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Rousseau, Jean-Jacques

"The Confessions Of Jean-Jacques Rousseau"

The debts to be paid hurt me much less than
the secret that had been made of them. How could she, from whom I
had never had a secret, have one from me? Is it possible to
dissimulate with persons whom we love? The Coterie Holbachique, who
found I never made a journey to Paris, began seriously to be afraid
I was happy and satisfied in the country, and madman enough to
reside there.
Hence the cabals by which attempts were made to recall me indirectly
to the city. Diderot, who did not immediately wish to show himself,
began by detaching from me De Leyre, whom I had brought acquainted
with him, and who received and transmitted to me the impressions
Diderot chose to give without suspecting to what end they were
directed.
Everything seemed to concur in withdrawing me from my charming and
mad reverie. I was not recovered from the late attack I had when I
received the copy of the poem on the destruction of Lisbon, which I
imagined to be sent by the author. This made it necessary I should
write to him and speak of his composition. I did so, and my letter was
a long time afterwards printed without my consent, as I shall
hereafter have occasion to remark.
Struck by seeing this poor man overwhelmed, if I may so speak,
with prosperity and honor, bitterly exclaiming against the miseries of
this life, and finding everything to be wrong, I formed the mad
project of making him turn his attention to himself, and of proving to
him that everything was right.


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