A few days afterwards, I had the pleasure of receiving from Diderot the visit he had so frequently promised, and in which he had as constantly failed.He could not have come more opportunely; he was my oldest friend; almost the only one who remained to me; the pleasure I felt in seeing him, as things were circumstanced, may easily be imagined.My heart was full, and I disclosed it to him.Iexplained to him several facts which either had not come, to his knowledge, or had been disguised or supposed.I informed him, as far as I could do it with propriety, of all that had passed.I did not affect to conceal from him that with which he was but too well acquainted, that a passion, equally unreasonable and unfortunate, had been the cause of my destruction; but I never acknowledged that Madam d'Houdetot had been made acquainted with it, or at least that I had declared it to her.I mentioned to him the unworthy maneuvers of Madam d'Epinay to intercept the innocent letters her sister-in-law wrote to me.I was determined he should hear the particulars from the mouth of the persons whom she had attempted to seduce.Theresa related them with great precision; but what was my astonishment when the mother came to speak, and I heard her declare and maintain that nothing of this had come to her knowledge? These were her words from which she would never depart.Not four days before she herself had recited to me all the particulars Theresa had just stated, and in presence of my friend she contradicted me to my face.This, to me, was decisive, and I then clearly saw my imprudence in having so long a time kept such a woman near me.I made no use of invective; I scarcely deigned to speak to her a few words of contempt.I felt what I owed to the daughter, whose steadfast uprightness was a perfect contrast to the base maneuvers of the mother.But from that instant my resolution was taken relative to the old woman, and I waited for nothing but the moment to put it into execution.
This presented itself sooner than I expected.On the 10th of December I received from Madam d'Epinay the following answer to my preceding letter:
GENEVA, 1st December, 1757.
"After having for several years given you every possible mark of friendship all I can now do is to pity you.You are very unhappy.Iwish your conscience may be as calm as mine.This may be necessary to the repose of your whole life.
"Since you are determined to quit the Hermitage, and are persuaded that you ought to do it, I am astonished your friends have prevailed upon you to stay there.For my part I never consult mine upon my duty, and I have nothing further to say to you upon your own."Such an unforeseen dismission, and so fully pronounced, left me not a moment to hesitate.It was necessary to quit immediately, let the weather and my health be in what state they might, although I were to sleep in the woods and upon the snow, with which the ground was then covered, and in defiance of everything Madam d'Houdetot might say; for I was willing to do everything to please her except render myself infamous.
I never had been so embarrassed in my whole life as I then was;but my resolution was taken.I swore, let what would happen, not to sleep at the Hermitage on the night of that day week.I began to prepare for sending away my effects, resolving to leave them in the open field rather than not give up the key in the course of the week: for I was determined everything should be done before a letter could be written to Geneva, and an answer to it received.I never felt myself so inspired with courage: I had recovered all my strength.
Honor and indignation, upon which Madam d'Epinay had not calculated, contributed to restore me to vigor.Fortune aided my audacity.M.
Mathas, fiscal procuror, heard of my embarrassment.He sent to offer me a little house he had in his garden of Mont-Louis, at Montmorency.I accepted it with eagerness and gratitude.The bargain was soon concluded: I immediately sent to purchase a little furniture to add to that we already had.My effects I had carted away with a deal of trouble, and at a great expense: notwithstanding the ice and snow my removal was completed in a couple of days, and on the fifteenth of December, I gave up the keys of the Hermitage, after having paid the wages of the gardener, not being able to pay my rent.
With respect to Madam le Vasseur, I told her we must part; her daughter attempted to make me renounce my resolution, but I was inflexible.I sent her off to Paris in the carriage of the messenger with all the furniture and effects she and her daughter had in common.
I gave her some money, and engaged to pay her lodging with her children, or elsewhere to provide for her subsistence as much as it should be possible for me to do it, and never to let her want bread as long as I should have it myself.
Finally the day after my arrival at Mont-Louis, I wrote to Madam d'Epinay the following letter:
MONTMORENCY, 17th December, 1757.
"Nothing, madam, is so natural and necessary as to leave your house the moment you no longer approve of my remaining there.Upon your refusing your consent to my passing the rest of the winter at the Hermitage I quitted it on the fifteenth of December.My destiny was to enter it in spite of myself and to leave it the same.I thank you for the residence you prevailed upon me to make there, and I would thank you still more had I paid for it less dear.You are right in believing me unhappy; nobody upon earth knows better than yourself to what a degree I trust be so.If being deceived in the choice of our friends be a misfortune, it is another not less cruel to recover from so pleasing an error."Such is the faithful narration of my residence at the Hermitage, and of the reasons which obliged me to leave it.I could not break off the recital, it was necessary to continue it with the greatest exactness; this epoch of my life having had upon the rest of it an influence which will extend to my latest remembrance.
End of Book IX