Chapter IV: Part IV (4)

I shall only answer one article of your long letter: it
is that which regards the conversation between us the
evening before your departure. Mr Davenport had imagined a
good natured artifice, to make you believe that a retour
chaise had offered for Wooton; and I believe he made an
advertisement be put in the papers, in order the better to
deceive you. His purpose was only 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, how ever, suspicions of his design, while we
were sitting alone by my fire-side; 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, there
passed a very tender scene between us. You added, by
way of compliment, that though I had many better titles
to recommend me to posterity, yet perhaps my uncommon
attachment and friendship to a poor unhappy persecuted
man, would not altogether be overlooked.

This incident, Sir, 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 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 totally irreconcilable with your account,
and confirms mine.[41]

Secondly, I told the story the next day, or the day after,
to Mr Davenport, with a friendly 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
Mde. 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, 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! Are not most studious men (and many of them
more than I) subject to such reveries or fits of absence,
without being exposed to such suspicions? 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:
the other articles of it are as much without foundation as
you yourself know this to be. I shall only add, in general,
that I enjoyed about a month ago an uncommon pleasure, when
I reflected, that through many difficulties, and by most
assiduous care and pains, I had, beyond my most sanguine
expectations, provided for your repose, honour and fortune.
But I soon felt a very sensible uneasiness when I found
that you had wantonly and voluntarily thrown away all these
advantages, and was become the declared enemy of your
repose, fortune, and honour: I cannot be surprised after
this that you are my enemy. Adieu, and for ever. I am, Sir,
yours,

D. H.

[41] That of the 22d of March, which is entirely cordial; and proves that Mr Rousseau had never, till that moment, entertained, or at least discovered the smallest suspicion against me. There is also in the same letter, a peevish passage about the hire of a chaise.--Mr HUME.

To all these papers, I need only subjoin the following letter of Mr Walpole to me, which proves how ignorant and innocent I am of the whole matter of the King of Prussia's letter.

MR WALPOLE TO MR HUME.

_Arlington Street, July_ 26_th_, 1766.

I cannot be precise as to the time of my writing the King
of Prussia's letter, but I do assure you, with the utmost
truth, that it was several days before you left Paris,
and before Rousseau's arrival there, of which I can give
you a strong proof; for I not only suppressed the letter
while you staid there, out of delicacy to you, but it was
the reason why, out of delicacy to myself, I did not go to
see him, as you often proposed to me; thinking it wrong to
go and make a cordial visit to a man, with a letter in my
pocket to laugh at him. You are at full liberty, dear Sir,
to make use of what I say in your justification, either
to Rousseau or any body else. I should be very sorry to
have you blamed on my account: I have a hearty contempt of
Rousseau, and am perfectly indifferent what any body thinks
of the matter. If there is any fault, which I am far from
thinking, let it lie on me. No parts can hinder my laughing
at their possessor, if he is a mountebank. If he has a bad
and most ungrateful heart, as Rousseau has shown in your
case, into the bargain, he will have my scorn likewise, as
he will of all good and sensible men. You may trust your
sentence to such, who are as respectable judges as any that
have pored over ten thousand more volumes.

Yours most sincerely,

H. W.

Thus I have given a narrative, as concise as possible, of this extraordinary affair, which I am told has very much attracted the attention of the public, and which contains more unexpected incidents than any other in which I was ever engaged. The persons to whom I have shown the original papers which authenticate the whole, have differed very much in their opinion, as well of the use I ought to make of them as of Mr Rousseau's present sentiments and state of mind. Some of them have maintained that he is altogether insincere in his quarrel with me, and his opinion of my guilt, and that the whole proceeds from that excessive pride which forms the basis of his character, and which leads him both to seek the eclat of refusing the King of England's bounty, and to shake off the intolerable burthen of an obligation to me, by every sacrifice of honour, truth, and friendship, as well as of interest. They found their sentiments on the absurdity of that first supposition on which he grounds his anger, viz. that Mr Walpole's letter, which he knew had been every where dispersed both in Paris and London, was given to the press by me; and as this supposition is contrary to common sense on the one hand, and not supported even by the pretence of the slightest probability on the other, they conclude, that it never had any weight even with the person himself who lays hold of it. They confirm their sentiments by the number of fictions and lies which he employs to justify his anger; fictions with regard to points in which it is impossible for him to be mistaken. They also remark his real cheerfulness and gaiety, amidst the deep melancholy with which he pretended to be oppressed; not to mention the absurd reasoning which runs through the whole, and on which it is impossible for any man to rest his conviction. And though a very important interest is here abandoned, yet money is not universally the chief object with mankind: vanity weighs farther with some men, particularly with this philosopher; and the very ostentation of refusing a pension from the King of England--an ostentation which, with regard to other Princes, he has often sought--might be of itself a sufficient motive for his present conduct.

There are others of my friends who regard this whole affair in a more compassionate light, and consider Mr Rousseau as an object rather of pity than of anger. They suppose the same domineering pride and ingratitude to be the basis of his character; but they are also willing to believe that his brain has received a sensible shock, and that his judgment, set afloat, is carried to every side, as it is pushed by the current of his humours and of his passions. The absurdity of his belief is no proof of its insincerity. He imagines himself the sole important being in the universe: he fancies all mankind to be in a combination against him: his greatest benefactor, as hurting him most, is the chief object of his animosity: and though he supports all his whimsies by lies and fictions, this is so frequent a case with wicked men, who are in that middle state between sober reason and total frenzy, that it needs give no surprise to any body.

I own that I am much inclined to this latter opinion; though, at the same time, I question whether, in any period of his life, Mr Rousseau was ever more in his senses than he is at present. The former brilliancy of his genius, and his great talents for writing, are no proof of the contrary. It is an old remark, that great wits are near allied to madness; and even in those frantic letters which he has wrote to me, there are evidently strong traces of his wonted genius and eloquence. He has frequently told me that he was composing his memoirs, in which justice should be done to his own character, to that of his friends, and to that of his enemies; and as Mr Davenport informs me, that, since his retreat into the country, he has been much employed in writing, I have reason to conclude that he is at present finishing that undertaking. Nothing could be more unexpected to me than my passing so suddenly from the class of his friend to that of his enemies; but this transition being made, I must expect to be treated accordingly; and I own that this reflection gave me some anxiety.[42] A work of this nature, both from the celebrity of the person, and the strokes of eloquence interspersed, would certainly attract the attention of the world; and it might be published either after my death, or after that of the author. In the former case, there would be nobody who could tell the story, or justify my memory. In the latter, my apology, wrote in opposition to a dead person, would lose a great deal of its authenticity. For this reason, I have at present collected the whole story into one Narrative, that I may show it to my friends, and at any time have it in my power to make whatever use of it they and I should think proper. I am, and always have been, such a lover of peace, that nothing but necessity, or very forcible reasons, could have obliged me to give it to the public.

_'Perdidi beneficium. Numquid quæ consecravimus perdidisse nos dicimus? Inter consecrata beneficium est; etiam si male respondit, bene collatum. Non est ille qualem speravimus; simus nos quales fuimus, ei dissimiles.'_

SENECA DE BENEFICIIS, LIB. VII. CAP. 29.

[42] In his letter of the 22d of March, he flatters me indirectly with the figure I am to make in his Memoirs. In that of the 23d of June, he threatens me. These are proofs how much he is in earnest.

DECLARATION OF MR D'ALEMBERT, RELATING TO MR WALPOLE'S LETTER.

(_Addressed to the French Editors_.)

It is with the greatest surprise I learn, from Mr Hume, that Mr Rousseau accuses me of being the author of the ironical letter addressed to him, in the public papers, under the name of the King of Prussia. Every body knows, both at Paris and London, that such letter was written by Mr Walpole; nor does he disown it. He acknowledges only that he was a little assisted, in regard to the style, by a person he does not name, and whom perhaps he ought to name. As to my part, on whom the public suspicions have fallen in this affair, I am not at all acquainted with Mr Walpole. I don't even believe I ever spoke to him; having only happened to meet once occasionally on a visit. I have not only had not the least to do, either directly or indirectly, with the letter in question, but could mention above a hundred persons, among the friends as well as enemies of Mr Rousseau, who have heard me greatly disapprove of it; because, as I said, we ought not to ridicule the unfortunate, especially when they do us no harm. Besides, my respect for the King of Prussia, and the acknowledgments I owe him, might, I should have thought, have persuaded Mr Rousseau that I should not have taken such a liberty with the name of that Prince, though in pleasantry.

To this I shall add, that I never was an enemy to Mr Rousseau, either open or secret, as he pretends; and I defy him to produce the least proof of my having endeavoured to injure him in any shape whatever. I can prove to the contrary, by the most respectable witnesses, that I have always endeavoured to oblige him, whenever it lay in my power.

As to my pretended _secret correspondence_ with Mr Hume, it is very certain that we did not begin to write to each other till about five or six months after his departure, on occasion of the quarrel arisen between him and Mr Rousseau, and into which the latter thought proper unnecessarily to introduce me.

I thought this declaration necessary for my own sake, as well as for the sake of truth, and in regard to the situation of Mr Rousseau. I sincerely lament his having so little confidence in the probity of mankind, and particularly in that of Mr Hume.

D'ALEMBERT.

SCOTTICISMS.

_Will_, in the first person, as _I will walk_, _we will walk_, expresses the intention or resolution of the person, along with the future event: In the second and third person, as, _you will_, _he will_, _they will_, it expresses the future action or event, without comprehending or excluding the volition.

_Shall_, in the first person, whether singular or plural, expresses the future action or event, without excluding or comprehending the intention or resolution: But in the _second_ or _third_ person, it marks a necessity, and commonly a necessity proceeding from the person who speaks; as, _he shall walk_, _you shall repent it_.

These variations seem to have proceeded from a politeness in the _English_, who, in speaking to others, or of others, made use of the term _will_, which implies volition, even where the event may be the subject of necessity and constraint. And in speaking of themselves, made use of the term _shall_, which implies constraint, even though the event may be the object of choice.

_Wou'd_ and _shou'd_ are conjunctive moods, subject to the same rule; only, we may observe, that in a sentence, where there is a condition exprest, and a consequence of that condition, the former always requires _shou'd_, and the latter _wou'd_, in the second and third persons; as, _if he shou'd fall, he wou'd break his leg_, &c.

_These_ is the plural of _this_; _those of that_. The former, therefore, expresses what is near: the latter, what is more remote. As, in these lines of the Duke of Buckingham,

"Philosophers and poets vainly strove,
In every age, the lumpish mass to move.
But THOSE were pedants if compared with THESE,
Who knew not only to instruct, but please."

Where a relative is to follow, and the subject has not been mentioned immediately before, _those_ is always required. _Those observations which he made_. _Those kingdoms which Alexander conquered_.

In the verbs, which end in _t_, or _te_, we frequently omit _ed_ in the preterperfect and in the participle; as, _he operate_, _it was cultivate_. _Milton_ says, _in thought more elevate_; but he is the only author who uses that expression.

_Notice_ shou'd not be used as a verb. The proper phrase is _take notice_. Yet I find Lord Shaftesbury uses _notic'd_, the participle: And _unnotic'd_ is very common.

_Hinder to do_, is _Scotch_. The _English_ phrase is, _hinder from doing_. Yet _Milton_ says, _Hindered not Satan to pervert the mind_.