Had this manner of life been to my taste, I should have been consoled for a heavy expense, which I dedicated to my pleasures; but to ruin myself at the same time that I fatigued my mind, was insupportable, and I had so felt the weight of this, that, profiting by the interval of liberty I then had, I was determined to perpetuate it, and entirely to renounce great companies, the composition of books, and all literary concerns, and for the remainder of my days to confine myself to the narrow and peaceful sphere in which I felt I was born to move.
The product of this Letter to D'Alembert, and of the Nouvelle Heloise, had a little improved the state of my finances, which had been considerably exhausted at the Hermitage.Emile, to which, after Ihad finished Heloise, I had given great application, was in forwardness, and the product of this could not be less than the sum of which I was already in possession.I intended to place this money in such a manner as to produce me a little annual income, which, with my copying, might be sufficient to my wants without writing any more.I had two other works upon the stocks.The first of these was my Institutions Politiques.* I examined the state of this work, and found it required several years' labor.I had not courage enough to continue it, and to wait until it was finished before I carried my intentions into execution.Therefore, laying the book aside, I determined to take from it all I could, and to burn the rest; and continuing this with zeal without interrupting Emile, I finished the Contrat Social.*(2)* Political Institutions.
*(2) Social Contract.
The dictionary of music now remained.This was mechanical, and might be taken up at any time; the object of it was entirely pecuniary.Ireserved to myself the liberty of laying it aside, or of finishing it at my ease, according as my other resources collected should render this necessary or superfluous.With respect to the Morale Sensitive,* of which I had made nothing more than a sketch, I entirely gave it up.
* Sensitive Morality.
As my last project, if I found I could not entirely do without copying, was that of removing from Paris, where the affluence of my visitors rendered my housekeeping expensive, and deprived me of the time I should have turned to advantage to provide for it; to prevent in my retirement the state of lassitude into which an author is said to fall when he has laid down his pen, I reserved to myself an occupation which might fill up the void in my solitude without tempting me to print anything more.I know not for what reason they had long tormented me to write the memoirs of my life.Although these were not until that time interesting as to the facts, I felt they might become so by the candor with which I was capable of giving them, and I determined to make of these the only work of the kind, by an unexampled veracity, that, for once at least, the world might see a man such as he internally was.I had always laughed at the false ingenuousness of Montagne, who, feigning to confess his faults, takes great care not to give himself any, except such as are amiable; whilst I, who have ever thought, and still think myself, considering everything, the best of men, felt there is no human being, however pure he may be, who does not internally conceal some odious vice.I knew I was described to the public very different from what I really was, and so opposite, that notwithstanding my faults, all of which I was determined to relate, I could not but be a gainer by showing myself in my proper colors.This, besides, not being to be done without setting forth others also in theirs, and the work for the same reason not being of a nature to appear during my lifetime, and that of several other persons, I was the more encouraged to make my confession, at which I should never have to blush before any person.Itherefore resolved to dedicate my leisure to the execution of this undertaking, and immediately began to collect such letters and papers as might guide or assist my memory, greatly regretting the loss of all I had burned, mislaid and destroyed.
The project of absolute retirement, one of the most reasonable I had ever formed, was strongly impressed upon my mind, and for the execution of it I was already taking measures, when Heaven, which prepared me a different destiny, plunged me into another vortex.
Montmorency, the ancient and fine patrimony of the illustrious family of that name, was taken from it by confiscation.It passed by the sister of Duc Henri, to the house of Conde, which has changed the name of Montmorency to that of Enghien, and the duchy has no other castle than an old tower, where the archives are kept, and to which the vassals come to do homage.But at Montmorency, or Enghien, there is a private house, built by Crosat, called le pauvre, which having the magnificence of the most superb chateaux, deserves and bears the name of a castle.The majestic appearance of this noble edifice, the view from it, not equaled perhaps in any country; the spacious saloon, painted by the hand of a master; the garden, planted by the celebrated Le Nostre; all combined to form a whole strikingly majestic, in which there is still a simplicity that enforces admiration.The Marechal Duc de Luxembourg, who then inhabited this house, came every year into the neighborhood where formerly his ancestors were the masters, to pass, at least, five or six weeks as a private inhabitant, but with a splendor which did not degenerate from the ancient luster of his family.On the first journey he made to it after my residing at Montmorency, he and his lady sent to me a valet de chamber, with their compliments, inviting me to sup with them as often as it should be agreeable to me; and at each time of their coming they never failed to reiterate the same compliments and invitation.This called to my recollection Madam Beuzenval sending me to dine in the servants' hall.
