to see my house, never ceased speaking to me about
the work, but always with the greatest reserve.
He knew and he did not know that it was printing
in France, and that the magistrate had a hand in it.
In expressing his concern for my embarrassment, he
seemed to accuse me of imprudence without ever saying
in what this consisted; he incessantly equivocated,
and seemed to speak for no other purpose than to hear
what I had to say. I thought myself so secure
that I laughed at his mystery and circumspection as
at a habit he had contracted with ministers and magistrates
whose offices he much frequented. Certain of
having conformed to every rule with the work, and
strongly persuaded that I had not only the consent
and protection of the magistrate, but that the book
merited and had obtained the favor of the minister,
I congratulated myself upon my courage in doing good,
and laughed at my pusillanimous friends who seemed
uneasy on my account. Duclos was one of these,
and I confess my confidence in his understanding and
uprightness might have alarmed me, had I had less
in the utility of the work and in the probity of those
by whom it was patronized. He came from the house
of M. Baille to see me whilst ‘Emilius’
was in the press; he spoke to me concerning it; I
read to him the ‘Profession of Faith of the Savoyard
Vicar’, to which he listened attentively and,
as it seemed to me with pleasure. When I had
finished he said: “What! citizen, this
is a part of a work now printing in Paris?”—“Yes,”
answered I, and it ought to be printed at the Louvre
by order of the king.”—I confess it,”
replied he; “but pray do not mention to anybody
your having read to me this fragment.”
This striking manner of expressing himself surprised
without alarming me. I knew Duclos was intimate
with M. de Malesherbes, and I could not conceive how
it was possible he should think so differently from
him upon the same subject.
I had lived at Montmorency for the last four years
without ever having had there one day of good health.
Although the air is excellent, the water is bad,
and this may possibly be one of the causes which contributed
to increase my habitual complaints. Towards the
end of the autumn of 1767, I fell quite ill, and passed
the whole winter in suffering almost without intermission.
The physical ill, augmented by a thousand inquietudes,
rendered these terrible. For some time past my
mind had been disturbed by melancholy forebodings without
my knowing to what these directly tended. I
received anonymous letters of an extraordinary nature,
and others, that were signed, much of the same import.
I received one from a counsellor of the parliament
of Paris, who, dissatisfied with the present constitution
of things, and foreseeing nothing but disagreeable
events, consulted me upon the choice of an asylum
at Geneva or in Switzerland, to retire to with his
family. An other was brought me from M. de -----,
‘president a mortier’ of the parliament
of -----, who proposed to me to draw up for this Parliament,
which was then at variance with the court, memoirs
and remonstrances, and offering to furnish me with
all the documents and materials necessary for that
purpose.