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    Book XII

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    Chapter 13
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    With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last
    eight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible
    for me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into
    which I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the
    hand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and
    misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of
    my heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a man
    who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the
    inconceivable art of rendering the public unknown to itself, or without
    its perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.
    Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the
    treatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not
    be able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor
    assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes are
    all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am
    interested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible
    for me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different causes
    are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst my
    readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine the
    mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully read
    over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each fact he
    shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain such
    information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to
    intrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of
    all. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I
    lose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which
    his steps must be directed.

    During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my
    friend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,
    and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed,
    I formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle
    and his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,
    delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition.
    I conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.
    The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man
    already verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of
    great esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set
    upon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and I
    was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great
    disproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made
    me join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was at
    length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,
    his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has
    made him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has
    not yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the
    certainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the
    most pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,
    but in advising for the best.

    I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at
    Geneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,
    and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been
    given at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the
    republic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second
    decree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I
    refused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were
    well confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every law,
    beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest confusion
    in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears; everything remained
    quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace, it was unfavorable
    to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips and pedants like a
    scholar threatened with a flogging for not having said his catechism.

    These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised
    against me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the
    gazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French
    especially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much pique
    themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the
    unfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized
    themselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while
    each seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me.
    I was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The
    continuator of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of
    extravagance in attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means
    proof of his own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was
    afraid of incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work
    of any kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain
    the cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe
    the world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the
    'Perpetual Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the
    Savoyard Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the
    author of 'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have
    been had I published the 'Treatise de l'Esprit', or any similar work?
    And yet, in the storm raised against the author of that book, the public,
    far from joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by
    eulogium. Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with,
    and the treatment of the two authors in the different countries of
    Europe, be compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to,
    a man of sense be found, and I will ask no more.

    I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield to
    the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous of
    keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,
    encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The
    colonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion
    he had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied
    with his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything
    necessary for my little household establishment.

    The banneret Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most assiduous
    attention, did not leave me for an instant during the whole day. I was
    much flattered by his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The
    day on which I was to take possession of my new habitation was already
    fixed, and I had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm
    was raised against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but
    I have never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited
    against me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer
    me to remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was
    informed of the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the
    members of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,
    and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under
    oppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their
    states. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had
    rather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However
    this may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the blow.
    Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to me, he
    gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its
    arrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know
    where to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and
    foreseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its
    neighbor.

    Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited
    but completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village
    of Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had
    only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more
    opportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally
    be sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve as a
    pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that moment
    to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me hesitate.
    The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly subject,
    added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me with an
    aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct, seemed to
    tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of humanity.
    Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my alcove at
    Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a distich, the
    last line of which was as follows:

    Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.

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

    This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,
    from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the verse
    by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody who
    came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de Lorenzy
    had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had no doubt
    but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to the prince.
    I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in 'Emilius', where
    under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it was clearly seen
    whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped critics, because Madam
    de Boufflers had several times mentioned the subject to me. I was,
    therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink in the registers of the
    King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his majesty to have the
    principles I had dared to attribute to him, he, for that reason, could
    not but be displeased with my writings and their author; for everybody
    knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants have never failed to
    conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on reading my works,
    without being acquainted with my person.

    However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far
    from thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves to
    the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong minds,
    such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of
    reigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this
    occasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I
    thought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance
    his love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage
    of circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man who
    had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.
    I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I
    imagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean
    Jacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below
    the General of the Volsci?

    Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing
    me at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam
    Girardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very
    convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with
    a good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I eat with her
    until Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.

    Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a
    fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to me
    and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I
    felt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and
    that what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would in
    future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my
    misfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief
    would add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she
    would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of
    feeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,
    she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was
    driven by fate.

    I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of my poor
    mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and whatever
    pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to me, I will
    not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an error, if an
    involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one. I had long
    perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no longer for
    me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the more
    sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the same
    inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma, and this
    effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for
    perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing with
    any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,
    however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my heart at
    ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had neglected
    duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse at length
    became so strong that it almost forced from me a public confession of my
    fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage is so clear, that
    it is astonishing any person should, after reading it, have had the
    courage to reproach me with my error. My situation was however still the
    same, or something worse, by the animosity of my enemies, who sought to
    find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and unwilling to run the risk,
    I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to a similar mortification.
    I had besides remarked that a connection with women was prejudicial to my
    health; this double reason made me form resolutions to which I had but
    sometimes badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had more
    constantly adhered to them. It was in this interval I had remarked
    Theresa's coolness; she had the same attachment to me from duty, but not
    the least from love. Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable,
    and I imagined that, certain of the continuation of my cares wherever she
    might be, she would choose to stay at Paris rather than to wander with
    me. Yet she had given such signs of grief at our parting, had required
    of me such positive promises that we should meet again, and, since my
    departure, had expressed to the Prince de Conti and M. de Luxembourg so
    strong a desire of it, that, far from having the courage to speak to her
    of separation, I scarcely had enough to think of it myself; and after
    having felt in my heart how impossible it was for me to do without her,
    all I thought of afterwards was to recall her to me as soon as possible.
    I wrote to her to this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two months
    since I had quitted her; but it was our first separation after a union of
    so many years. We had both of us felt it most cruelly. What emotion in
    our first embrace! O how delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy!
    How does my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to shed them
    more frequently?

    On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of Scotland
    and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the states of
    his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He answered
    me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had expected from
    him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet, lord of the
    manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his excellency.
    The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous Scotchman,
    powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began between him and
    me the strong attachment, which on my part still remains the same, and
    would be so on his, had not the traitors, who have deprived me of all the
    consolation of life, taken advantage of my absence to deceive his old age
    and depreciate me in his esteem.

    George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous
    General Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had
    quitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account of
    his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he soon
    became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked in the
    ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time in Spain,
    the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attached
    himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King of Prussia,
    who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His majesty
    received a great return for this reception, in the services rendered him
    by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious, the sincere
    friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy man, haughty
    and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of friendship, but
    to this it was so obedient, that with very different maxims he saw
    nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him. The king
    charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, to
    Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years, let him
    retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful employment of
    passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the inhabitants
    happy.

    The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to
    distinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.
    When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they
    mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his
    laconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,
    wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to
    flatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the
    minister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having
    been unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the
    usurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the
    part, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur had
    not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the prejudices
    with which he was inspired by others, and of all the imputations brought
    against him it was the most devoid of truth. My first sentiment on
    seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender commiseration, on
    account of his extreme leanness of body, years having already left him
    little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my eyes to his animated,
    open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled with confidence, which
    absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the very short compliment I
    made him when I first came into his presence by speaking of something
    else, as if I had already been a week in his house. He did not bid us
    sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the manor, remained
    standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine and piercing eye
    of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling myself entirely
    at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side upon the sofa. By
    the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived the liberty I took
    gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This is not a
    Neuchatelois.

    Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the
    heart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by
    his attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to
    see me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there
    two days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each
    other that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,
    where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there at
    least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and then
    returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my host. The
    emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage to
    Raubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more pleasing than
    that with which I approached Columbier.

    What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while
    thinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming
    philosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he
    called me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea
    of the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the
    want we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.
    He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and
    for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I
    lodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my
    ease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my
    life to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards
    spoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father!
    How is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous
    wretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your
    friendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,
    who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.
    My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is
    still a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,
    and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to
    be deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular
    and foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people
    he sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect
    it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice
    and not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes
    into his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,
    desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal
    application to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave
    him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On
    receiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission to
    the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a
    language which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of
    my lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered
    him still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had
    proofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did
    it affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions, yet in
    his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his manners in
    general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a matter of no
    great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier being too long
    for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by setting off after
    dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The landlord of the
    house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlin a favor
    of importance to him, begged I would request his excellency to ask it in
    his behalf. "Most willingly," said I, and took him with me. I left him
    in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter to his lordship, who
    returned me no answer. After passing with him the whole morning, I saw
    as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz, who was fatigued to
    death with waiting. Thinking the governor had forgotten what I had said
    to him, I again spoke of the business before we sat down to table, but
    still received no answer. I thought this manner of making me feel I was
    importunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man in waiting, held my
    tongue. On my return the next day I was much surprised at the thanks he
    returned me for the good dinner his excellency had given him after
    receiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lordship sent him the
    rescript he had solicited, dispatched by the minister, and signed by the
    king, and this without having said a word either to myself or Sandoz
    concerning the business, about which I thought he did not wish to give
    himself the least concern.

    I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my
    recollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my
    life, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of
    heart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was
    impossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that in
    future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving
    them a regular arrangement.

    I was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of my
    asylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom, as
    it will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king not
    only approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must relate
    everything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, rather
    embarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute it
    properly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money into
    provisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish me
    with wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added,
    and perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me a
    little house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would fix
    upon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the last
    offer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without accepting
    either, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector, and became
    so sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I interested myself
    as much in his glory as until then I had thought his successes unjust.
    At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by an illumination in
    a very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with which I decorated
    the house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I had the vindictive
    haughtiness to spend almost as much money as he had wished to give me.
    The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the highest pinnacle of
    military and political fame, he would think of acquiring that of another
    nature, by reanimating his states, encouraging in them commerce and
    agriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with a new people,
    maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming the arbitrator,
    after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a situation to sheath
    his sword without danger, certain that no sovereign would oblige him
    again to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was afraid he would
    profit but little by the advantages he had gained, and that he would be
    great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon the subject, and with
    a familiarity of a nature to please men of his character, conveying to
    him the sacred voice of truth, which but few kings are worthy to hear.
    The liberty I took was a secret between him and myself. I did not
    communicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I sent my letter to the
    king sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch without asking what
    it contained. His majesty returned me no answer and the marshal going
    soon after to Berlin, the king told him he had received from me a
    scolding. By this I understood my letter had been ill received, and the
    frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the rusticity of a pedant.
    In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps I did not say what was
    necessary, nor in the manner proper to the occasion. All I can answer
    for is the sentiment which induced me to take up the pen.

    Shortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possible
    assurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took the
    Armenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it.
    I had formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, where
    the frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made me
    more clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience of
    an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had at
    Montmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress,
    troubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet,
    before I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion of
    M. de Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination.
    I therefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of the
    storm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it until
    I should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months afterwards
    that, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could properly,
    and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers, especially
    after having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me I might wear
    it even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the waistcoat,
    caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this dress attended
    divine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to visit his
    lordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner made me no
    other compliment than that which consisted in saying "Salaam aliakum,"
    i.e., "Peace be with you;" the common Turkish salutation; after which
    nothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my new
    dress.

    Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading a
    quiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I have
    never felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction; my
    imagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up my
    attention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seated
    opposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue, is
    the only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking and
    rambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet and
    eyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of the
    weather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment each
    other, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live like a
    savage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the women,
    I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat down to
    work at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the better
    support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time with my
    female neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very amiable
    and not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois, daughter
    of the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as to induce
    me to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from which she
    derived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and the services
    she received from me on occasions of importance, so that now a worthy and
    virtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to me for her
    reason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I received
    from her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy winter,
    through out the whole of which when my sufferings were most cruel, she
    came to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she made very short
    for us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual openness of heart.
    She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and these names, which we
    still give to each other, will, I hope, continue to be as dear to her as
    they are to me. That my laces might be of some utility, I gave them to
    my young female friends at their marriages, upon condition of their
    suckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had one upon these
    terms, and well deserved it by her observance of them; Isabella herself
    also received another, which, by intention she as fully merited. She has
    not been happy enough to be able to pursue her inclination. When I sent
    the laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of them a letter; the first
    has been shown about in the world; the second has not the same celebrity:
    friendship proceeds with less noise.

    Amongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will not
    enter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had a
    house upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was not
    anxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon bad
    terms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet,
    as he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under the
    necessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimes
    dined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. du
    Perou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his name
    over in silence.

    M. du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whose
    successor, M. le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left a
    widow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of her
    second husband.

    Du Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother, had
    been carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him. He
    had acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself
    upon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance,
    yellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored this
    opinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered
    his motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond of
    disputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad.
    I was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker, a
    man of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a friend.
    He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the least
    compliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had already
    formed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and still
    less of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said was
    just. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neither
    the elevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but he
    had all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. I
    did not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment from
    esteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totally
    forgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich.

    For a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go to
    Neuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury.
    Why did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness upon
    which I must not be silent.

    Although protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while I
    avoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of the
    public, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happened
    in France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would have
    been afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by not
    imitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers of
    that city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of state
    against me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressed
    themselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited my
    book, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying,
    that had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been suffered
    to do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupid
    hypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animated
    the people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from setting
    forth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live at
    Motiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have measured
    me the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear price. They
    would have it that I was obliged to them for the protection the king
    granted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to deprive me of
    it. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all the injury
    they could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power, they made a
    merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in suffering me
    to stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their vain efforts,
    but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had the weakness to be
    unwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded for almost two years,
    as if it was not doing too much honor to such wretches, to pay attention
    to their proceedings, which, good or bad, could not be imputed to them,
    because they never act but from a foreign impulse. Besides, minds
    without sense or knowledge, whose objects of esteem are influence, power
    and money, and far from imagining even that some respect is due to
    talents, and that it is dishonorable to injure and insult them.

    A certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had been
    deprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, the
    husband of Isabella: "I am told this Rousseau has great wit,--bring him
    to me that I may see whether he has or not." The disapprobation of such
    a man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls.

    After the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even at
    Neuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had,
    however, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he had
    given me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer is
    indiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after my
    solemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestant
    country, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as in
    the duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion into
    which I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the other
    hand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing myself to a
    refusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the tumult excited
    at Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe (the ministers),
    he would, without difficulty administer to me the sacrament in his
    church. The time of communion approaching, I wrote to M. de Montmollin,
    the minister, to prove to him my desire of communicating, and declaring
    myself heartily united to the Protestant church; I also told him, in
    order to avoid disputing upon articles of faith, that I would not hearken
    to any particular explanation of the point of doctrine. After taking
    these steps I made myself easy, not doubting but M. de Montmollin would
    refuse to admit me without the preliminary discussion to which I refused
    to consent, and that in this manner everything would be at an end without
    any fault of mine. I was deceived: when I least expected anything of the
    kind, M. de Montmollin came to declare to me not only that he admitted me
    to the communion under the condition which I had proposed, but that he
    and the elders thought themselves much honored by my being one of their
    flock. I never in my whole life felt greater surprise or received from
    it more consolation. Living always alone and unconnected, appeared to me
    a melancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so many
    proscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be able
    to say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to the
    communion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears of
    tenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him to
    whose table I was drawing near.

    Sometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam de
    Boufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means of
    D'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, the
    first this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency,
    she rebuked me severely for having written to M. de Montmollin, and
    especially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meant
    by her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declared
    myself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollande
    without incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me
    diverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct my
    conscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of the
    purity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and I
    answered her without anger, stating to her my reasons.

    Calumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benign
    authors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly.
    For my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without giving
    myself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was a
    censure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could the
    Sorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to a
    certainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was not
    one. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of what
    consequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singular
    care, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this
    publication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne, by
    way of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the case.
    But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all I could
    bring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have been
    better placed in a madhouse than they were in the college.

    I was more affected by another publication, because it came from a man
    for whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though I
    pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by the
    archbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty I
    owed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;
    the case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I had
    always detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I never
    combat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must be
    certain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I had
    no doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although they
    were at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old principle of
    crushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow my ancient
    maxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work which I
    think I did completely.

    I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wanting
    to determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means of
    subsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my old
    projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my household
    arrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale or
    squandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since my
    departure. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished.
    Two or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without my
    having the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literary
    pursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned.
    Persuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that the
    public, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, all
    my endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolution
    should take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a resource
    from amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect I took
    up my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far advanced as
    to leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My books which
    I had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my papers sent me
    by the same conveyance, furnished me with the means of beginning my
    memoirs to which I was determined to give my whole attention. I began by
    transcribing the letters into a book, by which my memory might be guided
    in the order of fact and time. I had already selected those I intended
    to keep for this purpose, and for ten years the series was not
    interrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I found an
    interruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six months,
    from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put into my
    selection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d' Epinay,
    Madam de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were missing.
    What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon my papers
    whilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was not
    conceivable, and I had seen M. de Luxembourg take the key of the chamber
    in which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, and
    all those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had been
    under the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be put
    in order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked them
    over for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those which
    ought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I perceived
    the vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly been taken
    away. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could not
    comprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and at
    the time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could not
    be interesting to any person. They contained nothing more than
    cavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendship
    from M. de Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was then
    upon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? To
    what use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwards
    that I suspected the nature of the theft. The deficiency being no longer
    doubtful, I looked over my rough drafts to see whether or not it was the
    only one. I found several, which on account of the badness of my memory,
    made me suppose others in the multitude of my papers. Those I remarked
    were that of the 'Morale Sensitive', and the extract of the adventures of
    Lord Edward. The last, I confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg.
    La Roche, her valet de chambre, had sent me the papers, and I could think
    of nobody but herself to whom this fragment could be of consequence; but
    what concern could the other give her, any more than the rest of the
    letters missing, with which, even with evil intentions, nothing to my
    prejudice could be done, unless they were falsified? As for the
    marechal, with whose friendship for me, and invariable integrity, I was
    perfectly acquainted, I never could suspect him for a moment. The most
    reasonable supposition, after long tormenting my mind in endeavoring to
    discover the author of the theft, that which imputed it to D'Alembert,
    who, having thrust himself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, might
    have found means to turn over these papers, and take from amongst them
    such manuscripts and letters as he might have thought proper, either for
    the purpose of endeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or to
    appropriate those he should find useful to his own private purposes. I
    imagined that, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might have
    supposed it to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with
    which he would have armed himself against me in a manner easy to be
    imagined. Certain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketch
    and determined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me but
    little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand

    [I had found in his 'Elemens de Musique' (Elements of Music)
    several things taken from what I had written for the 'Encyclopedie',
    and which were given to him several years before the publication of
    his elements. I know not what he may have had to do with a book
    entitled 'Dictionaire des Beaux Arts' (Dictionary of the Fine Arts)
    but I found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and
    this long before the same articles were printed in the
    Encyclopedie.]

    had committed upon me without having complained of these pilferings. In
    a very little time I thought no more of the trick that had been played me
    than if nothing had happened, and began to collect the materials I had
    left for the purpose of undertaking my projected confessions.

    I had long thought the company of ministers, or at least the citizens and
    burgesses of Geneva, would remonstrate against the infraction of the
    edict in the decree made against me. Everything remained quiet, at least
    to all exterior appearance; for discontent was general, and ready, on the
    first opportunity, openly to manifest itself. My friends, or persons
    calling themselves such, wrote letter after letter exhorting me to come
    and put myself at their head, assuring me of public separation from the
    council. The fear of the disturbance and troubles which might be caused
    by my presence, prevented me from acquiescing with their desires, and,
    faithful to the oath I had formerly made, never to take the least part in
    any civil dissension in my country, I chose rather to let the offence
    remain as it was, and banish myself forever from the country, than to
    return to it by means which were violent and dangerous. It is true,
    I expected the burgesses would make legal remonstrances against an
    infraction in which their interests were deeply concerned; but no such
    steps were taken. They who conducted the body of citizens sought less
    the real redress of grievances than an opportunity to render themselves
    necessary. They caballed but were silent, and suffered me to be
    bespattered by the gossips and hypocrites set on to render me odious in
    the eyes of the populace, and pass upon them their boistering for a zeal
    in favor of religion.

    After having, during a whole year, vainly expected that some one would
    remonstrate against an illegal proceeding, and seeing myself abandoned by
    my fellow-citizens, I determined to renounce my ungrateful country in
    which I never had lived, from which I had not received either inheritance
    or services, and by which, in return for the honor I had endeavored to do
    it, I saw myself so unworthily treated by unanimous consent, since they,
    who should have spoken, had remained silent. I therefore wrote to the
    first syndic for that year, to M. Favre, if I remember right, a letter in
    which I solemnly gave up my freedom of the city of Geneva, carefully
    observing in it, however, that decency and moderation, from which I have
    never departed in the acts of haughtiness which, in my misfortunes, the
    cruelty of my enemies have frequently forced upon me,

    This step opened the eyes of the citizens, who feeling they had neglected
    their own interests by abandoning my defence, took my part when it was
    too late. They had wrongs of their own which they joined to mine, and
    made these the subject of several well-reasoned representations, which
    they strengthened and extended, as the refusal of the council, supported
    by the ministry of France, made them more clearly perceive the project
    formed to impose on them a yoke. These altercations produced several
    pamphlets which were undecisive, until that appeared entitled 'Lettres
    ecrites de la Campagne', a work written in favor of the council, with
    infinite art, and by which the remonstrating party, reduced to silence,
    was crushed for a time. This production, a lasting monument of the rare
    talents of its author, came from the Attorney-General Tronchin, a man of
    wit and an enlightened understanding, well versed in the laws and
    government of the republic. 'Siluit terra'.

    The remonstrators, recovered from their first overthrow, undertook to
    give an answer, and in time produced one which brought them off tolerably
    well. But they all looked to me, as the only person capable of combating
    a like adversary with hope of success. I confess I was of their opinion,
    and excited by my former fellow-citizens, who thought it was my duty to
    aid them with my pen, as I had been the cause of their embarrassment, I
    undertook to refute the 'Lettres ecrites de la Campagne', and parodied
    the title of them by that of 'Lettres ecrites de la Montagne,' which I
    gave to mine. I wrote this answer so secretly, that at a meeting I had
    at Thonon, with the chiefs of the malcontents to talk of their affairs,
    and where they showed me a sketch of their answer, I said not a word of
    mine, which was quite ready, fearing obstacles might arise relative to
    the impression of it, should the magistrate or my enemies hear of what I
    had done. This work was, however known in France before the publication;
    but government chose rather to let it appear, than to suffer me to guess
    at the means by which my secret had been discovered. Concerning this I
    will state what I know, which is but trifling: what I have conjectured
    shall remain with myself.

    I received, at Motiers, almost as many visits as at the Hermitage and
    Montmorency; but these, for the most part were a different kind. They
    who had formerly come to see me were people who, having taste, talents,
    and principles, something similar to mine, alleged them as the causes of
    their visits, and introduced subjects on which I could converse. At
    Motiers the case was different, especially with the visitors who came
    from France. They were officers or other persons who had no taste for
    literature, nor had many of them read my works, although, according to
    their own accounts, they had travelled thirty, forty, sixty, and even a
    hundred leagues to come and see me, and admire the illustrious man, the
    very celebrated, the great man, etc. For from the time of my settling at
    Motiers, I received the most impudent flattery, from which the esteem of
    those with whom I associated had formerly sheltered me. As but few of my
    new visitors deigned to tell me who or what they were, and as they had
    neither read nor cast their eye over my works, nor had their researches
    and mine been directed to the same objects, I knew not what to speak to
    them upon: I waited for what they had to say, because it was for them to
    know and tell me the purpose of their visit. It will naturally be
    imagined this did not produce conversations very interesting to me,
    although they, perhaps, were so to my visitors, according to the
    information they might wish to acquire; for as I was without suspicion,
    I answered without reserve, to every question they thought proper to ask
    me, and they commonly went away as well informed as myself of the
    particulars of my situation.

    I was, for example, visited in this manner by M. de Feins, equerry to the
    queen, and captain of cavalry, who had the patience to pass several days
    at Motiers, and to follow me on foot even to La Ferriere, leading his
    horse by the bridle, without having with me any point of union, except
    our acquaintance with Mademoiselle Fel, and that we both played at
    'bilboquet'. [A kind of cup and ball.]

    Before this I had received another visit much more extraordinary. Two
    men arrived on foot, each leading a mule loaded with his little baggage,
    lodging at the inn, taking care of their mules and asking to see me. By
    the equipage of these muleteers they were taken for smugglers, and the
    news that smugglers were come to see me was instantly spread. Their
    manner of addressing me sufficiently showed they were persons of another
    description; but without being smugglers they might be adventurers, and
    this doubt kept me for some time on my guard. They soon removed my
    apprehensions. One was M. de Montauban, who had the title of Comte de la
    Tour du Pin, gentleman to the dauphin; the other, M. Dastier de
    Carpentras, an old officer who had his cross of St. Louis in his pocket,
    because he could not display it. These gentlemen, both very amiable,
    were men of sense, and their manner of travelling, so much to my own
    taste, and but little like that of French gentlemen, in some measure
    gained them my attachment, which an intercourse with them served to
    improve. Our acquaintance did not end with the visit; it is still kept
    up, and they have since been several times to see me, not on foot, that
    was very well for the first time; but the more I have seen of these
    gentlemen the less similarity have I found between their taste and mine;
    I have not discovered their maxims to be such as I have ever observed,
    that my writings are familiar to them, or that there is any real sympathy
    between them and myself. What, therefore, did they want with me? Why
    came they to see me with such an equipage? Why repeat their visit? Why
    were they so desirous of having me for their host? I did not at that
    time propose to myself these questions; but they have sometimes occurred
    to me since.

    Won by their advances, my heart abandoned itself without reserve,
    especially to M. Dastier, with whose open countenance I was more
    particularly pleased. I even corresponded with him, and when I
    determined to print the 'Letters from the Mountains', I thought of
    addressing myself to him, to deceive those by whom my packet was waited
    for upon the road to Holland. He had spoken to me a good deal, and
    perhaps purposely, upon the liberty of the press at Avignon; he offered
    me his services should I have anything to print there: I took advantage
    of the offer and sent him successively by the post my first sheets.
    After having kept these for some time, he sent them back to me,
    "Because," said he, "no bookseller dared to sell them;" and I was obliged
    to have recourse to Rey taking care to send my papers, one after the
    other, and not to part with those which succeeded until I had advice of
    the reception of those already sent. Before the work was published,
    I found it had been seen in the office of the ministers, and D'Escherny,
    of Neuchatel, spoke to me of the book, entitled 'Del' Homme de la
    Monlagne', which D'Holbach had told him was by me. I assured him, and it
    was true, that I never had written a book which bore that title. When
    the letters appeared he became furious, and accused me of falsehood;
    although I had told him truth. By this means I was certain my manuscript
    had been read; as I could not doubt the fidelity of Rey, the most
    rational conjecture seemed to be, that my packets had been opened at the
    post-house.

    Another acquaintance I made much about the same time, but which was begun
    by letters, was that with M. Laliand of Nimes, who wrote to me from
    Paris, begging I would send him my profile; he said he was in want of it
    for my bust in marble, which Le Moine was making for him to be placed in
    his library. If this was a pretence invented to deceive me, it fully
    succeeded. I imagined that a man who wished to have my bust in marble in
    his library had his head full of my works, consequently of my principles,
    and that he loved me because his mind was in unison with mine. It was
    natural this idea should seduce me. I have since seen M. Laliand. I
    found him very ready to render me many trifling services, and to concern
    himself in my little affairs, but I have my doubts of his having, in the
    few books he ever read, fallen upon any one of those I have written. I
    do not know that he has a library, or that such a thing is of any use to
    him; and for the bust he has a bad figure in plaster, by Le Moine, from
    which has been engraved a hideous portrait that bears my name, as if it
    bore to me some resemblance.

    The only Frenchman who seemed to come to see me, on account of my
    sentiments, and his taste for my works, was a young officer of the
    regiment of Limousin, named Seguier de St. Brisson. He made a figure in
    Paris, where he still perhaps distinguishes himself by his pleasing
    talents and wit. He came once to Montmorency, the winter which preceded
    my catastrophe. I was pleased with his vivacity. He afterwards wrote to
    me at Motiers, and whether he wished to flatter me, or that his head was
    turned with Emilius, he informed me he was about to quit the service to
    live independently, and had begun to learn the trade of a carpenter. He
    had an elder brother, a captain in the same regiment, the favorite of the
    mother, who, a devotee to excess, and directed by I know not what
    hypocrite, did not treat the youngest son well, accusing him of
    irreligion, and what was still worse, of the unpardonable crime of being
    connected with me. These were the grievances, on account of which he was
    determined to break with his mother, and adopt the manner of life of
    which I have just spoken, all to play the part of the young Emilius.
    Alarmed at his petulance, I immediately wrote to him, endeavoring to make
    him change his resolution, and my exhortations were as strong as I could
    make them. They had their effect. He returned to his duty, to his
    mother, and took back the resignation he had given the colonel, who had
    been prudent enough to make no use of it, that the young man might have
    time to reflect upon what he had done. St. Brisson, cured of these
    follies, was guilty of another less alarming, but, to me, not less
    disagreeable than the rest: he became an author. He successively
    published two or three pamphlets which announced a man not devoid of
    talents, but I have not to reproach myself with having encouraged him by
    my praises to continue to write.

    Some time afterwards he came to see me, and we made together a pilgrimage
    to the island of St. Pierre. During this journey I found him different
    from what I saw of him at Montmorency. He had, in his manner, something
    affected, which at first did not much disgust me, although I have since
    thought of it to his disadvantage. He once visited me at the hotel de
    St. Simon, as I passed through Paris on my way to England. I learned
    there what he had not told me, that he lived in the great world, and
    often visited Madam de Luxembourg. Whilst I was at Trie, I never heard
    from him, nor did he so much as make inquiry after me, by means of his
    relation Mademoiselle Seguier, my neighbor. This lady never seemed
    favorably disposed towards me. In a word, the infatuation of M. de St.
    Brisson ended suddenly, like the connection of M. de Feins: but this man
    owed me nothing, and the former was under obligations to me, unless the
    follies I prevented him from committing were nothing more than
    affectation; which might very possibly be the case.

    I had visits from Geneva also. The Delucs, father and son, successively
    chose me for their attendant in sickness. The father was taken ill on
    the road, the son was already sick when he left Geneva; they both came to
    my house. Ministers, relations, hypocrites, and persons of every
    description came from Geneva and Switzerland, not like those from France,
    to laugh at and admire me, but to rebuke and catechise me. The only
    person amongst them, who gave me pleasure, was Moultou, who passed with
    me three or four days, and whom I wished to remain much longer; the most
    persevering of all, the most obstinate, and who conquered me by
    importunity, was a M. d'Ivernois, a merchant at Geneva, a French refugee,
    and related to the attorney-general of Neuchatel. This man came from
    Geneva to Motiers twice a year, on purpose to see me, remained with me
    several days together from morning to night, accompanied me in my walks,
    brought me a thousand little presents, insinuated himself in spite of me
    into my confidence, and intermeddled in all my affairs, notwithstanding
    there was not between him and myself the least similarity of ideas,
    inclination, sentiment, or knowledge. I do not believe he ever read a
    book of any kind throughout, or that he knows upon what subject mine are
    written. When I began to herbalize, he followed me in my botanical
    rambles, without taste for that amusement, or having anything to say to
    me or I to him. He had the patience to pass with me three days in a
    public house at Goumoins, whence, by wearying him and making him feel how
    much he wearied me, I was in hopes of driving him away. I could not,
    however, shake his incredible perseverance, nor by any means discover the
    motive of it.

    Amongst these connections, made and continued by force, I must not omit
    the only one that was agreeable to me, and in which my heart was really
    interested: this was that I had with a young Hungarian who came to live
    at Neuchatel, and from that place to Motiers, a few months after I had
    taken up my residence there. He was called by the people of the country
    the Baron de Sauttern, by which name he had been recommended from Zurich.
    He was tall, well made, had an agreeable countenance, and mild and social
    qualities. He told everybody, and gave me also to understand that he
    came to Neuchatel for no other purpose, than that of forming his youth to
    virtue, by his intercourse with me. His physiognomy, manner, and
    behavior, seemed well suited to his conversation, and I should have
    thought I failed in one of the greatest duties had I turned my back upon
    a young man in whom I perceived nothing but what was amiable, and who
    sought my acquaintance from so respectable a motive. My heart knows not
    how to connect itself by halves. He soon acquired my friendship, and all
    my confidence, and we were presently inseparable. He accompanied me in
    all my walks, and become fond of them. I took him to the marechal, who
    received him with the utmost kindness. As he was yet unable to explain
    himself in French, he spoke and wrote to me in Latin, I answered in
    French, and this mingling of the two languages did not make our
    conversations either less smooth or lively. He spoke of his family, his
    affairs, his adventures, and of the court of Vienna, with the domestic
    details of which he seemed well acquainted. In fine, during two years
    which we passed in the greatest intimacy, I found in him a mildness of
    character proof against everything, manners not only polite but elegant,
    great neatness of person, an extreme decency in his conversation, in a
    word, all the marks of a man born and educated a gentleman, and which
    rendered him in my eyes too estimable not to make him dear to me.

    At the time we were upon the most intimate and friendly terms,
    D' Ivernois wrote to me from Geneva, putting me upon my guard against the
    young Hungarian who had taken up his residence in my neighborhood;
    telling me he was a spy whom the minister of France had appointed to
    watch my proceedings. This information was of a nature to alarm me the
    more, as everybody advised me to guard against the machinations of
    persons who were employed to keep an eye upon my actions, and to entice
    me into France for the purpose of betraying me. To shut the mouths, once
    for all, of these foolish advisers, I proposed to Sauttern, without
    giving him the least intimation of the information I had received,
    a journey on foot to Pontarlier, to which he consented. As soon as we
    arrived there I put the letter from D'Ivernois into his hands, and after
    giving him an ardent embrace, I said: "Sauttern has no need of a proof of
    my confidence in him, but it is necessary I should prove to the public
    that I know in whom to place it." This embrace was accompanied with a
    pleasure which persecutors can neither feel themselves, nor take away
    from the oppressed.

    I will never believe Sauttern was a spy, nor that he betrayed me: but I
    was deceived by him. When I opened to him my heart without reserve, he
    constantly kept his own shut, and abused me by lies. He invented I know
    not what kind of story, to prove to me his presence was necessary in his
    own country. I exhorted him to return to it as soon as possible. He
    setoff, and when I thought he was in Hungary, I learned he was at
    Strasbourgh. This was not the first time he had been there. He had
    caused some disorder in a family in that city; and the husband knowing I
    received him in my house, wrote to me. I used every effort to bring the
    young woman back to the paths of virtue, and Sauttern to his duty.

    When I thought they were perfectly detached from each other, they renewed
    their acquaintance, and the husband had the complaisance to receive the
    young man at his house; from that moment I had nothing more to say.
    I found the pretended baron had imposed upon me by a great number of
    lies. His name was not Sauttern, but Sauttersheim. With respect to the
    title of baron, given him in Switzerland, I could not reproach him with
    the impropriety, because he had never taken it; but I have not a doubt of
    his being a gentleman, and the marshal, who knew mankind, and had been in
    Hungary, always considered and treated him as such.

    He had no sooner left my neighborhood, than the girl at the inn where he
    eat, at Motiers, declared herself with child by him. She was so dirty a
    creature, and Sauttern, generally esteemed in the country for his conduct
    and purity of morals, piqued himself so much upon cleanliness, that
    everybody was shocked at this impudent pretension. The most amiable
    women of the country, who had vainly displayed to him their charms, were
    furious: I myself was almost choked with indignation. I used every
    effort to get the tongue of this impudent woman stopped, offering to pay
    all expenses, and to give security for Sauttersheim. I wrote to him in
    the fullest persuasion, not only that this pregnancy could not relate to
    him, but that it was feigned, and the whole a machination of his enemies
    and mine. I wished him to return and confound the strumpet, and those by
    whom she was dictated to. The pusillanimity of his answer surprised me.
    He wrote to the master of the parish to which the creature belonged, and
    endeavored to stifle the matter. Perceiving this, I concerned myself no
    more about it, but I was astonished that a man who could stoop so low
    should have been sufficiently master of himself to deceive me by his
    reserve in the closest familiarity.

    From Strasbourgh, Sauttersheim went to seek his fortune in Paris, and
    found there nothing but misery. He wrote to me acknowledging his error.
    My compassion was excited by the recollection of our former friendship,
    and I sent him a sum of money. The year following, as I passed through
    Paris, I saw him much in the same situation; but he was the intimate
    friend of M. de Laliand, and I could not learn by what means he had
    formed this acquaintance, or whether it was recent or of long standing.
    Two years afterwards Sauttersheim returned to Strasbourgh, whence he
    wrote to me and where he died. This, in a few words, is the history of
    our connection, and what I know of his adventures; but while I mourn the
    fate of the unhappy young man, I still, and ever shall, believe he was
    the son of people of distinction, and the impropriety of his conduct was
    the effect of the situations to which he was reduced.

    Such were the connections and acquaintance I acquired at Motiers. How
    many of these would have been necessary to compensate the cruel losses I
    suffered at the same time.

    The first of these was that of M. de Luxembourg, who, after having been
    long tormented by the physicians, at length became their victim, by being
    treated for the gout which they would not acknowledge him to have, as for
    a disorder they thought they could cure.

    According to what La Roche, the confidential servant of Madam de
    Luxembourg, wrote to me relative to what had happened, it is by this
    cruel and memorable example that the miseries of greatness are to be
    deplored.

    The loss of this good nobleman afflicted me the more, as he was the only
    real friend I had in France, and the mildness of his character was such
    as to make me quite forget his rank, and attach myself to him as his
    equal. Our connection was not broken off on account of my having quitted
    the kingdom; he continued to write to me as usual.

    I nevertheless thought I perceived that absence, or my misfortune, had
    cooled his affection for me. It is difficult to a courtier to preserve
    the same attachment to a person whom he knows to be in disgrace with
    courts. I moreover suspected the great ascendancy Madam de Luxembourg
    had over his mind, had been unfavorable to me, and that she had taken
    advantage of our separation to injure me in his esteem. For her part,
    notwithstanding a few affected marks of regard, which daily became less
    frequent, she less concealed the change in her friendship. She wrote to
    me four or five times into Switzerland, after which she never wrote to me
    again, and nothing but my prejudice, confidence and blindness, could have
    prevented my discovering in her something more than a coolness towards
    me.

    Guy the bookseller, partner with Duchesne, who, after I had left
    Montmorency, frequently went to the hotel de Luxembourg, wrote to me that
    my name was in the will of the marechal. There was nothing in this
    either incredible or extraordinary, on which account I had no doubt of
    the truth of the information. I deliberated within myself whether or not
    I should receive the legacy. Everything well considered, I determined to
    accept it, whatever it might be, and to do that honor to the memory of an
    honest man, who, in a rank in which friendship is seldom found, had had a
    real one for me. I had not this duty to fulfill. I heard no more of the
    legacy, whether it were true or false; and in truth I should have felt
    some pain in offending against one of the great maxims of my system of
    morality, in profiting by anything at the death of a person whom I had
    once held dear. During the last illness of our friend Mussard, Leneips
    proposed to me to take advantage of the grateful sense he expressed for
    our cares, to insinuate to him dispositions in our favor. "Ah! my dear
    Leneips," said I, "let us not pollute by interested ideas the sad but
    sacred duties we discharge towards our dying friend. I hope my name will
    never be found in the testament of any person, at least not in that of a
    friend." It was about this time that my lord marshal spoke to me of his,
    of what he intended to do in it for me, and that I made him the answer of
    which I have spoken in the first part of my memoirs.

    My second loss, still more afflicting and irreparable, was that of the
    best of women and mothers, who, already weighed down with years, and
    overburthened with infirmities and misery, quitted this vale of tears for
    the abode of the blessed, where the amiable remembrance of the good we
    have done here below is the eternal reward of our benevolence. Go,
    gentle and beneficent shade, to those of Fenelon, Berneg, Catinat, and
    others, who in a more humble state have, like them, opened their hearts
    to pure charity; go and taste of the fruit of your own benevolence, and
    prepare for your son the place he hopes to fill by your side. Happy in
    your misfortunes that Heaven, in putting to them a period, has spared you
    the cruel spectacle of his! Fearing, lest I should fill her heart with
    sorrow by the recital of my first disasters, I had not written to her
    since my arrival in Switzerland; but I wrote to M. de Conzie, to inquire
    after her situation, and it was from him I learned she had ceased to
    alleviate the sufferings of the afflicted, and that her own were at an
    end. I myself shall not suffer long; but if I thought I should not see
    her again in the life to come, my feeble imagination would less delight
    in the idea of the perfect happiness I there hope to enjoy.

    My third and last loss, for since that time I have not had a friend to
    lose, was that of the lord marshal. He did not die but tired of serving
    the ungratful, he left Neuchatel, and I have never seen him since.
    He still lives, and will, I hope, survive me: he is alive, and thanks to
    him all my attachments on earth are not destroyed. There is one man
    still worthy of my friendship; for the real value of this consists more
    in what we feel than in that which we inspire; but I have lost the
    pleasure I enjoyed in his, and can rank him in the number of those only
    whom I love, but with whom I am no longer connected. He went to England
    to receive the pardon of the king, and acquired the possession of the
    property which formerly had been confiscated. We did not separate
    without an intention of again being united, the idea of which seemed to
    give him as much pleasure as I received from it. He determined to reside
    at Keith Hall, near Aberdeen, and I was to join him as soon as he was
    settled there: but this project was too flattering to my hopes to give me
    any of its success. He did not remain in Scotland. The affectionate
    solicitations of the King of Prussia induced him to return to Berlin,
    and the reason of my not going to him there will presently appear.

    Before this departure, foreseeing the storm which my enemies began to
    raise against me, he of his own accord sent me letters of naturalization,
    which seemed to be a certain means of preventing me from being driven
    from the country. The community of the Convent of Val de Travers
    followed the example of the governor, and gave me letters of Communion,
    gratis, as they were the first. Thus, in every respect, become a
    citizen, I was sheltered from legal expulsion, even by the prince; but it
    has never been by legitimate means, that the man who, of all others, has
    shown the greatest respect for the laws, has been persecuted. I do not
    think I ought to enumerate, amongst the number of my losses at this time,
    that of the Abbe Malby. Having lived sometime at the house of his
    mother, I have been acquainted with the abbe, but not very intimately,
    and I have reason to believe the nature of his sentiments with respect to
    me changed after I acquired a greater celebrity than he already had. But
    the first time I discovered his insincerity was immediately after the
    publication of the 'Letters from the Mountain'. A letter attributed to
    him, addressed to Madam Saladin, was handed about in Geneva, in which he
    spoke of this work as the seditious clamors of a furious demagogue.

    The esteem I had for the Abbe Malby, and my great opinion of his
    understanding, did not permit me to believe this extravagant letter was
    written by him. I acted in this business with my usual candor. I sent
    him a copy of the letter, informing him he was said to be the author of
    it. He returned me no answer. This silence astonished me: but what was
    my surprise when by a letter I received from Madam de Chenonceaux,
    I learned the Abbe was really the author of that which was attributed to
    him, and found himself greatly embarrassed by mine. For even supposing
    for a moment that what he stated was true, how could he justify so public
    an attack, wantonly made, without obligation or necessity, for the sole
    purpose of overwhelming in the midst of his greatest misfortunes, a man
    to whom he had shown himself a well-wisher, and who had not done anything
    that could excite his enmity? In a short time afterwards the 'Dialogues
    of Phocion', in which I perceived nothing but a compilation, without
    shame or restraint, from my writings, made their appearance.

    In reading this book I perceived the author had not the least regard for
    me, and that in future I must number him among my most bitter enemies.
    I do not believe he has ever pardoned me for the Social Contract, far
    superior to his abilities, or the Perpetual Peace; and I am, besides, of
    opinion that the desire he expressed that I should make an extract from
    the Abby de St. Pierre, proceeded from a supposition in him that I should
    not acquit myself of it so well.

    The further I advance in my narrative, the less order I feel myself
    capable of observing. The agitation of the rest of my life has deranged
    in my ideas the succession of events. These are too numerous, confused,
    and disagreeable to be recited in due order. The only strong impression
    they have left upon my mind is that of the horrid mystery by which the
    cause of them is concealed, and of the deplorable state to which they
    have reduced me. My narrative will in future be irregular, and according
    to the events which, without order, may occur to my recollection.
    I remember about the time to which I refer, full of the idea of my
    confessions, I very imprudently spoke of them to everybody, never
    imagining it could be the wish or interest, much less within the power
    of any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in the way of this
    undertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would not have rendered
    me more discreet, as from the nature of my disposition it is totally
    impossible for me to conceal either my thoughts or feelings. The
    knowledge of this enterprise was, as far as I can judge, the cause of the
    storm that was raised to drive me from Switzerland, and deliver me into
    the hands of those by whom I might be prevented from executing it.

    I had another project in contemplation which was not looked upon with a
    more favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first: this was a
    general edition of my works. I thought this edition of them necessary to
    ascertain what books, amongst those to which my name was affixed, were
    really written by me, and to furnish the public with the means of
    distinguishing them from the writings falsely attributed to me by my
    enemies, to bring me to dishonor and contempt. This was besides a simple
    and an honorable means of insuring to myself a livelihood, and the only
    one that remained to me. As I had renounced the profession of an author,
    my memoirs not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime; as I no
    longer gained a farthing in any manner whatsoever, and constantly lived
    at a certain expense, I saw the end of my resources in that of the
    produce of the last things I had written. This reason had induced me to
    hasten the finishing of my Dictionary of Music, which still was
    incomplete. I had received for it a hundred louis(guineas) and a life
    annuity of three hundred livres; but a hundred louis could not last long
    in the hands of a man who annually expended upwards of sixty, and
    three-hundred livres (twelve guineas) a year was but a trifling sum to
    one upon whom parasites and beggarly visitors lighted like a swarm of
    flies.

    A company of merchants from Neuchatel came to undertake the general
    edition, and a printer or bookseller of the name of Reguillat, from
    Lyons, thrust himself, I know not by what means, amongst them to direct
    it. The agreement was made upon reasonable terms, and sufficient to
    accomplish my object. I had in print and manuscript, matter for six
    volumes in quarto. I moreover agreed to give my assistance in bringing
    out the edition. The merchants were, on their part, to pay me a thousand
    crowns (one hundred and twenty-five pounds) down, and to assign me an
    annuity of sixteen hundred livres (sixty-six pounds) for life.

    The agreement was concluded but not signed, when the Letters from the
    Mountain appeared. The terrible explosion caused by this infernal work,
    and its abominable author, terrified the company, and the undertaking was
    at an end.

    I would compare the effect of this last production to that of the Letter
    on French Music, had not that letter, while it brought upon me hatred,
    and exposed me to danger, acquired me respect and esteem. But after the
    appearance of the last work, it was a matter of astonishment at Geneva
    and Versailles that such a monster as the author of it should be suffered
    to exist. The little council, excited by Resident de France, and
    directed by the attorney-general, made a declaration against my work,
    by which, in the most severe terms, it was declared to be unworthy of
    being burned by the hands of the hangman, adding, with an address which
    bordered upon the burlesque, there was no possibility of speaking of or
    answering it without dishonor. I would here transcribe the curious.
    piece of composition, but unfortunately I have it not by me. I ardently
    wish some of my readers, animated by the zeal of truth and equity, would
    read over the Letters from the Mountain: they will, I dare hope, feel the
    stoical moderation which reigns throughout the whole, after all the cruel
    outrages with which the author was loaded. But unable to answer the
    abuse, because no part of it could be called by that name nor to the
    reasons because these were unanswerable, my enemies pretended to appear
    too much enraged to reply: and it is true, if they took the invincible
    arguments it contains, for abuse, they must have felt themselves roughly
    treated.

    The remonstrating party, far from complaining of the odious declaration,
    acted according to the spirit of it, and instead of making a trophy of
    the Letters from the Mountain, which they veiled to make them serve as a
    shield, were pusillanimous enough not to do justice or honor to that
    work, written to defend them, and at their own solicitation. They did
    not either quote or mention the letters, although they tacitly drew from
    them all their arguments, and by exactly following the advice with which
    they conclude, made them the sole cause of their safety and triumph.
    They had imposed on me this duty: I had fulfilled it, and unto the end
    had served their cause and the country. I begged of them to abandon me,
    and in their quarrels to think of nobody but themselves. They took me at
    my word, and I concerned myself no more about their affairs, further than
    constantly to exhort them to peace, not doubting, should they continue to
    be obstinate, of their being crushed by France; this however did not
    happen; I know the reason why it did not, but this is not the place to
    explain what I mean.

    The effect produced at Neuchatel by the Letters from the Mountain was at
    first very mild. I sent a copy of them to M. de Montmollin, who received
    it favorably, and read it without making any objection. He was ill as
    well as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in a friendly manner to
    see me, and conversed on general subjects. A rumor was however begun;
    the book was burned I know not where. From Geneva, Berne, and perhaps
    from Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed to Neuchatel, and
    especially to Val de Travers, where, before even the ministers had taken
    any apparent Steps, an attempt was secretly made to stir up the people,
    I ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by the people of that
    country in which I have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leaving
    about me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing to do any
    service in my power, and which was consistent with justice, making myself
    perhaps too familiar with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it was
    possible for me to do it, all distinction which might excite the least
    jealousy. This, however, did not prevent the populace, secretly stirred
    up against me, by I know not whom, from being by degrees irritated
    against me, even to fury, nor from publicly insulting me, not only in the
    country and upon the road, but in the street. Those to whom I had
    rendered the greatest services became most irritated against me, and even
    people who still continued to receive my benefactions, not daring to
    appear, excited others, and seemed to wish thus to be revenged of me for
    their humiliation, by the obligations they were under for the favors I
    had conferred upon them. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention to what
    was passing, and did not yet come forward. But as the time of communion
    approached, he came to advise me not to present myself at the holy table,
    assuring me, however, he was not my enemy, and that he would leave me
    undisturbed. I found this compliment whimsical enough; it brought to my
    recollection the letter from Madam de Boufflers, and I could not conceive
    to whom it could be a matter of such importance whether I communicated or
    not. Considering this condescension on my part as an act of cowardice,
    and moreover, being unwilling to give to the people a new pretext under
    which they might charge me with impiety, I refused the request of the
    minister, and he went away dissatisfied, giving me to understand I should
    repent of my obstinacy.

    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 class. 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 class,
    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 class, 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 class; 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,

    [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 he 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.]

    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 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 Phelethon. 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 tactic
    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 alter 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 sometime 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:

    Ou l'on fait plus, ou l'on fait nulle chose.

    [Where they do more: where they do nothing.]

    This 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 zeal 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.

    Chapter 13
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