam Dupin's by indispensable business.

After ages of impatience, I flew to the arms of my friend. He was not

alone: D' Alembert and the treasurer of the Sainte Chapelle were with

him. As I entered I saw nobody but himself, I made but one step, one

cry; I riveted my face to his: I pressed him in my arms, without speaking

to him, except by tears and sighs: I stifled him with my affection and

joy. The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was to turn himself

towards the ecclesiastic, and say: "You see, sir, how much I am beloved

by my friends." My emotion was so great, that it was then impossible for

me to reflect upon this manner of turning it to advantage; but I have

since thought that, had I been in the place of Diderot, the idea he

manifested would not have been the first that would have occurred to me.

I found him much affected by his imprisonment. The dungeon had made a

terrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeably

situated in the castle, and at liberty to, walk where he pleased in the

park, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of his

friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy. As I was the person

most concerned for his sufferings, I imagined I should also be the

friend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which account,

notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two days at

farthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the afternoon

with him.

The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive. Vincennes is two

leagues from Paris. The state of my finances not permitting me to pay

for hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on foot,

when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive the

sooner. The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according to

the custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and exhausted by

fatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceed

any further. I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate my pace.

One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read, I came to

the following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for the premium

of the ensuing year, 'Has the progress of sciences and arts contributed

to corrupt or purify morals?'

The moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and became

a different man. Although I have a lively remembrance of the impression

it made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since I communicated it

to M. de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him. This is one of

the singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked. It serves me

in proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed to

paper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have no

sooner written a thing than I had forgotten it entirely. This

singularity is the same with respect to music. Before I learned the use

of notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made a

sufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollect

any one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be able

entirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond. All I

distinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival at

Vincennes, I was in an agitation which approached a delirium. Diderot

perceived it; I told him the cause, and read to him the prosopopoeia of

Fabricius, written with a pencil under a tree. He encouraged me to

pursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium. I did so,

and from that moment I was ruined.

All the rest of my misfortunes during my life were the inevitable effect

of this moment of error.

My sentiments became elevated with the most inconceivable rapidity to the

level of my ideas. All my little passions were stifled by the enthusiasm

of truth, liberty, and virtue; and, what is most astonishing, this

effervescence continued in my mind upwards of five years, to as great a

degree perhaps as it has ever done in that of any other man. I composed

the discourse in a very singular manner, and in that style which I have

always followed in my other works. I dedicated to it the hours of the

night in which sleep deserted me, I meditated in my bed with my eyes

closed, and in my mind turned over and over again my periods with

incredible labor and care; the moment they were finished to my

satisfaction, I deposited them in my memory, until I had an opportunity

of committing them to paper; but the time of rising and putting on my

clothes made me lose everything, and when I took up my pen I recollected

but little of what I had composed. I made Madam le Vasseur my secretary;

I had lodged her with her daughter, and husband, nearer to myself; and

she, to save me the expense of a servant, came every morning to make my

fire, and to do such other little things as were necessary. As soon as

she arrived I dictated to her while in bed what I had composed in the

night, and this method, which for a long time I observed, preserved me

many things I should otherwise have forgotten.

As soon as the discourse was finished, I showed it to Diderot. He was

satisfied with the production, and pointed out some corrections he

thought necessary to be made.

However, this composition, full of force and fire, absolutely wants logic

and order; of all the works I ever wrote, this is the weakest in

reasoning, and the most devoid of number and harmony. With whatever

talent a man may be born, the art of writing is not easily learned.

I sent off this piece without mentioning it to anybody, except, I think,

to Grimm, with whom, after his going to live with the Comte de Vriese, I

began to be upon the most intimate footing. His harpsichord served as a

rendezvous, and I passed with him at it all the moments I had to spare,

in singing Italian airs, and barcaroles; sometimes without intermission,

from morning till night, or rather from night until morning; and when I

was not to be found at Madam Dupin's, everybody concluded I was with

Grimm at his apartment, the public walk, or theatre. I left off going to

the Comedie Italienne, of which I was free, to go with him, and pay, to

the Comedie Francoise, of which he was passionately fond. In short, so

powerful an attraction connected me with this young man, and I became so

inseparable from him, that the poor aunt herself was rather neglected,

that is, I saw her less frequently; for in no moment of my life has my

attachment to her been diminished.

This impossibility of dividing, in favor of my inclinations, the little

time I had to myself, renewed more strongly than ever the desire I had

long entertained of having but one home for Theresa and myself; but the

embarrassment of her numerous family, and especially the want of money to

purchase furniture, had hitherto withheld me from accomplishing it. An

opportunity to endeavor at it presented itself, and of this I took

advantage. M. de Francueil and Madam Dupin, clearly perceiving that

eight or nine hundred livres a year were unequal to my wants, increased

of their own accord, my salary to fifty guineas; and Madam Dupin, having

heard I wished to furnish myself lodgings, assisted me with some articles

for that purpose. With this furniture and that Theresa already had, we

made one common stock, and, having an apartment in the Hotel de

Languedoc, Rue de Grevelle St, Honor, kept by very honest people, we

arranged ourselves in the best manner we could, and lived there peaceably

and agreeably during seven years, at the end of which I removed to go and

live at the Hermitage.

Theresa's father was a good old man, very mild in his disposition, and

much afraid of his wife; for this reason he had given her the surname of

Lieutenant Criminal, which Grimm, jocosely, afterwards transferred to the

daughter. Madam le Vasseur did not want sense, that is address; and

pretended to the politeness and airs of the first circles; but she had a

mysterious wheedling, which to me was insupportable, gave bad advice to

her daughter, endeavored to make her dissemble with me, and separately,

cajoled my friends at my expense, and that of each other; excepting these

circumstances; she was a tolerably good mother, because she found her

account in being so, and concealed the faults of her daughter to turn

them to her own advantage. This woman, who had so much of my care and

attention, to whom I made so many little presents, and by whom I had it

extremely at heart to make myself beloved, was, from the impossibility of

my succeeding in this wish, the only cause of the uneasiness I suffered

in my little establishment. Except the effects of this cause I enjoyed,

during these six or seven, years, the most perfect domestic happiness of

which human weakness is capable. The heart of my Theresa was that of an

angel; our attachment increased with our intimacy, and we were more and

more daily convinced how much we were made for each other. Could our

pleasures be described, their simplicity would cause laughter. Our

walks, tete-a-tete, on the outside of the city, where I magnificently

spent eight or ten sous in each guinguette.--[Ale-house]--Our little

suppers at my window, seated opposite to each other upon two little

chairs, placed upon a trunk, which filled up the spare of the embrasure.

In this situation the window served us as a table, we respired the fresh

air, enjoyed the prospect of the environs and the people who passed; and,

although upon the fourth story, looked down into the street as we ate.

Who can describe, and how few can feel, the charms of these repasts,

consisting of a quartern loaf, a few cherries, a morsel of cheese, and

half-a-pint of wine which we drank between us? Friendship, confidence,

intimacy, sweetness of disposition, how delicious are your reasonings!

We sometimes remained in this situation until midnight, and never thought

of the hour, unless informed of it by the old lady. But let us quit

these details, which are either insipid or laughable; I have always said

and felt that real enjoyment was not to be described.

Much about the same time I indulged in one not so delicate, and the last

of the kind with which I have to reproach myself. I have observed that

the minister Klupssel was an amiable man; my connections with him were

almost as intimate as those I had with Grimm, and in the end became as

familiar; Grimm and he sometimes eat at my apartment. These repasts, a

little more than simple, were enlivened by the witty and extravagant

wantonness of expression of Klupssel, and the diverting Germanicisms of

Grimm, who was not yet become a purist.

Sensuality did not preside at our little orgies, but joy, which was

preferable, reigned in them all, and we enjoyed ourselves so well

together that we knew not how to separate. Klupssel had furnished a

lodging for a little girl, who, notwithstanding this, was at the service

of anybody, because he could not support her entirely himself. One

evening as we were going into the coffee-house, we met him coming out to

go and sup with her. We rallied him; he revenged himself gallantly, by

inviting us to the same supper, and there rallying us in our turn. The

poor young creature appeared to be of a good disposition, mild and little

fitted to the way of life to which an old hag she had with her, prepared

her in the best manner she could. Wine and conversation enlivened us to

such a degree that we forgot ourselves. The amiable Klupssel was

unwilling to do the honors of his table by halves, and we all three

successively took a view of the next chamber, in company with his little

friend, who knew not whether she should laugh or cry. Grimm has always

maintained that he never touched her; it was therefore to amuse himself

with our impatience, that he remained so long in the other chamber, and

if he abstained, there is not much probability of his having done so from

scruple, because previous to his going to live with the Comte de Friese,

he lodged with girls of the town in the same quarter of St. Roch.

I left the Rue des Moineaux, where this girl lodged, as much ashamed as

Saint Preux left the house in which he had become intoxicated, and when I

wrote his story I well remembered my own. Theresa perceived by some

sign, and especially by my confusion, I had something with which I

reproached myself; I relieved my mind by my free and immediate

confession. I did well, for the next day Grimm came in triumph to relate

to her my crime with aggravation, and since that time he has never failed

maliciously to recall it to her recollection; in this he was the more

culpable, since I had freely and voluntarily given him my confidence, and

had a right to expect he would not make me repent of it. I never had a

more convincing proof than on this occasion, of the goodness of my

Theresa's heart; she was more shocked at the behavior of Grimm than at my

infidelity, and I received nothing from her but tender reproaches, in

which there was not the least appearance of anger.

The simplicity of mind of this excellent girl was equal to her goodness

of heart; and this is saying everything: but one instance of it, which is

present to my recollection, is worthy of being related. I had told her

Klupssel was a minister, and chaplain to the prince of Saxe-Gotha. A

minister was to her so singular a man, that oddly confounding the most

dissimilar ideas, she took it into her head to take Klupssel for the

pope; I thought her mad the first time she told me when I came in, that

the pope had called to see me. I made her explain herself and lost not a

moment in going to relate the story to Grimm and Klupssel, who amongst

ourselves never lost the name of pope. We gave to the girl in the Rue

des Moineaux the name of Pope Joan. Our laughter was incessant; it

almost stifled us. They, who in a letter which it hath pleased them to

attribute to me, have made me say I never laughed but twice in my life,

did not know me at this period, nor in my younger days; for if they had,

the idea could never have entered into their heads.

The year following (1750), not thinking more of my discourse; I learned

it had gained the premium at Dijon. This news awakened all the ideas

which had dictated it to me, gave them new animation, and completed the

fermentation of my heart of that first leaven of heroism and virtue which

my father, my country, and Plutarch had inspired in my infancy. Nothing

now appeared great in my eyes but to be free and virtuous, superior to

fortune and opinion, and independent of all exterior circumstances;

although a false shame, and the fear of disapprobation at first prevented

me from conducting myself according to these principles, and from

suddenly quarreling with the maxims of the age in which I lived, I from

that moment took a decided resolution to do it.--[And of this I purposely

delayed the execution, that irritated by contradiction f it might be

rendered triumphant.]

While I was philosophizing upon the duties of man, an event happened

which made me better reflect upon my own. Theresa became pregnant for

the third time. Too sincere with myself, too haughty in my mind to

contradict my principles by my actions, I began to examine the

destination of my children, and my connections with the mother, according

to the laws of nature, justice, and reason, and those of that religion,

pure, holy, and eternal, like its author, which men have polluted while

they pretended to purify it, and which by their formularies they have

reduced to a religion of words, since the difficulty of prescribing

impossibilities is but trifling to those by whom they are not practised.

If I deceived myself in my conclusions, nothing can be more astonishing

than the security with which I depended upon them. Were I one of those

men unfortunately born deaf to the voice of nature, in whom no sentiment

of justice or humanity ever took the least root, this obduracy would be

natural. But that warmth of heart, strong sensibility, and facility of

forming attachments; the force with which they subdue me; my cruel

sufferings when obliged to break them; the innate benevolence I cherished

towards my fellow-creatures; the ardent love I bear to great virtues, to

truth and justice, the horror in which I hold evil of every kind; the

impossibility of hating, of injuring or wishing to injure anyone; the

soft and lively emotion I feel at the sight of whatever is virtuous,

generous and amiable; can these meet in the same mind with the depravity

which without scruple treads under foot the most pleasing of all our

duties? No, I feel, and openly declare this to be impossible. Never in

his whole life could J. J. be a man without sentiment or an unnatural

father. I may have been deceived, but it is impossible I should have

lost the least of my feelings. Were I to give my reasons, I should say

too much; since they have seduced me, they would seduce many others. I

will not therefore expose those young persons by whom I may be read to

the same danger. I will satisfy myself by observing that my error was

such, that in abandoning my children to public education for want of the

means of bringing them up myself; in destining them to become workmen and

peasants, rather than adventurers and fortune-hunters, I thought I acted

like an honest citizen, and a good father, and considered myself as a

member of the republic of Plato. Since that time the regrets of my heart

have more than once told me I was deceived; but my reason was so far from

giving me the same intimation, that I have frequently returned thanks to

Heaven for having by this means preserved them from the fate of their

father, and that by which they were threatened the moment I should have

been under the necessity of leaving them. Had I left them to Madam

d'Upinay, or Madam de Luxembourg, who, from friendship, generosity, or

some other motive, offered to take care of them in due time, would they

have been more happy, better brought up, or honester men? To this I

cannot answer; but I am certain they would have been taught to hate and

perhaps betray their parents: it is much better that they have never

known them.

My third child was therefore carried to the foundling hospital as well as

the two former, and the next two were disposed of in the same manner; for

I have had five children in all. This arrangement seemed to me to be so

good, reasonable and lawful, that if I did not publicly boast of it, the

motive by which I was withheld was merely my regard for their mother: but

I mentioned it to all those to whom I had declared our connection, to

Diderot, to Grimm, afterwards to M. d'Epinay, and after another interval

to Madam de Luxembourg; and this freely and voluntarily, without being

under the least necessity of doing it, having it in my power to conceal

the step from all the world; for La Gouin was an honest woman, very

discreet, and a person on whom I had the greatest reliance. The only one

of my friends to whom it was in some measure my interest to open myself,

was Thierry the physician, who had the care of my poor aunt in one of her

lyings in, in which she was very ill. In a word, there was no mystery in

my conduct, not only on account of my never having concealed anything

from my friends, but because I never found any harm in it. Everything

considered, I chose the best destination for my children, or that which I

thought to be such. I could have wished, and still should be glad, had I

been brought up as they have been.

Whilst I was thus communicating what I had done, Madam. le Vasseur did

the same thing amongst her acquaintance, but with less disinterested

views. I introduced her and her daughter to Madam Dupin, who, from

friendship to me, showed them the greatest kindness. The mother confided

to her the secret of the daughter. Madam Dupin, who is generous and

kind, and to whom she never told how attentive I was to her,

notwithstanding my moderate resources, in providing for everything,

provided on her part for what was necessary, with a liberality which, by

order of her mother, the daughter concealed from me during my residence

in Paris, nor ever mentioned it until we were at the Hermitage, when she

informed me of it, after having disclosed to me several other secrets of

her heart. I did not know Madam Dupin, who never took the least notice

to me of the matter, was so well informed: I know not yet whether Madam

de Chenonceaux, her daughter-in-law, was as much in the secret: but Madam

de Brancueil knew the whole and could not refrain from prattling. She

spoke of it to me the following year, after I had left her house. This

induced me to write her a letter upon the subject, which will be found in

my collections, and wherein I gave such of my reasons as I could make

public, without exposing Madam le Vasseur and her family; the most

determinative of them came from that quarter, and these I kept profoundly

secret.

I can rely upon the discretion of Madam Dupin, and the friendship of

Madam de Chenonceaux; I had the same dependence upon that of Madam de

Francuiel, who, however, was long dead before my secret made its way into

the world. This it could never have done except by means of the persons

to whom I intrusted it, nor did it until after my rupture with them. By

this single fact they are judged; without exculpating myself from the

blame I deserve, I prefer it to that resulting from their malignity. My

fault is great, but it was an error. I have neglected my duty, but the

desire of doing an injury never entered my heart; and the feelings of a

father were never more eloquent in favor of children whom he never saw.

But: betraying the confidence of friendship, violating the most sacred of

all engagements, publishing secrets confided to us, and wantonly

dishonoring the friend we have deceived, and who in detaching himself

from our society still respects us, are not faults, but baseness of mind,

and the last degree of heinousness.

I have promised my confession and not my justification; on which account

I shall stop here. It is my duty faithfully to relate the truth, that of

the reader to be just; more than this I never shall require of him.

The marriage of M. de Chenonceaux rendered his mother's house still more

agreeable to me, by the wit and merit of the new bride, a very amiable

young person, who seemed to distinguish me amongst the scribes of M.

Dupin. She was the only daughter of the Viscountess de Rochechouart, a

great friend of the Comte de Friese, and consequently of Grimm's who was

very attentive to her. However, it was I who introduced him to her

daughter; but their characters not suiting each other, this connection

was not of long duration; and Grimm, who from that time aimed at what was

solid, preferred the mother, a woman of the world, to the daughter who

wished for steady friends, such as were agreeable to her, without

troubling her head about the least intrigue, or making any interest

amongst the great. Madam Dupin no longer finding in Madam de Chenonceaux

all the docility she expected, made her house very disagreeable to her,

and Madam de Chenonceaux, having a great opinion of her own merit, and,

perhaps, of her birth, chose rather to give up the pleasures of society,

and remain almost alone in her apartment, than to submit to a yoke she

was not disposed to bear. This species of exile increased my attachment

to her, by that natural inclination which excites me to approach the

wretched, I found her mind metaphysical and reflective, although at times

a little sophistical; her conversation, which was by no means that of a

young woman coming from a convent, had for me the greatest attractions;

yet she was not twenty years of age. Her complexion was seducingly fair;

her figure would have been majestic had she held herself more upright.

Her hair, which was fair, bordering upon ash color, and uncommonly

beautiful, called to my recollection that of my poor mamma in the flower

of her age, and strongly agitated my heart. But the severe principles I

had just laid down for myself, by which at all events I was determined to

be guided, secured me from the danger of her and her charms. During the

whole summer I passed three or four hours a day in a tete-a-tete

conversation with her, teaching her arithmetic, and fatiguing her with my

innumerable ciphers, without uttering a single word of gallantry, or even

once glancing my eyes upon her. Five or six years later I should not

have had so much wisdom or folly; but it was decreed I was never to love

but once in my life, and that another person was to have the first and

last sighs of my heart.

Since I had lived in the house of Madam Dupin, I had always been

satisfied with my situation, without showing the least sign of a desire

to improve it. The addition which, in conjunction with M. de Francueil,

she had made to my salary, was entirely of their own accord. This year

M. de Francueil, whose friendship for me daily increased, had it in his

thoughts to place me more at ease, and in a less precarious situation.

He was receiver-general of finance. M. Dudoyer, his cash-keeper, was old

and rich, and wished to retire. M. de Francueil offered me his place,

and to prepare myself for it, I went during a few weeks, to Dudoyer, to

take the necessary instructions. But whether my talents were ill-suited

to the employment, or that M. Dudoyer, who I thought wished to procure

his place for another, was not in earnest in the instructions he gave me,

I acquired by slow degrees, and very imperfectly, the knowledge I was in

want of, and could never understand the nature of accounts, rendered

intricate, perhaps designedly. However, without having possessed myself

of the whole scope of the business, I learned enough of the method to

pursue it without the least difficulty; I even entered on my new office;

I kept the cashbook and the cash; I paid and received money, took and

gave receipts; and although this business was so ill suited to my

inclinations as to my abilities, maturity of years beginning to render me

sedate, I was determined to conquer my disgust, and entirely devote

myself to my new employment.

Unfortunately for me, I had no sooner begun to proceed without

difficulty, than M. de Francueil took a little journey, during which I

remained intrusted with the cash, which, at that time, did not amount to

more than twenty-five to thirty thousand livres. The anxiety of mind

this sum of money occasioned me, made me perceive I was very unfit to be

a cash-keeper, and I have no doubt but my uneasy situation, during his

absence, contributed to the illness with which I was seized after his

return.

I have observed in my first part that I was born in a dying state. A

defect in the bladder caused me, during my early years, to suffer an

almost continual retention of urine, and my Aunt Susan, to whose care I

was intrusted, had inconceivable difficulty in preserving me. However,

she succeeded, and my robust constitution at length got the better of all

my weakness, and my health became so well established that except the

illness from languor, of which I have given an account, and frequent

heats in the bladder which the least heating of the blood rendered

troublesome, I arrived at the age of thirty almost without feeling my

original infirmity. The first time this happened was upon my arrival at

Venice. The fatigue of the voyage, and the extreme heat I had suffered,

renewed the burnings, and gave me a pain in the loins, which continued

until the beginning of winter. After having seen padoana, I thought

myself near the end of my career, but I suffered not the least

inconvenience. After exhausting my imagination more than my body for my

Zulietta, I enjoyed better health than ever. It was not until after the

imprisonment of Diderot that the heat of blood, brought on by my journeys

to Vincennes during the terrible heat of that summer, gave me a violent

nephritic colic, since which I have never recovered my primitive good

state of health.

At the time of which I speak, having perhaps fatigued myself too much in

the filthy work of the cursed receiver-general's office, I fell into a

worse state than ever, and remained five or six weeks in my bed in the

most melancholy state imaginable. Madam Dupin sent me the celebrated

Morand who, notwithstanding his address and the delicacy of his touch,

made me suffer the greatest torments. He advised me to have recourse to

Daran, who, in fact gave me some relief: but Morand, when he gave Madam

Dupin an account of the state I was in, declared to her I should not be

alive in six months. This afterwards came to my ear, and made me reflect

seriously on my situation and the folly of sacrificing the repose of the

few days I had to live to the slavery of an employment for which I felt

nothing but disgust. Besides, how was it possible to reconcile the

severe principles I had just adopted to a situation with which they had

so little relation? Should not I, the cash-keeper of a receiver-general

of finances, have preached poverty and disinterestedness with a very ill

grace? These ideas fermented so powerfully in my mind with the fever,

and were so strongly impressed, that from that time nothing could remove

them; and, during my convalescence, I confirmed myself with the greatest

coolness in the resolutions I had taken during my delirium. I forever

abandoned all projects of fortune and advancement, resolved to pass in

independence and poverty the little time I had to exist. I made every

effort of which my mind was capable to break the fetters of prejudice,

and courageously to do everything that was right without giving myself

the least concern about the judgment of others. The obstacles I had to

combat, and the efforts I made to triumph over them, are inconceivable.

I succeeded as much as it was possible I should, and to a greater degree

than I myself had hoped for. Had I at the same time shaken off the yoke

of friendship as well as that of prejudice, my design would have been

accomplished, perhaps the greatest, at least the most useful one to

virtue, that mortal ever conceived; but whilst I despised the foolish

judgments of the vulgar tribe called great and wise, I suffered myself to

be influenced and led by persons who called themselves my friends.

These, hurt at seeing me walk alone in a new path, while I seemed to take

measures for my happiness, used all their endeavors to render me

ridiculous, and that they might afterwards defame me, first strove to

make me contemptible. It was less my literary fame than my personal

reformation, of which I here state the period, that drew upon me their

jealousy; they perhaps might have pardoned me for having distinguished

myself in the art of writing; but they could never forgive my setting

them, by my conduct, an example, which, in their eyes, seemed to reflect

on themselves. I was born for friendship; my mind and easy disposition

nourished it without difficulty. As long as I lived unknown to the

public I was beloved by all my private acquaintance, and I had not a

single enemy. But the moment I acquired literary fame, I had no longer a

friend. This, was a great misfortune; but a still greater was that of

being surrounded by people who called themselves my friends, and used the

rights attached to that sacred name to lead me on to destruction. The

succeeding part of these memoirs will explain this odious conspiracy. I

here speak of its origin, and the manner of the first intrigue will

shortly appear.

In the independence in which I lived, it was, however, necessary to

subsist. To this effect I thought of very simple means: which were

copying music at so much a page. If any employment more solid would have

fulfilled the same end I would have taken it up; but this occupation

being to my taste, and the only one which, without personal attendance,

could procure me daily bread, I adopted it. Thinking I had no longer

need of foresight, and, stifling the vanity of cash-keeper to a

financier, I made myself a copyist of music. I thought I had made an

advantageous choice, and of this I so little repented, that I never

quitted my new profession until I was forced to do it, after taking a

fixed resolution to return to it as soon as possible.

The success of my first discourse rendered the execution of this

resolution more easy. As soon as it had gained the premium, Diderot

undertook to get it printed. Whilst I was in my bed, he wrote me a note

informing me of the publication and effect: "It takes," said he, "beyond

all imagination; never was there an instance of alike success."

This favor of the public, by no means solicited, and to an unknown

author, gave me the first real assurance of my talents, of which,

notwithstanding an internal sentiment, I had always had my doubts. I

conceived the great advantage to be drawn from it in favor of the way of

life I had determined to pursue; and was of opinion, that a copyist of

some celebrity in the republic of letters was not likely to want

employment.

The moment my resolution was confirmed, I wrote a note to M, de

Francueil, communicating to him my intentions, thanking him and Madam

Dupin for all goodness, and offering them my services in the way of my

new profession. Francueil did not understand my note, and, thinking I

was still in the delirium of fever, hastened to my apartment; but he

found me so determined, that all he could say to me was without the least

effect. He went to Madam Dupin, and told her and everybody he met, that

I had become insane. I let him say what he pleased, and pursued the plan

I had conceived. I began the change in my dress; I quitted laced clothes

and white stockings; I put on a round wig, laid aside my sword, and sold

my watch; saying to myself, with inexpressible pleasure: "Thank Heaven!

I shall no longer want to know the hour!" M. de Francueil had the

goodness to wait a considerable time before he disposed of my place. At

length perceiving me inflexibly resolved, he gave it to M. d'Alibard,

formerly tutor to the young Chenonceaux, and known as a botanist by his

Flora Parisiensis.

[I doubt not but these circumstances are now differently related by

M. Francueil and his consorts: but I appeal to what he said of them

at the time and long afterwards, to everybody he knew, until the

forming of the conspiracy, and of which men of common sense and

honor, must have preserved a remembrance.]

However austere my sumptuary reform might be, I did not at first extend

it to my linen, which was fine and in great quantity, the remainder of my

stock when at Venice, and to which I was particularly attached. I had

made it so much an object of cleanliness, that it became one of luxury,

which was rather expensive. Some persons, however, did me the favor to

deliver me from this servitude. On Christmas Eve, whilst the governesses

were at vespers, and I was at the spiritual concert, the door of a

garret, in which all our linen was hung up after being washed, was broken

open. Everything was stolen; and amongst other things, forty-two of my

shirts, of very fine linen, and which were the principal part of my

stock. By the manner in which the neighbors described a man whom they

had seen come out of the hotel with several parcels whilst we were all

absent, Theresa and myself suspected her brother, whom we knew to be a

worthless man. The mother strongly endeavored to remove this suspicion,

but so many circumstances concurred to prove it to be well founded, that,

notwithstanding all she could say, our opinions remained still the same:

I dared not make a strict search for fear of finding more than I wished

to do. The brother never returned to the place where I lived, and, at

length, was no more heard of by any of us. I was much grieved Theresa

and myself should be connected with such a family, and I exhorted her

more than ever to shake off so dangerous a yoke. This adventure cured me

of my inclination for fine linen, and since that time all I have had has

been very common, and more suitable to the rest of my dress.

Having thus completed the change of that which related to my person, all

my cares tendered to render it solid and lasting, by striving to root out

from my heart everything susceptible of receiving an impression from the

judgment of men, or which, from the fear of blame, might turn me aside

from anything good and reasonable in itself. In consequence of the

success of my work, my resolution made some noise in the world also,

and procured me employment; so that I began my new profession with great

appearance of success. However, several causes prevented me from

succeeding in it to the same degree I should under any other

circumstances have done. In the first place my ill state of health.

The attack I had just had, brought on consequences which prevented my

ever being so well as I was before; and I am of opinion, the physicians,

to whose care I intrusted myself, did me as much harm as my illness.

I was successively under the hands of Morand, Daran, Helvetius, Malouin,

and Thyerri: men able in their profession, and all of them my friends,

who treated me each according to his own manner, without giving me the

least relief, and weakened me considerably. The more I submitted to

their direction, the yellower, thinner, and weaker I became. My

imagination, which they terrified, judging of my situation by the effect

of their drugs, presented to me, on this side of the tomb, nothing but

continued sufferings from the gravel, stone, and retention of urine.

Everything which gave relief to others, ptisans, baths, and bleeding,

increased my tortures. Perceiving the bougees of Daran, the only ones

that had any favorable effect, and without which I thought I could no

longer exist, to give me a momentary relief, I procured a prodigious

number of them, that, in case of Daran's death, I might never be at a

loss. During the eight or ten years in which I made such frequent use of

these, they must, with what I had left, have cost me fifty louis.

It will easily be judged, that such expensive and painful means did not

permit me to work without interruption; and that a dying man is not

ardently industrious in the business by which he gains his daily bread.

Literary occupations caused another interruption not less prejudicial to

my daily employment. My discourse had no sooner appeared than the

defenders of letters fell upon me as if they had agreed with each to do

it. My indignation was so raised at seeing so many blockheads, who did

not understand the question, attempt to decide upon it imperiously, that

in my answer I gave some of them the worst of it. One M. Gautier, of

Nancy, the first who fell under the lash of my pen, was very roughly

treated in a letter to M. Grimm. The second was King Stanislaus,

himself, who did not disdain to enter the lists with me. The honor he

did me, obliged me to change my manner in combating his opinions; I made

use of a graver style, but not less nervous; and without failing in

respect to the author, I completely refuted his work. I knew a Jesuit,

Father de Menou, had been concerned in it. I depended on my judgment to

distinguish what was written by the prince, from the production of the

monk, and falling without mercy upon all the jesuitical phrases, I

remarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I thought could come from

nobody but the priest. This composition, which, for what reason I knew

not, has been less spoken of than any of my other writings, is the only

one of its kind. I seized the opportunity which offered of showing to

the public in what manner an individual may defend the cause of truth

even against a sovereign. It is difficult to adopt a more dignified and

respectful manner than that in which I answered him. I had the happiness

to have to do with an adversary to whom, without adulation, I could show

every mark of the esteem of which my heart was full; and this I did with

success and a proper dignity. My friends, concerned for my safety,

imagined they already saw me in the Bastile. This apprehension never

once entered my head, and I was right in not being afraid. The good

prince, after reading my answer, said: "I have enough of at; I will not

return to the charge." I have, since that time received from him

different marks of esteem and benevolence, some of which I shall have

occasion to speak of; and what I had written was read in France, and

throughout Europe, without meeting the least censure.

In a little time I had another adversary whom I had not expected; this

was the same M. Bordes, of Lyons, who ten years before had shown me much

friendship, and from whom I had received several services. I had not

forgotten him, but had neglected him from idleness, and had not sent him

my writings for want of an opportunity, without seeking for it, to get

them conveyed to his hands. I was therefore in the wrong, and he

attacked me; this, however, he did politely, and I answered in the same

manner. He replied more decidedly. This produced my last answer; after

which I heard no more from him upon the subject; but he became my most

violent enemy, took the advantage of the time of my misfortunes, to

publish against me the most indecent libels, and made a journey to London

on purpose to do me an injury.

All this controversy employed me a good deal, and caused me a great loss

of my time in my copying, without much contributing to the progress of

truth, or the good of my purse. Pissot, at that time my bookseller, gave

me but little for my pamphlets, frequently nothing at all, and I never

received a farthing for my first discourse. Diderot gave it him. I was

obliged to wait a long time for the little he gave me, and to take it

from him in the most trifling sums. Notwithstanding this, my copying

went on but slowly. I had two things together upon my hands, which was

the most likely means of doing them both ill.

They were very opposite to each other in their effects by the different

manners of living to which they rendered me subject. The success of my

first writings had given me celebrity. My new situation excited

curiosity. Everybody wished to know that whimsical man who sought not

the acquaintance of any one, and whose only desire was to live free and

happy in the manner he had chosen; this was sufficient to make the thing

impossible to me. My apartment was continually full of people, who,

under different pretences, came to take up my time. The women employed a

thousand artifices to engage me to dinner. The more unpolite I was with

people, the more obstinate they became. I could not refuse everybody.

While I made myself a thousand enemies by my refusals, I was incessantly

a slave to my complaisance, and, in whatever manner I made my

engagements, I had not an hour in a day to myself.

I then perceived it was not so easy to be poor and independent, as I had

imagined. I wished to live by my profession: the public would not suffer

me to do it. A thousand means were thought of to indemnify me for the

time I lost. The next thing would have been showing myself like Punch,

at so much each person. I knew no dependence more cruel and degrading

than this. I saw no other method of putting an end to it than refusing

all kinds of presents, great and small, let them come from whom they

would. This had no other effect than to increase the number of givers,

who wished to have the honor of overcoming my resistance, and to force

me, in spite of myself, to be under an obligation to them.

Many, who would not have given me half-a-crown had I asked it from them,

incessantly importuned me with their offers, and, in revenge for my

refusal, taxed me with arrogance and ostentation.

It will naturally be conceived that the resolutions I had taken, and the

system I wished to follow, were not agreeable to Madam le Vasseur. All

the disinterestedness of the daughter did not prevent her from following

the directions of her mother; and the governesses, as Gauffecourt called

them, were not always so steady in their refusals as I was. Although

many things were concealed from me, I perceived so many as were necessary

to enable me to judge that I did not see all, and this tormented me less

by the accusation of connivance, which it was so easy for me to foresee,

than by the cruel idea of never being master in my own apartments, nor

even of my own person. I prayed, conjured, and became angry, all to no

purpose; the mother made me pass for an eternal grumbler, and a man who

was peevish and ungovernable. She held perpetual whisperings with my

friends; everything in my little family was mysterious and a secret to

me; and, that I might not incessantly expose myself to noisy quarrelling,

I no longer dared to take notice of what passed in it. A firmness of

which I was not capable, would have been necessary to withdraw me from

this domestic strife. I knew how to complain, but not how to act: they

suffered me to say what I pleased, and continued to act as they thought

proper.