Chapter XV: 1766-1767. Æt. 55-56 (1)

Rousseau at Wooton--Mr. Davenport--Negotiations as to
Rousseau's pension--Origin and rise of his excitement against
Hume--Proper method of viewing the dispute--Incidents
illustrative of Rousseau's state of mind--His charges against
Hume--Smith's opinion--Opinion of the French friends--Hume's
conduct in the publication of the papers--Voltaire--Rousseau's
flight and wanderings--Hume's subsequent conduct to him.

The place where Rousseau found a retreat, was the mansion of Wooton in Derbyshire, surrounded by scenery, not unlike that which he had left behind him in the Jura. It was a late addition to the extensive ancestral estates of its proprietor, Mr. Davenport of Davenport. How successful Hume had been, in finding a man of generous, warm, kindly nature, to be the protector of his exiled friend, some letters from Mr. Davenport, printed in the course of this narrative will attest.[319:1]

That Rousseau might be induced to live in his house, it was necessary that Mr. Davenport should agree to accept of a sum of money in the shape of board, and he good-humouredly conceded to Hume, that the amount should be fixed at £30 a-year. "If it be possible," says Hume, "for a man to live without occupation, without books, without society, and without sleep, he will not quit this wild and solitary place; where all the circumstances which he ever required, seem to concur for the purpose of making him happy. But I dread the weakness and inquietude natural to every man, and, above all, to a man of his character. I should not be surprised that he had soon quitted this retreat."[320:1] It appears that Mr. Davenport intended, if Rousseau became attached to Wooton, to leave him a life lease of the house.[320:2]

Rousseau reached Wooton about the middle of March. On the 22d he wrote to his _cher Patron_ Hume, informing him that his new place of residence was in every way delightful; and that its charms were enhanced by the reflection, that he owed all the happiness of his new position to his dear friend.[320:3] Doubtless Hume, who must now have been a little tired of the caprices which had so constantly baffled his friendly exertions, felt this acknowledgment to be very gratifying. On the 29th he received a letter, still friendly and grateful, but not quite so warm, in which Rousseau, while he complains of the inconvenience of not being understood by the servants, congratulates himself on his ignorance of the English language, as saving him from the annoyance of communication with his neighbours.[320:4]

While all seemed thus serene, dark thoughts were gathering in the exile's mind: and if Hume, relieved of his troublesome duties, and probably satisfied with his own conduct, had known the nicer tests of the state of that variable and tempestuous temper, he might have calculated, by some indications, that the storm was about to burst. The letter of Horace Walpole had, for some time, been lying at the bottom of Rousseau's mind, not forgotten, though hidden from view; and it seems to have formed the nucleus round which his diseased imaginations gathered, and put themselves into shape.[321:1] On the 7th of April, Rousseau sent a letter to the editor of the _St. James's Chronicle_, in which it had appeared, denouncing it as a forgery concocted in Paris, and saying that it rent and afflicted his heart to say, that the impostor had his accomplices in England. That it was not then, or for many weeks before, that he first became acquainted with this _jeu d'esprit_, is clear from a letter to Madame de Boufflers, of 18th January, in which he states, that Hume had just informed him of its existence.[323:1] He appears to have then attributed it to Voltaire. He afterwards imputed it, with great confidence, to D'Alembert; and the ultimate discovery, that it was not written by any literary rival and conspirator, but by an English gentleman partial to such wicked amusements, appears to have been the most galling circumstance connected with it.

It seems to have been believed, by some of those who knew Rousseau's character, that his brooding over Walpole's letter would have been insufficient to cause the commotions that followed, without the malicious assistance of Mademoiselle Le Vasseur.[323:2] This woman, who seems to have possessed all the vices to which her sex is liable, without one of its virtues,--who had just enough of intellect to assist the cunning of her depraved heart,--is said to have had an influence over the philosopher of education, of which it is certainly difficult to credit the extent. It will be seen, in the letters of Mr. Davenport, that she had a dispute with his venerable housekeeper, concerning a kettle and cinders! What was the exact nature of the dispute, is now, it may be feared, buried in eternal oblivion; and we are left to conjecture whither an influential cause in a literary quarrel, which interested all Europe, may possibly have been a kettle and cinders. On the 12th of May, Rousseau wrote to General Conway, acknowledging the king's goodness in bestowing on him a pension; saying he thought himself armed against all disasters, but that a new and unimagined one had arisen, which so troubled his spirit, that he had not the necessary presence of mind to decide on the conduct he ought to adopt as to the pension. He expressed, at the same time, sorrow that he could not publicly acknowledge his obligations. This appeared to Hume and Conway to be an intimation, that the pension would not be accepted if it were to be secret.[324:1]

While his mind was thus blackening within, he preserved a cheerful exterior; and Mr. Davenport wrote to Hume, on 14th May, from Wooton: "I came on Friday, and had the satisfaction of finding M. Rousseau in perfect health. He seems to like the place; amuses himself with walking when the weather is fair; if raining, he plays upon the harpsichord and writes: is very sociable, and an excellent companion."[325:1] There is evidence, however, that he had entertained all his evil thoughts of Hume at a much earlier period. His second letter to him, in the capacity of _Cher Patron_, is dated, as we have mentioned, 29th March. On the 31st he wrote to M. D'Ivernois, saying that he found Hume allied with his most dangerous enemies, and if he were not a rascal, he himself would owe him many reparations for unjust suspicions entertained of him.[325:2]

Resolved to bring the matter of the pension to a conclusion, Hume wrote to Rousseau thus:--

"_Lisle Street, Leicester Fields_, _June 16, 1766_.

"As I have not received any answer from you, sir, I conclude that you persevere in the resolution of refusing all marks of his majesty's goodness, as long as they must remain a secret. I have, therefore, applied to General Conway to have this condition removed; and I have been so fortunate as to obtain his promise, that he would speak to the king for that purpose. It will only be requisite, said he, that we know previously from M. Rousseau, whether he would accept of a pension publicly granted him, that his majesty may not be exposed to a second refusal. He gave me authority to write to you on the subject; and I beg to hear your resolution as soon as possible. If you give your consent, which I earnestly entreat you to do, I know that I can depend on the good offices of the Duke of Richmond to second General Conway's application; so that I have no doubt of success. I am, my dear sir, yours, with great sincerity."[326:1]

This brought on the first gust of the storm. On 23d June, Rousseau wrote his celebrated letter, beginning with the observation, that his silence, interpreted by Hume's conscience, must have convinced the latter that the whole of his horrible designs were discovered. In this letter nothing is more remarkable than the contrast between the frantic bitterness of the language, and the elaborate neatness of the penmanship, which, if handwriting conveyed a notion of character, would represent a calm, contented mind, gratifying itself by the exercise of the petty art of caligraphy. A fac-simile of the concluding paragraph is given, that the reader may have an opportunity of marking this singular contrast.

Hume, now thoroughly angry, wrote as follows:--

HUME _to_ ROUSSEAU.

"_June 26, 1766._

"As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most friendly part, of having always given you the most tender and the most active proofs of sincere affection, you may judge of my extreme surprise on perusing your epistle. Such violent accusations, confined altogether to generalities, it is as impossible to answer, as it is impossible to comprehend them. But affairs cannot, must not, remain on that footing. I shall charitably suppose that some infamous calumniator has belied me to you. But, in that case, it is your duty, and, I am persuaded, it will be your inclination, to give me an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself; which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars of which I am accused. You say, that I myself know that I have been false to you; but I say it loudly, and will say it to the whole world, that I know the contrary; that I know my friendship towards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted; and that though I have given you instances of it, which have been universally remarked both in France and England, the public as yet are acquainted only with the smallest part of it. I demand, that you name to me the man who dares assert the contrary; and, above all, I demand, that he shall mention any one particular in which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me; you owe it to yourself; you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and to every thing deemed sacred among men. As an innocent man--for I will not say, as your friend; I will not say, as your benefactor; but I repeat it, as an innocent man, I claim the privilege of proving my innocence, and of refuting any scandalous falsehood which may have been invented against me. Mr. Davenport, to whom I have sent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, will, I am confident, second my demand, and tell you that nothing can be more equitable. Happily I have preserved the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wooton; and you there express, in the strongest terms, in terms indeed too strong, your satisfaction in my poor endeavours to serve you. The little epistolary intercourse, which afterwards passed between us, has been all employed on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell me, then, what has since given you offence. Tell me, of what I am accused. Tell me the man who accuses me. Even after you have fulfilled all these conditions to my satisfaction, and to that of Mr. Davenport, you will still have great difficulty to justify your employing such outrageous terms towards a man, with whom you have been so intimately connected, and who was entitled, on many accounts, to have been treated by you with more regard and decency.

"Mr. Davenport knows the whole transaction about your pension, because I thought it necessary that the person who had undertaken your settlement should be fully acquainted with your circumstances; lest he should be tempted to perform towards you concealed acts of generosity, which, if they accidentally came to your knowledge, might give you some grounds of offence. I am, sir," &c.[328:1]

In here exhibiting a few of the prominent features of the quarrel between Hume and Rousseau, there is no intention of entering on a defence of Hume, or a full examination of the conduct of the parties. Viewing it as a picturesque incident in literary history, the reader will probably feel an interest in such new light as may be thrown upon it on the present occasion; but, it is presumed that few who have made themselves acquainted with the material circumstances of the dispute, as they have been already made known, will expect any thing to be said that can alter their appreciation of the conduct of the parties. Where there are personal disputes, there is no cause so hopelessly bad as to be without partisans; and when no other motive comes into action, a feeling of generosity towards one who seems to have forfeited the good opinion of his kind, calls forth a few vindicators and supporters. It was natural that Rousseau, a man of great genius, whose writings had produced a prodigious influence on his age,--one who had shown, in many instances, the outward manifestations of a kind unselfish disposition, and who had discarded, with an air of magnanimous scorn, all the grovelling ties that bind the human creature to the earth on which he crawls,--should have champions and supporters in any dispute in which he might be involved, be his conduct what it might. Thus he had a few vindicators, chiefly of the female sex, while he lived: but gradually, when feelings of personal sympathy had died away, the conduct of the disputants ceased to be weighed against each other in the same scales. People did not inquire which of them had acted more fairly and justly than the other; but, putting Rousseau's conduct out of the question as a criterion, they asked, whether that of Hume was kind and magnanimous towards the unfortunate monomaniac?[329:1] Although this view is plainly to be traced in the sentiments of those who have fugitively touched on the dispute, it is to be gathered more from the general tone of their remarks, than from any direct avowal of belief, that Rousseau was a monomaniac.[331:1] There is a majesty in genius, that makes us reluctant thus to ally it with the debasement of the human intellect. Yet, too often, some portion of the most brilliant mind is thus eclipsed, though the brightness of what is clear prevents our seeing easily the blackened spot. In Rousseau's case, there has been, perhaps, a disinclination to admit the "plea of insanity," on account of the wonderful practical sagacity that accompanied his aberrations. Though apparently surveying the world with a sick and careless eye, he occasionally penetrated into the depths of the human heart, and marked its secrets, with an accuracy that made the practised and systematic observer's survey seem but a superficial glance. He had a mind at times eminently practical,[332:1] and suited to estimate men's conduct and character: and thus appearing before the world, there has been much hesitation to pronounce, that the sincerity of insanity accompanied all his vile charges against a man whose heart could not have been for one moment visited by the atrocities of which he is accused.

It is clear, that whatever had been Hume's conduct in the affair, Rousseau's rage was a storm predestined to burst upon him. Its elements were in the mind of "the self-torturing sophist," not in the conduct of any other person; and whoever was the object nearest to his thoughts at the moment, as being most associated with the circumstances in which he was placed, had to stand the shock. In this view, Hume's conduct is no more to be tested by that of Rousseau, than the keeper's by that of his patient. We are thus rid of the unpleasant employment of comparing things which cannot bear comparison; and of the sickening task of enumerating instances of kindness, attachment, persevering good offices, and charitable interpretations of conduct on the one side, met by black ingratitude, contempt, and deadly injury on the other.

If we look for that over-excited propensity which may have caused this mental disease, it appears, beyond doubt, that it was vanity.[333:1] All Rousseau's avowed misfortunes are the calamities of celebrity. At one time he is the victim of princes and prime ministers; at another, of an assembled clergy; at another, of half the learned men of Europe. That he is neglected and forgotten is never among his ostensible complaints; though there is good reason to believe that it was at the bottom of his most conspicuous fits of fury. The English people, though they were at first somewhat curious about the remarkable stranger, did not incommode themselves about him, and obstinately abstained from following him into the wilderness. In his long letter of charges, he cannot help bitterly remarking the apathy of the public; but he states it as an accusation against Hume,[333:2] whom he supposes to have said, like Flavius,

I'll about
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers, pluck'd from Cæsar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

Had the solitudes of Wooton been peopled by multitudes anxious to catch a passing glance of the "apostle of affliction," he would doubtless have let loose his half-appeased discontent in some querulous letters about the impossibility of his finding repose and solitude; but he would not have courted such a conflict as he rushed into in the bitterness of his solitude. Although his character stands without parallel in its own vast proportions, it is not without abundance of exemplifications on a smaller scale. There are few who have not, in their journey through life, encountered one or more small Rousseaus, in men of ravenous and insatiable vanity, who, unlike the ordinary good-natured vain men, are perpetually rejecting the incense offered to their appetite, and demanding some new form of worship. In these, as in the chimney-piece models of celebrated statues, may we view the proportions of the great self-tormenter's mind; and when it is found that the peculiarity is generally accompanied with some observable amount of intellectual acquirements, which place the individual a degree above those who surround him, the resemblance is the more complete. Vanity being its source, the shape assumed by his monomania was a dread of conspiracies in all shapes; and he was as sincere a believer in their existence, as any unfortunate inhabitant of bedlam has ever been in the creations of his diseased mind.[334:1]

Hume had difficulty in extracting an answer to his letter of 26th June; and probably it would not have been opened without the intervention of Mr. Davenport. It was one of Rousseau's whims for some time not to receive any letters; he said they were one of the methods by which his enemies had persecuted him. On his first arrival he was to open none but those which passed through the hands of his _Cher Patron_;[335:1] a convenient arrangement, as it afterwards enabled him to accuse Hume of tampering with his correspondence.

Two letters were received from Mr. Davenport, before Rousseau drew up his charge.

MR. DAVENPORT _to_ HUME.

_Davenport, June 30, 1766._

DEAR SIR,--The receipt of your two last gave me much
uneasiness, which was augmented by some letters received
yesterday from Rousseau, along with yours, directed for me at
Wooton. Surely there must have been some excessive great
mistakes. It appears to me a heap of confusion, of which I can
make neither head nor tail. His letter to you is perfectly
astonishing: never any thing was so furious; so--I protest I
don't know what to call it! I long to see him: he certainly
will tell some reason or other that could induce him to write
in that manner. Till I have seen him I can give no sort of
answer to your queries, as he never spoke one syllable to me
about any difference at all. I can't, possibly, before
Saturday's post; as in this part of the country we have only
three days in a week to send letters to town. You desired me
to burn the duplicate after reading. That signifies nothing,
for I can send you the other which I received yesterday from
Wooton. Good God, he must be most excessively out of the way
about this pension! In short, I have not patience to add one
word more, till I hear what he can possibly have to say; and
then I'll immediately acquaint you.

I can't help being troubled at seeing your uneasiness, and
will with great pleasure do all in my power to assist in
freeing you from it; at least I'll do my best endeavours. I
am, your most obedient humble servant,

R. DAVENPORT.

_6th July, 1766._

DEAR SIR,--I went over to Wooton on Tuesday: had a long
conference with Mr. Rousseau on the subject of your last
letters; gave into his hands yours addressed to him, (which he
had not read before:) showed him those I received from you;
and in the most earnest manner insisted upon his giving you an
open answer to all your questions, which I told him you had
certainly a right to ask, and he could not have any pretence
whatever to refuse. His spirits seemed vastly fluttered.
However, he told me a long history of the whole affair. I
said, that as my knowledge of the French language was very
imperfect, I might easily misrepresent things, so begged him
to write down the whole matter. Before he began his discourse,
I could not help speaking a deal to him on the subject of the
pension, and expressed my astonishment at his even ever having
had the least thought of refusing the favours of the greatest
king in the world. To my infinite surprise, he directly
returned this answer, That he never had refused, or any thing
like it; spoke with the greatest respect and veneration of his
majesty, and with all sort of acknowledgments of gratitude to
General Conway, &c. You may well imagine my surprise
increased. He then began his story: but that I entirely leave
to his pen, as he has faithfully promised to perform. I am
really sorry for him; he's uneasy, frets perpetually, and
looks terribly. 'Tis almost impossible to conceive the oddness
of his extreme sensibility; so that I conclude, when he's
guilty of an error, his nerves are more in fault than his
heart. Things vex him to the utmost extent of vexation, which
would not even move such a dull soul as mine is. In short, I
perceive his disorder is jealousy: he thinks you are fond of
some _savans hommes_, whom he unfortunately calls his enemies.
It will give me the greatest satisfaction to hear that you
have received a satisfactory answer, and that every thing is
set right again.[337:1]

At last came the full outpouring of the long-treasured wrath, in a letter dated the 10th of July, as long as an ordinary pamphlet, and penned with the same neat precision as its predecessor. The reader will not expect a document so well known and easily accessible to be reprinted; and an abridgment would fail to give any notion of the rabid eloquence with which the most paltry incidents are made to assume the appearance of portentous charges; until, through vehemence of expression and multitude of powerful words, they seem for the moment to acquire substantial shape. Many of the charges contained in this "indictment" have been already alluded to. The document begins with a statement of its author's candour,[337:2] and hatred of every kind of artifice; and no one can read the charges which follow, monstrously absurd as they are, without seeing that they are made in the perfect sincerity of a mind that saw all things through its own diseased medium. The following is one of the substantive charges:--

I was informed that the son of the quack Tronchin,[338:1] my
most mortal enemy, was not only the friend of Mr. Hume, and
under his protection, but that they both lodged in the same
house; and when Mr. Hume found that I knew this, he imparted
it in confidence to me; assuring me that the son by no means
resembled the father. I lodged a few nights myself, together
with my governante, in the same house; and from the kind of
reception with which we were honoured by the landladies, who
are his friends, I judged in what manner either Mr. Hume, or
that man, who, as he said, was by no means like his father,
must have spoken to them both of her and me.

All these facts put together, added to a certain appearance of
things on the whole, insensibly gave me an uneasiness, which I
rejected with horror.

The description of the following scene must have been, to those who knew Hume personally, irresistibly ludicrous. The picture of the phlegmatic reserve of English manners, is made perfect by contrast. It appears from Hume's letter, that the scene arose out of the dispute about the return chaise.

One evening, after supper, as we were sitting silent by the
fireside, I caught his eyes intently fixed on me, as indeed
happened very often; and that in a manner of which it is very
difficult to give an idea. At that time he gave me a
steadfast, piercing look, mingled with a sneer, which greatly
disturbed me. To get rid of my embarrassment, I endeavoured to
look full at him in my turn; but, in fixing my eyes upon his,
I felt the most inexpressible terror, and was soon obliged to
turn them away. The speech and physiognomy of the good David
are those of an honest man; but where, great God! did this
honest man borrow those eyes which he fixes on his friends?

The impression of this look remained with me, and gave me much
uneasiness. My trouble increased even to a degree of fainting;
and if I had not been relieved by a flood of tears, I must
have been suffocated. Presently after this I was seized with
the most violent remorse: I even despised myself; till at
length, in a transport, which I still remember with delight, I
sprang on his neck, and embraced him eagerly; while, almost
choked with sobbing, and bathed in tears, I cried out, in
broken accents, "No, no, David Hume cannot be treacherous; if
he be not the best of men, he must be the basest." David Hume
politely returned my embraces, and gently tapping me on the
back, repeated several times, in a placid tone, "Why, what, my
dear sir! Nay, my dear sir! Oh, my dear sir!" He said nothing
more. I felt my heart yearn within me. We went to bed; and I
set out the next day for the country.

There is another charge against Hume, of once muttering in his sleep the words _Je tiens J. J. Rousseau_; which he did not deny, saying, that he could not feel certain as to what he might or might not have done when asleep, though he doubted if it was his practice to dream in French.[339:1] The proffered hospitalities and kindnesses of Hume are a running charge throughout; wound up with the conclusion, that as he must have seen that Rousseau was estranged from him, "If he supposed that in such circumstances I should have accepted his services, he must have supposed me to have been an infamous scoundrel. It was then in behalf of a man whom he supposed to be a scoundrel that he so warmly solicited a pension from his majesty."[340:1]

Hume's answer to this charge was as follows:

HUME _to_ ROUSSEAU.

_Lisle Street, Leicester Fields, July 22, 1766._

SIR,--I shall only answer one article of your long letter: it
is that which regards the conversation we had the evening
before your departure. Mr. Davenport had contrived a
good-natured artifice, to make you believe that a retour
chaise was ready to set out for Wooton; and I believe he
caused an advertisement be put in the papers, in order the
better to deceive you. His purpose only was to save you some
expenses in the journey, which I thought a laudable project;
though I had no hand either in contriving or conducting it.
You entertained, however, a suspicion of his design, while we
were sitting alone by my fireside; and you reproached me with
concurring in it. I endeavoured to pacify you, and to divert
the discourse; but to no purpose. You sat sullen, and was
either silent, or made me very peevish answers. At last you
rose up, and took a turn or two about the room, when all of a
sudden, and to my great surprise, you clapped yourself on my
knee, threw your arms about my neck, kissed me with seeming
ardour, and bedewed my face with tears. You exclaimed, "My
dear friend, can you ever pardon this folly? After all the
pains you have taken to serve me, after the numberless
instances of friendship you have given me, here I reward you
with this ill-humour and sullenness. But your forgiveness of
me will be a new instance of your friendship; and I hope you
will find at bottom, that my heart is not unworthy of it."

I was very much affected, I own; and I believe a very tender
scene passed between us. You added, by way of compliment no
doubt, that though I had many better titles to recommend me to
posterity, yet perhaps my uncommon attachment to a poor,
unhappy, and persecuted man, would not be altogether
overlooked.

This incident was somewhat remarkable; and it is impossible
that either you or I could so soon have forgot it. But you
have had the assurance to tell me the story twice, in a manner
so different, or rather so opposite, that when I persist, as I
do, in this account, it necessarily follows, that either you
are, or I am, a liar. You imagine, perhaps, that because the
incident passed privately without a witness, the question will
lie between the credibility of your assertion and of mine. But
you shall not have this advantage or disadvantage, whichever
you are pleased to term it. I shall produce against you other
proofs, which will put the matter beyond controversy.

First, You are not aware, that I have a letter under your
hand, which is tolerably irreconcilable with your account, and
confirms mine.[343:1]

Secondly, I told the story the next day, or the day after, to
Mr. Davenport, with a view of preventing any such good-natured
artifices for the future. He surely remembers it.

Thirdly, As I thought the story much to your honour, I told it
to several of my friends here. I even wrote it to Madame de
Boufflers at Paris. I believe no one will imagine that I was
preparing beforehand an apology, in case of a rupture with
you; which, of all human events, I should then have thought
the most incredible, especially as we were separated, almost
for ever, and I still continued to render you the most
essential services.

Fourthly, The story, as I tell it, is consistent and rational:
there is not common sense in your account. What! because
sometimes, when absent in thought, (a circumstance common
enough with men whose minds are intensely occupied,) I have a
fixed look or stare, you suspect me to be a traitor, and you
have the assurance to tell me of such black and ridiculous
suspicions! For you do not even pretend that before you left
London you had any other solid grounds of suspicion against
me.

I shall enter into no detail with regard to your letter: you
yourself well know that all the other articles of it are
without foundation. I shall only add in general, that I
enjoyed about a month ago an uncommon pleasure, in thinking
that, in spite of many difficulties, I had, by assiduity and
care, and even beyond my most sanguine expectations, provided
for your repose, honour, and fortune. But that pleasure was
soon imbittered, by finding that you had voluntarily and
wantonly thrown away all those advantages, and was become the
declared enemy of your own repose, fortune, and honour: I
cannot be surprised after this that you are my enemy. Adieu,
and for ever.[344:1]

Hume did not profess to submit to these attacks with the meekness of the dove, as a few letters to his friends will show. Of the two following letters to Blair, the one was written before, the other after the reception of Rousseau's "indictment."

HUME _to_ DR. BLAIR.

"_Lisle Street, 1st July, 1766._

"You will be surprised, dear Doctor, when I desire you most earnestly never in your life to show to any mortal creature the letters I wrote you with regard to Rousseau. He is surely the blackest and most atrocious villain, beyond comparison, that now exists in the world, and I am heartily ashamed of any thing I ever wrote in his favour. I know you will pity me when I tell you that I am afraid I must publish this to the world in a pamphlet, which must contain an account of the whole transaction between us.[344:2] My only comfort is, that the matter will be so clear as not to leave to any mortal the smallest possibility of doubt. You know how dangerous any controversy on a disputable point would be with a man of his talents. I know not where the miscreant will now retire to, in order to hide his head from this infamy. I am," &c.[345:1]

"_15th July, 1766._

"DEAR DOCTOR,--I go in a few hours to Woburn; so can only give you the outline of my history. Through many difficulties I obtained a pension for Rousseau. The application was made with his own consent and knowledge. I write him, that all is happily completed, and he need only draw for the money. He answers me, that I am a rogue and a rascal; and have brought him into England merely to dishonour him. I demand the reason of this strange language; and Mr. Davenport, the gentleman with whom he lives, tells him that he must necessarily satisfy me. To-day I received a letter from him, which is perfect frenzy. It would make a good eighteen-penny pamphlet; and I fancy he intends to publish it. He there tells me, that D'Alembert, Horace Walpole, and I, had, from the first, entered into a combination to ruin him, and had ruined him. That the first suspicion of my treachery arose in him while we lay together in the same room of an inn in France. I there spoke in my sleep, and betrayed my intention of ruining him. That young Tronchin lodged in the same house with me at London; and Annie Elliot looked very coldly at him as he went by her in the passage. That I am also in a close confederacy with Lord Lyttelton, who, he hears, is his mortal enemy. That the English nation were very fond of him on his first arrival; but that Horace Walpole and I had totally alienated them from him. He owns, however, that his belief of my treachery went no higher than suspicion, while he was in London; but it rose to certainty after he arrived in the country; for that there were several publications in the papers against him, which could have proceeded from nobody but me, or my confederate, Horace Walpole. The rest is all of a like strain, intermixed with many lies and much malice. I own that I was very anxious about this affair, but this letter has totally relieved me. I write in a hurry, merely to satisfy your curiosity. I hope soon to see you, and am," &c.[346:1]

There could have been no incident better calculated than this to create a sensation in the coteries of Paris. Immediately on receiving the first angry letter, Hume sent an indignant account of the ingratitude and malevolence of Rousseau to the Baron D'Holbach, which proved a delightfully exciting morsel to a party assembled at his house; for the baron had told him, from the beginning, that he was warming a serpent in his bosom.[346:2] The very rapid celebrity which the story received does not seem to have been anticipated by Hume, and he says, apologetically, to Madame de Boufflers,--"I wrote, indeed, to Baron D'Holbach, without either recommending or expecting secrecy: but I thought this story, like others, would be told to eight or ten people; in a week or two, twenty or thirty more might hear it, and it would require three months before it would reach you at Pougues. I little imagined that a private story, told to a private gentleman, could run over a whole kingdom in a moment. If the King of England had declared war against the King of France, it could not have been more suddenly the subject of conversation."[346:3] Between the rupture and the publication of the narrative regarding it, Hume seems to have written very abundantly on the subject, to his friends in Paris. The following is one of his letters:--

HUME _to the_ ABBÉ LE BLANC.

_Lisle Street, Leicester Fields, 12th August, 1766._

MY DEAR SIR,--I have used the freedom to send to you, in two
packets, by this post, the whole train of my correspondence
with Rousseau, connected by a short narrative. I hope you will
have leisure to peruse it. The story is incredible, as well as
inconceivable, were it not founded on such authentic
documents. Surely never was there so much wickedness and
madness combined in one human creature; nor did ever any one
meet with such a return for such signal services as those I
performed towards him. But I am told that he used to say to
Duclos, and others, that he hated all those to whom he owed
any obligation. In that case I am fully entitled to his
animosity.

I am really at a loss what use to make of this collection. The
story, I am told, is very much the object of conversation at
Paris. Though my conduct has been entirely innocent, or
rather, indeed, very meritorious, it happens, no doubt, as is
usual in such ruptures, that I will bear a part of the blame;
from which a publication of these papers would entirely free
me: yet I own I have an antipathy and reluctance to appeal to
the public; and fear that such a publication would be the only
blame I could incur in this affair. You know that nobody's
judgment weighs farther with me than yours: think a little of
the matter. If M{me.} De Dupré were in town, I would desire
her to give these papers a perusal, and tell me her opinions.
Unhappily M. Trudaine would only understand the French part,
which is by far the most considerable. What would his friend
Fontenelle have done in this situation?

I am as great a lover of peace as he, and have kept myself as
free from all literary quarrels; but surely neither he nor any
other person was ever engaged in a controversy with a man of
so much malice,--of such a profligate disposition to lies, and
such great talents. It is nothing to dispute my style or my
abilities as an historian or philosopher; my books ought to
answer for themselves, or they are not worth the
defending;--to fifty writers who have attacked me on this
head, I never made the least reply. But this is a different
case; imputations are here thrown on my morals and my conduct;
and, though my case is so clear as not to admit of the least
controversy, yet it is only clear to those who know it; and I
am uncertain how far the public in Paris are in this case. At
London, a publication would be regarded as entirely
superfluous.

I must desire you to send these papers to D'Alembert after you
have read them: M. Turgot will get them from him. I should
desire that _he_ saw them before he sets out for his
government.

Does not M{me.} de Montigny laugh at me, that I should have
sent her, but a few weeks ago, the portrait of Rousseau, done
from an original in my possession, and should now send you
these papers, which prove him to be one of the worst men,
perhaps, that ever existed, if his frenzy be not some apology
for him. I beg my compliments to M. and M{me.} Fourqueux; and
am, with great truth and sincerity, my dear sir, your most
affectionate humble servant.[348:1]

To Adam Smith, who was then in Paris, he wrote the following letter, without date:--

HUME _to_ ADAM SMITH.

"You may see in M. D'Alembert's hands, the whole narrative of my affair with Rousseau, along with the whole train of correspondence. Pray, is it not a nice problem, whether he be not an arrant villain, or an arrant madman, or both. The last is my opinion, but the villain seems to me to predominate most in his character. I shall not publish them unless forced, which you will own to be a very great degree of self-denial. My conduct in this affair would do me a great deal of honour, and his would blast him for ever, and blast his writings at the same time; for as these have been exalted much above their merit, when his personal character falls, they would of course fall below their merit. I am, however, apprehensive that in the end I shall be obliged to publish. About two or three days ago, there was an article in the _St. James's Chronicle_, copied from the _Brussels Gazette_, which pointed at this dispute. This may probably put Rousseau in a rage. He will publish something, which may oblige me for my own honour to give the narrative to the public. There will be no reason to dread a long train of disagreeable controversy. One publication begins and ends it on my side. Pray, tell me your judgment of my work, if it deserves the name. Tell D'Alembert I make him absolute master, to retrench or alter what he thinks proper, in order to suit it to the latitude of Paris.

"Were you and I together, dear Smith, we should shed tears at present for the death of poor Sir James Macdonald. We could not possibly have suffered a greater loss, than in that valuable young man. I am," &c.[349:1]

There is a letter by Smith on the subject, kind and honest. It must be kept in view, that it was written not only before the series of documents, mentioned in Hume's letter, had been sent to France, and before the French friends had recommended Hume to publish, but before the date of Rousseau's indictment. We shall, hereafter, find that Smith seems to have withdrawn his objection to the publication.

ADAM SMITH _to_ HUME.

_Paris, 6th July, 1766._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--I am thoroughly convinced that Rousseau is as
great a rascal as you and as every man here believes him to
be; yet let me beg of you, not to think of publishing any
thing to the world, upon the very great impertinence which he
has been guilty of to you. By refusing the pension which you
had the goodness to solicit for him with his own consent, he
may have thrown, by the baseness of his proceedings, some
little ridicule upon you in the eyes of the court and the
ministry. Stand this ridicule, expose his brutal letter, but
without giving it out of your own hand, so that it may never
be printed; and if you can, laugh at yourself, and I shall
pawn my life, that before three weeks are at an end, this
little affair, which at present gives you so much uneasiness,
shall be understood to do you as much honour as any thing that
has ever happened to you. By endeavouring to unmask before the
public this hypocritical pedant, you run the risk of
disturbing the tranquillity of your whole life. By letting him
alone, he cannot give you a fortnight's uneasiness. To write
against him is, you may depend upon it, the very thing he
wishes you to do. He is in danger of falling into obscurity in
England, and he hopes to make himself considerable, by
provoking an illustrious adversary. He will have a great
party: the Church, the Whigs, the Jacobites, the whole wise
English nation, who will love to mortify a Scotchman, and to
applaud a man who has refused a pension from the king. It is
not unlikely, too, that they may pay him very well for having
refused it, and that even he may have had in view this
compensation. Your whole friends here wish you not to
write--the Baron,[350:1] D'Alembert, Madame Riccoboni,
Mademoiselle Rianecourt, M. Turgot, &c. &c. M. Turgot, a
friend every way worthy of you, desired me to recommend this
advice to you in a particular manner, as his most earnest
entreaty and opinion. He and I are both afraid that you are
surrounded with evil counsellors, and that the advice of your
English literati, who are themselves accustomed to publish all
their little gossiping stories in newspapers, may have too
much influence upon you. Remember me to Mr. Walpole, and
believe me, &c.

Smith was thus in consultation on the subject with the excellent Turgot, who gave Hume his opinion at great length. On the 27th July, before he could have heard of the long "indictment," he wrote[351:1] that he could trace the rage of Rousseau to two causes: first, Hume being the author of one of the sarcasms in Walpole's letter, a rumour which Turgot appears to have believed; and second, the interpreting the letter to Mr. Conway as a refusal of the pension, which it was not intended by Rousseau to be. If the latter was one of Rousseau's grievances, he did not make it a count in the indictment. Turgot was ignorant of the strength of provocation which Hume received. He says, that it is a mistake to suppose Rousseau's conduct the effect of deliberate design,--a view in which every one not in the vortex of the dispute must have coincided with him; and on the ground that no sensible person will believe that he is guilty of the charges his excited enemy may make against him, he advises Hume not to treat them seriously. He even hints that Hume should acknowledge that he misinterpreted the letter about the pension, and should endeavour to coax Rousseau back to good humour, as a public exposure would be unpleasant to both parties. On the 7th September, after having seen all the documents, he preserved the same tone in speaking of Rousseau; recommending forbearance towards him: but at the same time he expressed an opinion that Hume might find it necessary to publish a narrative of the transaction.[352:1]

We find that Smith was also in communication with Madame de Boufflers, who wrote to Hume at considerable length, in the knowledge of the first angry letter, but not of the "indictment." She assumes a tone much the same as that of Turgot, when he wrote in the same circumstances. She expresses many regrets that Hume should have written so condemnatory a letter to the Baron D'Holbach. He is told that those who _profess_ to be his friends in France will abet him, because he is proving himself to be a mere ordinary human being, instead of continuing to show his superiority to the common frailties of humanity. He is entreated to look compassionately on a man who has overwhelmed himself with calamities, and to treat one who is capable only of injuring himself with generous pity. While making these recommendations, she, as well as Turgot, believed that one of the sarcasms in Walpole's letter had been suggested by Hume.[354:1] The same tone was taken up by Lord Marischal; who, writing on the 15th August from Potsdam, seems not to have perused the "indictment." "You did all in your power," says this kind old soldier, "to serve him; his écart afflicts me on his account more than yours, who have, I am sure, nothing to reproach yourself with. It will be good and humane in you, and like Le Bon David, not to answer."[354:2]

D'Alembert was at first opposed to a publication, and to an exposure of the follies of the wise before "cette sotte bête appelée le public." So early, however, as the 21st of July, he communicates the solemn opinion of himself and other friends in Paris, that after the publicity which the dispute has acquired, it will be necessary for Hume to print a narrative.[354:3] He states that this is the opinion of all intelligent people. He says at the same time, that he had been speaking with Adam Smith on the subject, and though his name is not among those of the committee who recommended the publication, it may be presumed that he had at length admitted it to be necessary.

In connexion with the letter from D'Alembert, Hume wrote thus to Walpole:--

DEAR SIR,--When I came home last night, I found on my table a
very long letter from D'Alembert, who tells me, that on
receiving from me an account of my affair with Rousseau, he
summoned a meeting of all my literary friends at Paris, and
found them all unanimously of the same opinion with himself,
and of a contrary opinion to me, with regard to my conduct.
They all think I ought to give to the public a narrative of
the whole. However, I persist still more closely in my first
opinion, especially after receiving the last mad letter.
D'Alembert tells me that it is of great importance for me to
justify myself from having any hand in the letter from the
King of Prussia. I am told by Crawford, that you had wrote it
a fortnight before I left Paris, but did not show it to a
mortal, for fear of hurting me; a delicacy of which I am very
sensible. Pray recollect if it was so. Though I do not intend
to publish, I am collecting all the original pieces, and I
shall connect them by a concise narrative. It is necessary for
me to have that letter and Rousseau's answer. Pray, assist me
in this work. About what time, do you think, were they
printed? I am, &c.[355:1]

Hume, afterwards, sent to Paris all the documents connected with Rousseau's attack, to be published or not, at the discretion of his friends; and they were published. If it be asked how he permitted so cruel a thing to be done, the answer is, that he was human, and had been deeply injured; that he had a reputation to preserve, and did not consider himself bound to sacrifice it to the peace of his assailant. Rousseau had triumphantly written, hither and thither, that Hume dared not publish the "indictment." He had said, that if he did not see David Hume exposed ere he died, he would cease to believe in Providence. He was occupied in writing his celebrated Confessions, and had significantly hinted to Hume that he would find himself pilloried there. It is possible to create an ideal image of a mind that would have calmly resisted all these impulses, and let the traducer proceed unnoticed in his frantic labours. It is probable that if he had adopted this course, Hume would in the end have been as completely absolved from the accusations of Rousseau, as he was by the publication of the accusation. Had he thus scorned to adopt the usual means of protecting his good name, his character would have appeared, to all who believed in his innocence, more magnanimous than it was. But it certainly would not have been so natural; and many of those who seemed to have expected that the metaphysician should be above the influence of ordinary human passions, appear to have forgotten, that there are few even of the men whose office it is to teach that those smitten on the one cheek should present the other, who would have shown even as much forbearance on the occasion as David Hume.

The editing of the French version of these documents was committed to Suard, the author of the Mélanges de Littérature. In answer to a letter of 2d November,[357:1] announcing the publication, Hume wrote to him in the following terms, admitting, as the reader will perceive, that he had used harsh expressions, and approving of their being softened.

HUME _to_ M. SUARD.