My third and last loss, for since that time I have not had afriend to lose, was that of the lord marshal.He did not die, buttired of serving the ungrateful, he left Neuchatel, and I have neverseen him since.He still lives, and will, I hope, survive me: he isalive, and thanks to him, all my attachments on earth are notdestroyed.There is one man still worthy of my friendship; for thereal value of this consists more in what we feel than in that which weinspire; but I have lost the pleasure I enjoyed in his, and can rankhim in the number of those only whom I love, but with whom I am nolonger connected.He went to England to receive the pardon of theking, and acquired the possession of the property which formerly hadbeen confiscated.We did not separate without an intention of againbeing united, the idea of which seemed to give him as much pleasure asI received from it.He determined to reside at Keith Hall, nearAberdeen, and I was to join him as soon as he was settled there: butthis project was too flattering to my hopes to give me any of itssuccess.He did not remain in Scotland.The affectionate solicitationsof the King of Prussia induced him to return to Berlin, and the reasonof my not going to him there will presently appear.
Before this departure, foreseeing the storm which my enemies beganto raise against me, he of his own accord sent me letters ofnaturalization, which seemed to be a certain means of preventing mefrom being driven from the country.The community of the Convent ofVal de Travers followed the example of the governor, and gave meletters of Communion, gratis, as they were the first.Thus, in everyrespect, become a citizen, I was sheltered from legal expulsion,even by the prince; but it has never been by legitimate means, thatthe man who, of all others, has shown the greatest respect for thelaws, has been persecuted.I do not think I ought to enumerate,amongst the number of my losses at this time, that of the AbbeMably.Having lived some time at the house of his mother, I havebeen acquainted with the abbe, but not very intimately, and I havereason to believe the nature of his sentiments with respect to mechanged after I required a greater celebrity than he already had.
But the first time I discovered his insincerity was immediatelyafter the publication of the Letters from the Mountain.A letterattributed to him, addressed to Madam Saladin, was handed about inGeneva, in which he spoke of this work as the seditious clamors of afurious demagogue.
The esteem I had for the Abbe Mably, and my great opinion of hisunderstanding, did not permit me to believe this extravagant letterwas written by him.I acted in this business with my usual candor.Isent him a copy of the letter, informing him he was said to be theauthor of it.He returned me no answer.This silence astonished me:
but what was my surprise when by a letter I received from Madam deChenonceaux, I learned the abbe was really the author of that whichwas attributed to him, and found himself greatly embarrassed bymine.For even supposing for a moment that what he stated was true,how could he justify so public an attack, wantonly made, withoutobligation or necessity, for the sole purpose of overwhelming, inthe midst of his greatest misfortunes, a man to whom he had shownhimself a well-wisher, and who had not done anything that could excitehis enmity? In a short time afterwards the Dialogues of Phocion, inwhich I perceived nothing but a compilation, without shame orrestraint, from my writings, made their appearance.
In reading this book I perceived the author had not the least regardfor me, and that in future I must number him among my most bitterenemies.I do not believe he has ever pardoned me for the SocialContract, far superior to his abilities, or the Perpetual Peace; and Iam, besides, of opinion that the desire he expressed that I shouldmake an extract from the Abbe de St.Pierre, proceeded from asupposition in him that I should not acquit myself of it so well.
The further I advanced in my narrative, the less order I feel myselfcapable of observing.The agitation of the rest of my life hasderanged in my ideas the succession of events.These are too numerous,confused, and disagreeable to be recited in due order.The only strongimpression they have left upon my mind is that of the horrid mysteryby which the cause of them is concealed, and of the deplorable stateto which they have reduced me.My narrative will in future beirregular, and according to the events which, without order, may occurto my recollection.I remember about the time to which I refer, fullof the idea of my confessions, I very imprudently spoke of them toeverybody, never imagining it could be the wish or interest, much lesswithin the power of any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in theway of this undertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would nothave rendered me more discreet, as from the nature of my dispositionit is totally impossible for me to conceal either my thoughts orfeelings.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 preventedfrom executing it.
I had another project in contemplation which was not looked uponwith a more favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first:
