the road, employing myself in the recollection of that which had just
happened; but this was neither my turn of mind nor the inclination of my
heart. The facility with which I forget past evils, however recent they
may be, is astonishing. The remembrance of them becomes feeble, and,
sooner or later, effaced, in the inverse proportion to the greater degree
of fear with which the approach of them inspires me. My cruel
imagination, incessantly tormented by the apprehension of evils still at
a distance, diverts my attention, and prevents me from recollecting those
which are past. Caution is needless after the evil has happened, and it
is time lost to give it a thought. I, in some measure, put a period to
my misfortunes before they happen: the more I have suffered at their
approach the greater is the facility with which I forget them; whilst, on
the contrary, incessantly recollecting my past happiness, I, if I may so
speak, enjoy it a second time at pleasure. It is to this happy
disposition I am indebted for an exemption from that ill humor which
ferments in a vindictive mind, by the continual remembrance of injuries
received, and torments it with all the evil it wishes to do its enemy.
Naturally choleric, I have felt all the force of anger, which in the
first moments has sometimes been carried to fury, but a desire of
vengeance never took root within me. I think too little of the offence
to give myself much trouble about the offender. I think of the injury I
have received from him on account of that he may do me a second time, but
were I certain he would never do me another the first would be instantly
forgotten. Pardon of offences is continually preached to us. I knew not
whether or not my heart would be capable of overcoming its hatred, for it
never yet felt that passion, and I give myself too little concern about
my enemies to have the merit of pardoning them. I will not say to what a
degree, in order to torment me, they torment themselves. I am at their
mercy, they have unbounded power, and make of it what use they please.
There is but one thing in which I set them at defiance: which is in
tormenting themselves about me, to force me to give myself the least
trouble about them.
The day after my departure I had so perfectly forgotten what had passed,
the parliament, Madam de Pompadour, M. de Choiseul, Grimm, and
D'Alembert, with their conspiracies, that had not it been for the
necessary precautions during the journey I should have thought no more of
them. The remembrance of one thing which supplied the place of all these
was what I had read the evening before my departure. I recollect, also,
the pastorals of Gessner, which his translator Hubert had sent me a
little time before. These two ideas occurred to me so strongly, and were
connected in such a manner in my mind, that I was determined to endeavor
to unite them by treating after the manner of Gessner, the subject of the
Levite of Ephraim. His pastoral and simple style appeared to me but
little fitted to so horrid a subject, and it was not to be presumed the
situation I was then in would furnish me with such ideas as would enliven
it. However, I attempted the thing, solely to amuse myself in my
cabriolet, and without the least hope of success. I had no sooner begun
than I was astonished at the liveliness of my ideas, and the facility
with which I expressed them. In three days I composed the first three
cantos of the little poem I finished at Motiers, and I am certain of not
having done anything in my life in which there is a more interesting
mildness of manners, a greater brilliancy of coloring, more simple
delineations, greater exactness of proportion, or more antique simplicity
in general, notwithstanding the horror of the subject which in itself is
abominable, so that besides every other merit I had still that of a
difficulty conquered. If the Levite of Ephraim be not the best of my
works, it will ever be that most esteemed. I have never read, nor shall
I ever read it again without feeling interiorly the applause of a heart
without acrimony, which, far from being embittered by misfortunes, is
susceptible of consolation in the midst of them, and finds within itself
a resource by which they are counterbalanced. Assemble the great
philosophers, so superior in their books to adversity which they do not
suffer, place them in a situation similar to mine, and, in the first
moments of the indignation of their injured honor, give them a like work
to compose, and it will be seen in what manner they will acquit
themselves of the task.
When I set of from Montmorency to go into Switzerland, I had resolved to
stop at Yverdon, at the house of my old friend Roguin, who had several
years before retired to that place, and had invited me to go and see him.
I was told Lyons was not the direct road, for which reason I avoided
going through it. But I was obliged to pass through Besancon, a
fortified town, and consequently subject to the same inconvenience. I
took it into my head to turn about and to go to Salins, under the
pretense of going to see M. de Marian, the nephew of M. Dupin, who had an
employment at the salt-works, and formerly had given me many invitations
to his house. The expedition succeeded: M. de Marian was not in the
way, and, happily, not being obliged to stop, I continued my journey
without being spoken to by anybody.
The moment I was within the territory of Berne, I ordered the postillion
to stop; I got out of my carriage, prostrated myself, kissed the ground,
and exclaimed in a transport of joy: "Heaven, the protector of virtue be
praised, I touch a land of liberty!" Thus blind and unsuspecting in my
hopes, have I ever been passionately attached to that which was to make
me unhappy. The man thought me mad. I got into the carriage, and a few
hours afterwards I had the pure and lively satisfaction of feeling myself
pressed within the arms of the respectable Rougin. Ah! let me breathe
for a moment with this worthy host! It is necessary I should gain
strength and courage before I proceed further. I shall soon find that in
my way which will give employment to them both. It is not without reason
that I have been diffuse in the recital of all the circumstances I have
been able to recollect. Although they may seem uninteresting, yet, when
once the thread of the conspiracy is got hold of, they may throw some
light upon the progress of it; and, for instance, without giving the
first idea of the problem I am going to propose, afford some aid in
solving it.
Suppose that, for the execution of the conspiracy of which I was the
object, my absence was absolutely necessary, everything tending to that
effect could not have happened otherwise than it did; but if without
suffering myself to be alarmed by the nocturnal embassy of Madam de
Luxembourg, I had continued to hold out, and, instead of remaining at the
castle, had returned to my bed and quietly slept until morning, should I
have equally had an order of arrest made out against me? This is a great
question upon which the solution of many others depends, and for the
examination of it, the hour of the comminatory decree of arrest, and that
of the real decree may be remarked to advantage. A rude but sensible
example of the importance of the least detail in the exposition of facts,
of which the secret causes are sought for to discover them by induction.