The Confessions

  Thus after having been successively treated over so many years for diseases which I had not got, I was finally informed that my complaint was incurable although not mortal, and would last for the rest of my days. My imagination was restrained by this information and no longer showed me the prospect of a cruel death in the agonies of stone. I ceased to fear that the end of a catheter, which had broken in my urethra a long time ago, had formed the nodule of a stone. Delivered from imaginary ills crueller than my real ones, I endured the latter more patiently. Certainly since that time I have suffered much less from my malady than I had done before; and when I recall that I owe this relief to M. de Luxembourg it is always with a fresh feeling of affection for his memory.

  Restored to life, so to speak, and more than ever occupied with my plan for passing what remained of my days in retirement, I was only waiting for the publication of Émile to put it into effect. I was thinking, of Touraine, which I had once visited and which pleased me for the gentleness both of its climate and its inhabitants.

  La terra molle e lieta e dilettosa

  Simili a se gli abitatori produce.*

  I had already spoken of my plan to M. de Luxembourg, who had tried to deflect me from it. I spoke to him of it again, as if of something already settled. Then he offered me the Château de Merlou, about forty-five miles from Paris, as a place of retirement which might suit me, and one in which he and Mme de Luxembourg would be delighted to see me settled. His offer touched me, and did not displease me. First of all it was necessary to see the place, and we fixed a day when he should send his valet with a carriage to take me there. On that day I felt very unwell, the expedition had to be put off, and the disturbances which followed prevented its ever taking place. Having since learnt that the Merlou estate did not belong to the Marshal but to Madame, I found it less difficult to reconcile myself to not having gone there.

  Émile finally appeared, without any more talk of fresh proofs, and with no other difficulties. Before its publication M. de Luxembourg asked me for all M. de Malesherbes’s letters concerning it. My complete trust in them both, and my feeling of absolute security, prevented my seeing how extraordinary, not to say disquieting, this request was. I handed over the letters, all but one or two which, by an oversight, I had left in some books. Some time before, M. de Males-herbes had advised me that he would get back the letters I had written to Duchesne during my Jesuit scare; and I must confess that they did not speak very well for my intelligence. But I replied that I did not want to appear any better than I was, and that he could leave Duchesne the letters. I do not know what he did.

  The publication of Émile was not greeted with the burst of applause which had followed that of my previous works. No book ever had such praise from private individuals and so little public approbation. The opinions I received in letters and by word of mouth from those most capable of judging confirmed my own belief that it was the best and most important of all my writings. But everything that was said, was said with the strangest precautions, as if there had been some reason for keeping any admiration for me secret. Mme de Boufflers, who declared that the author of the book deserved statues and universal homage, quite baldly begged me at the end of her note to send it back to her. D’Alembert, who wrote that this work was a proof of my superior powers and should place me first among men of letters, left his letter unsigned, although he had signed every one that he had written to me before. Duclos, a sure friend and an upright but cautious man, who thought highly of the book, avoided putting anything in writing; La Condamine fell on the ‘Profession of Faith’ and wandered from the point; Clairaut, in his letter, confined himself to the same subject, but he was not afraid to express the emotions he had felt on reading it, and soundly informed me that the book had warmed his old heart. Of all those to whom I had sent it he was the only, one who said freely and boldly to all the world just how good he thought it.

  Mathas, to whom I had also given a copy before it was on sale, lent it to M. de Blaire, Councillor to the Courts and father of the Intendant of Strasburg. M. de Blaire had a country house at Saint-Gratien, where Mathas, an old acquaintance of his, sometimes went to see him, when he could. My landlord made him read Émile before it appeared; and when he gave it back M. de Blaire made this remark which was repeated to me on the same day: ‘M. Mathas, that is a very fine book. But it will soon be rather more discussed than the author will like.’ When he repeated this to me I only laughed, seeing in it no more than some legal pomposity, for lawyers make a mystery out of everything. None of the disquieting opinions which were repeated to me affected me any more seriously. Far from in any way foreseeing the catastrophe impending, I was convinced of the beauty and merit of my work, and certain that my conduct was completely in order. So relying, as I believed I had a right to, on Mme de Luxembourg’s influence, and on some ministerial favour, I congratulated myself on the resolution I had made to retire in the midst of my triumphs, when I had just crushed all those who were envious of me.

  Only one thing alarmed me about the publication of the book, and that not so much out of consideration for my safety as out of obligation to men who had shown me kindness. At the Hermitage and at Montmorency I had had a close view of the vexations suffered by the unhappy peasantry owing to the jealous care taken to preserve the pleasures of the great. This had aroused my indignation, for the poor creatures are forced to put up with the damage caused to their fields by wild animals, and do not dare to protect themselves by any means other than scaring them off. They are compelled, therefore, to spend the nights among their beans and peas, beating kettles, drums, and bells to keep the wild-boar away. Having witnessed the barbarous severity with which the Count de Charolais treated his unfortunate peasants, I had made an attack on this form of cruelty towards the end of Émile; another infraction of my principles which did not go unpunished. I learned that the Prince de Conti’s servants were hardly less severe with the people on his estates, and I trembled for fear that this prince, towards whom I felt deep respect and gratitude, should take what a feeling of outraged humanity had made me say about his uncle as applying to himself, and be offended by it. However, as my conscience fully acquitted me on this score I allowed its voice to reassure me, and I was justified in doing so. At least I have never heard that this great prince paid the slightest attention to the passage, which was written a long time before I had the honour of his acquaintance.

  A few days before or after the book’s publication – I do not remember the time exactly – there appeared another work on the same subject, taken word for word from my first volume. This book bore the name of a Genevese called Balexsert, and the title page stated that it had gained the prize from the Academy of Haarlem. It was not hard to realize that the Academy and the prize were very recent creations intended to conceal this plagiarism from the public eye. But I also saw that there must have been some prior intriguing, which I did not understand, involving either the lending of my manuscript, without which this piracy could not have taken place, or the establishment of this alleged prize, which had to be endowed with some factual basis. It was not till many years afterwards, that a word dropped by d’lvernois allowed me to penetrate the mystery and catch a glimpse of the men who had been behind Balexsert.

  The dull murmurings that precede the storm were beginning to make themselves heard, and everybody with any perspicacity saw that there was some plot brewing involving my book and myself, and that it would soon break. As for me, my confidence and stupidity were such that, far from foreseeing my misfortune, I did not even suspect its cause even after I had felt its effects. They began by skilfully circulating the idea that whilst severe measures were being taken against the Jesuits no favouritism ought to be shown towards books and authors that attacked religion. I was reproached for having put my name to Émile, as if I had not done so to all my other writings, which had not been objected to. They pretended to fear that they might find themselves forced to take certain steps, which they would regret, but which circumstances ren
dered necessary, and which would be the result of my own imprudence. These rumours reached my ears, but hardly disturbed me at all. It did not even occur to me that there could be anything about the whole affair that affected me personally, since I felt myself to be so absolutely beyond reproach, to have such excellent backing, and to have conformed to every requirement in every way. Besides, I had no fear that Mme de Luxembourg would leave me in the lurch for a fault which, if it had been committed, was entirely her responsibility. But knowing the usual procedure in these cases, and that it is customary to come down on the publisher and spare the author, I was not a little concerned for poor Duchesne, if M. de Malesherbes should abandon him.

  I remained unworried. Rumours increased, and soon their burden changed. The public, and the Courts in particular, seemed to be irritated by my calmness. At the end of a few days the excitement became terrific, the threats took another direction, and I became their object. Magistrates were heard to say quite openly that burning books did no good; what needed burning was the author. Nothing was said about the publishers. The first time that these remarks – worthier of a Goanese inquisitor than of the member of a Senate – reached my ears, I thought that they were an invention of the Holbach clique intended to frighten me and drive me out of the country. I laughed at their childish ruse, and told myself as I did so that if they had known the true state of things they would have looked for some other way of frightening me. But the rumour became so loud that it was clearly serious. M. and Mme de Luxembourg had put forward their second visit to Montmorency that year, and so were there at the beginning of June. I heard very little here about my new books, although they were creating a stir in Paris, and the master and mistress of the house did not mention them at all. One morning, however, when I was alone with M. de Luxembourg, he asked me: ‘Have you criticized M. de Choiseul in your Social Contract?’ ‘I!’ I answered, starting back in surprise. ‘No, I promise you. Far from it. Though my pen is not given to adulation, I have written him the most splendid eulogy that a minister has ever received.’ And I immediately quoted the passage to him. ‘And in Émile? he resumed. ‘Not a word,’ I answered. ‘There is not a single word about him.’ ‘Ah,’ he said, with more than his usual vivacity. ‘You ought to have done the same in that book too, or have made yourself clearer.’ ‘I thought I was clear,’ I answered. ‘I esteemed him highly enough.’ He was about to speak again. I saw the words rise to his lips, but he checked himself and was silent. What an evil is courtly diplomacy when it gets the better of friendship itself even in the kindest of hearts!

  This conversation, short though it was, enlightened me, to some extent at least, on my situation. It made me realize that it was really me they were after. I deplored my unprecedented ill-luck which turned all the good I said or did to my disadvantage. However, feeling that this time I had Mme de Luxembourg and M. de Malesherbes to protect me, I did not see how it would be possible for my enemies to push them aside and reach me. On the other hand I was quite conscious from that moment that it would no longer be a question of right and justice, and that no one would bother to discover whether I was really in the wrong or not. Meanwhile the storm rolled louder and louder. Even Néaulme himself, in his prolix chatter, betrayed his regret at having anything to do with the work, and his apparent certainty of the fate awaiting the book and its author. One thing, however, still reassured me. Mme de Luxembourg appeared so calm, so happy and gay, that she must have known exactly what she was doing since she was not in the least disturbed on my behalf, did not utter a single word of sympathy or excuse, and saw the turn that the affair seemed likely to take as coolly as if it had nothing to do with her, and as if she had never taken the least interest in me. What surprised me was that she said nothing to me whatever. I thought that she ought at least to have said something. Mme de Boufflers appeared less calm. She went about with a perturbed air, displaying a great deal of activity and assuring me that the Prince de Conti was also taking active measures to ward off the blow which was being prepared for me, and which she still attributed to the present situation, which made it important for the Courts to avoid any accusation from the Jesuits of indifference to religion. She seemed, however, to have little confidence in the Prince’s efforts or her own. All her conversation, which was alarming rather than reassuring, tended towards persuading me to retire, and she constantly advised me to go to England where she offered to introduce me to several friends, among them the celebrated Hume, whom she had known for a long while. Seeing that I still remained unperturbed, she took a line more likely to shake me. She explained to me that if I were arrested and interrogated I should be compelled to mention Mme de Luxembourg, and that out of gratitude for her friendship I ought not to expose myself to any risk of compromising her. I replied that she could be confident that under such circumstances I should never compromise Madame. She answered that such a resolution was more easily made than carried out. And there she was right, especially in my case, since I was quite determined never to perjure myself or to lie to the judges, however dangerous it might be to speak the truth.

  Seeing that although this reflection had made some impression on me I still could not make up my mind to fly the country, she suggested a few weeks in the Bastille, as a means of removing myself from the jurisdiction of the Paris courts, which cannot touch State prisoners. I made no objection to this singular favour, provided that it was not petitioned for in my name. As she did not mention it again, I subsequently concluded that she had only made the suggestion to test me, and that no one welcomed an expedient that would put an end to the whole matter.

  A few days later the Marshal received a letter from the Vicar of Deuil, a friend of Grimm’s and of Mme d’Épinay’s, containing the information, which he claimed to have got from a reliable source, that the Paris courts intended to prosecute me with the utmost severity, and that on a certain day, which he indicated, a warrant would be issued for my arrest. I considered this news a Holbachian fiction. I knew that the Courts were very particular about procedure, and that it would be against all the rules to start on this occasion with a warrant for arrest, before judicially ascertaining whether I confessed to the book, and if I were really its author. ‘Only in crimes that endanger the public safety’, I several times told Mme de Boufflers, ‘are warrants issued against the accused upon a simple information, out of fear that they may escape punishment. But when they wish to punish an offence like mine – which is really deserving of honour and rewards – they proceed against the book and, as far as they can, avoid attacking the author.’ She pointed out some subtle distinction, which I have forgotten, to prove that it would be a favour to me if they issued a warrant instead of summoning me to a hearing. The next day I received a letter from Guy who informed me that, having been that day at the Chief Prosecutor’s, he had seen on his desk the rough draft of a summons against Émile and its author. Remember that this Guy was the partner of Duchesne, who had printed the work; and note that he was not in the least perturbed on his own account, but merely gave the author this warning out of charity. Of course the whole business seemed to me incredible. It was so simple, so natural that a publisher, when granted an audience with a magistrate, should quietly read the drafts and manuscripts scattered about that dignitary’s desk! But Mme de Boufflers and others confirmed his story. The absurdities that were incessantly drummed into my ears tempted me to believe that everyone had gone mad.

  Quite conscious that there was some mystery behind all this that no one would tell me, I waited quietly for the issue, relying on my correctness and innocence in the whole matter, and only too happy, whatever persecution I might undergo, to suffer for the cause of truth. Far from being afraid and staying in hiding, I went every day to the Château, and took my ordinary walk in the afternoons. On 8 June, the day before the warrant, I took it in the company of two Oratorian professors, Father Alamanni and Father Mandard. We carried a picnic with us to Champeaux, which we heartily enjoyed. We had forgotten to bring glasses, and used rye stalks in
stead through which we sucked the wine from the bottle, taking care to pick really thick stalks to see who could suck the hardest. Never in my life have I been so gay.

  I have related how I suffered from insomnia in my youth. Since that time I had had the habit of reading in bed every night until I felt my lids grow heavy. Then I would put out my candle, and try to doze for a few minutes, which were never long. My usual night reading was the Bible, and I have read it right through five or six times on end in this way. Finding myself more wakeful than usual that evening, I continued my reading even longer, till I had read the whole book which ends with the Lévite of Ephraim – it is the Book of Judges, if I am not mistaken, for I have never looked at it since then. The story greatly moved me and I was pondering over it in a sort of dream when suddenly I was aroused by a noise and a light, which was carried by Thérèse and shone upon M. La Roche, who said, as he saw me start up in my bed: ‘Do not be alarmed. I have come from Mme de Luxembourg with a letter from her and one from the Prince de Conti.’ Inside Mme de Luxembourg’s letter I found another which the Prince had just sent her by a special messenger with the news that, despite all his efforts, they were determined to proceed against me with all severity. ‘The excitement’, he wrote, ‘is very high. Nothing can avert the blow. The Court demand it, the magistrates desire it. At seven o’clock tomorrow morning the warrant will go out, and they will send immediately to arrest him. I have obtained an assurance that if he makes his escape he will not be pursued; but if he persists in courting arrest, he will be arrested.’ La Roche implored me, in Mme de Luxembourg’s name, to get up and go to consult with her. It was two in the morning, and she had just gone to bed. ‘She is waiting for you,’ he added, ‘and will not go to sleep until she has seen you.’ I hurriedly dressed, and hastened to her.