I remember about the time to which I refer, full
of the idea of my confessions, I very imprudently spoke of them to
everybody, never imagining it could be the wish or interest, much less
within the power of any person whatsoever, to throw an obstacle in the
way of this undertaking, and had I suspected it, even this would not
have rendered me more discreet, as from the nature of my disposition
it is totally impossible for me to conceal either my thoughts or
feelings. 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 prevented
from executing it.
I had another project in contemplation which was not looked upon
with a more favorable eye by those who were afraid of the first:
this was a general edition of my works. I thought this edition of them
necessary to ascertain what books, amongst those to which my name
was affixed, were really written by me, and to furnish the public with
the means of distinguishing them from the writings falsely
attributed to me by my enemies, to bring me to dishonor and
contempt. This was besides a simple and an honorable means of insuring
to myself a livelihood, and the only one that remained to me. As I had
renounced the profession of an author, my memoirs not being of a
nature to appear during my lifetime; and as I no longer gained a
farthing in any manner whatsoever, and constantly lived at a certain
expense, I saw the end of my resources in that of the produce of the
last things I had written.
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