This, as it will soon appear, was not the only vexation caused me by weakness; but I had others not less disagreeable, which I had not brought upon myself.The only cause of these was a desire of forcing me from my solitude,* by means of tormenting me.These originated from Diderot and the d'Holbachiens.Since I had resided at the Hermitage, Diderot incessantly harassed me, either himself or by means of De Leyre, and I soon perceived from the pleasantries of the latter upon my ramblings in the groves, with what pleasure he had travestied the hermit into the gallant shepherd.But this was not the question in my quarrels with Diderot; the causes of these were more serious.After the publication of the Fils Naturel he had sent me a copy of it, which I had read with the interest and attention I ever bestowed on the works of a friend.In reading the kind of poem annexed to it, I was surprised and rather grieved to find in it, amongst several things, disobliging but supportable against men in solitude, this bitter and severe sentence without the least softening: Il n'y a que le mechant qui foit seul.*(2) This sentence is equivocal, and seems to present a double meaning; the one true, the other false, since it is impossible that a man who is determined to remain alone can do the least harm to anybody, and consequently he cannot be wicked.The sentence in itself therefore required an interpretation; the more so from an author who, when he sent it to the press, had a friend retired from the world.It appeared to me shocking and uncivil, either to have forgotten that solitary friend, or, in remembering him, not to have made from the general maxim the honorable and just exception which he owed, not only to his friend, but to so many respectable sages, who, in all ages, have sought for peace and tranquillity in retirement, and of whom, for the first time since the creation of the world, a writer took it into his head indiscriminately to make so many villains.
* That is to take from it the old woman who was wanted in the conspiracy.It is astonishing that, during this long quarrel, my stupid confidence prevented me from comprehending that it was not me but her whom they wanted at Paris.
*(2) The wicked only are alone.
I had a great affection and the most sincere esteem for Diderot, and fully depended upon his having the same sentiments for me.But tired with his indefatigable obstinacy in continually opposing my inclinations, taste, and manner of living, and everything which related to no person but myself; shocked at seeing a man younger than I was wish, at all events, to govern me like a child; disgusted with his facility in promising, and his negligence in performing;weary of so many appointments given by himself, and capriciously broken, while new ones were again given only to be again broken;displeased at uselessly waiting for him three or four times a month on the days he had assigned, and in dining alone at night after having gone to Saint Denis to meet him, and waited the whole day for his coming; my heart was already full of these multiplied injuries.This last appeared to me still more serious, and gave me infinite pain.Iwrote to complain of it, but in so mild and tender a manner that Imoistened my paper with my tears, and my letter was sufficiently affecting to have drawn others from himself.It would be impossible to guess his answer on this subject: it was literally as follows: "I am glad my work has pleased and affected you.You are not of my opinion relative to hermits.Say as much good of them as you please, you will be the only one in the world of whom I shall think well: even on this there would be much to say were it possible to speak to you without giving you offense.A woman eighty years of age! etc.A phrase of a letter from the son of Madam d'Epinay which, if I know you well, must have given you much pain, has been mentioned to me."The last two expressions of this letter want explanation.
Soon after I went to reside at the Hermitage, Madam le Vasseur seemed dissatisfied with her situation, and to think the habitation too retired.Having heard she had expressed her dislike to the place, I offered to send her back to Paris, if that were more agreeable to her; to pay her lodging, and to have the same care taken of her as if she remained with me.She rejected my offer, assured me she was very well satisfied with the Hermitage, and that the country air was of service to her.This was evident, for, if I may so speak, she seemed to become young again, and enjoyed better health than at Paris.Her daughter told me her mother would, on the whole, have been very sorry to quit the Hermitage, which was really a very delightful abode, being fond of the little amusements of the garden and the care of the fruit of which she had the handling, but that she had said, what she had been desired to say, to induce me to return to Paris.
