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,
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 Mme. 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 Mme. 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 Mme. 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.
I cannot sufficiently express, my dear sir, all the acknowledgments which I owe you for the pains you have taken in translating a work, which so little merited your attention, or the attention of the public. It is done entirely to my satisfaction; and the introduction in particular is wrote with great prudence and discretion in every point, except where your partiality to me appears too strongly. I accept of it, however, very willingly as a pledge of your friendship. You and M. D'Alembert did well in softening some expressions, especially in the notes; and I shall take care to follow these corrections in the English edition. My paper, indeed, was not wrote for the public eye; and nothing but a train of unforeseen accidents could have engaged me to give it to the press. I am not surprised, that those who do not consider nor weigh those circumstances, should blame this appeal to the public; but it is certain that if I had persevered in keeping silence, I should have passed for the guilty person, and those very people who blame me at present, would, with the appearance of reason, have thrown a much greater blame upon me. This whole adventure, I must regard as a misfortune in my life: and yet, even after all is past, when it is easy to correct any errors, I am not sensible that I can accuse myself of any imprudence; except in accepting of this man when he threw himself into my arms: and yet it would then have appeared cruel to refuse him. I am excusable for not expecting to meet with such a prodigy of pride and ferocity, because such a one never before existed. But after he had declared war against me in so violent a manner, it could not have been prudent in me to keep silence towards my friends, and to wait till he should find a proper time to stab my reputation. From my friends, the affair passed to the public, who interested themselves more in a private story, than it was possible to imagine; and rendered it quite necessary to lay the whole before them. Yet, after all, if any one be pleased to think, that by greater prudence I could have avoided this disagreeable extremity, I am very willing to submit. It is not surely the first imprudence I have been guilty of.[358:1]
Among other distinctions, the publication of the controversy brought Hume a letter from Voltaire, in which the patriarch gave the history of his own grievances against Rousseau, with all his usual sarcasm; and said, of that absorbing vanity for which he might have had more fellow feeling, that Rousseau, believing himself worthy of a statue, thought one half of the world was occupied in raising it on its pedestal, and the other in pulling it down.[358:2]
This little collection, bearing the title, "Exposé succint de la contestation qui s'est élévée entre M. Hume et M. Rousseau, avec les pieces justificatives," was soon afterwards published in English, under Hume's own superintendence. He judiciously observed, that a translation would undoubtedly appear, and that it was more honest, and at the same time more conducive to his reputation, that he should himself superintend the publication.
He had intimated, that as Rousseau would probably impugn the genuineness of the letters as they appeared in print, he would deposit the originals in a public library. In this view, he addressed the following letter to the librarian of the British Museum.
"Edinburgh, 23d Jan. 1767.
"Sir,—As M. Rousseau had wrote to several of his correspondents, that I never dared to publish the letters which he had wrote me; or if I published them they would be so falsified that they would not be the same, I was obliged to say in my preface, that the originals would be consigned in the Museum. I hope you have no objection to the receiving them. I send them by my friend M. Ramsay. Be so good as to give them the corner of any drawer. I fancy few people will trouble you by desiring a sight of them. All the world seems to be satisfied concerning the foundation of that unhappy affair. Yet notwithstanding, I own, that I never in my life took a step with so much reluctance as the consenting to that publication. But as it appeared absolutely necessary to all my friends at Paris, I could not withstand their united opinion. I have also sent the original of M. Walpole's letter to me, which enters into the collection. I am, sir, your most obedient, and most humble servant."[360:1]
It appears that the trustees of the British Museum, for some one or other of the inscrutable reasons which occasionally sway the counsels of such bodies, declined to receive this very curious collection of documents. Dr. Maty, writing to Hume on 22d April, 1767, says, "I longed to have some conversation with you on the subject of the papers, which were remitted to me by the hands of Mr. Ramsay, and as our trustees did not think proper to receive them, to restore them into yours. With respect to these papers, give me leave to assure you, that I had never any doubt about the merits of the cause. I have long ago fixed my opinion about R——'s character, and think madness is the only excuse that can be offered for his inconsistencies."[360:2]
Those original letters connected with the controversy, which were addressed to Hume, whether by Rousseau or others, are among the papers in possession of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. They bear marks of having been much handled.[360:3] Of the letters addressed to Rousseau, which of course were written in French, it is to be presumed that Hume preserved the duplicates, which afterwards enabled him to show copies of the documents on both sides. The originals probably do not exist; for Rousseau, who held his own part in a controversy as the only important one, appears not to have kept the letters addressed to him, though he retained copies of his own.
The dispute with Rousseau very nearly produced a subsidiary discussion with Horace Walpole. He said, alluding to the advice which had been transmitted to Hume by D'Alembert, "Your set of literary friends are what a set of literary men are apt to be, exceedingly absurd. They hold a consistory to consult how to argue with a madman; and they think it very necessary for your character, to give them the pleasure of seeing Rousseau exposed; not because he has provoked you, but them. If Rousseau prints, you must; but I certainly would not, till he does."
Walpole evidently looked on this quarrel as a small dispute between small people;—something on a par with the wrangling of country gentlemen about their preserves and their swing gates.[361:1] Yet, when he found that his own name appeared to be connected with it, he thought it right to publish "a narrative of what passed relative to the quarrel of Mr. David Hume and J. J. Rousseau, as far as Mr. Horace Walpole was concerned in it." He very distinctly absolves Hume from any connexion with the fictitious letter of the King of Prussia. The only wrong of which he had to complain was, that Hume published this exoneration, of which it seems a publication was not expected, though the letter contained the words, "You are at full liberty, dear sir, to make use of what I say in your justification, either to Rousseau or any body else;" and that, in printing the letter, the passage above cited, reflecting on the literary circle of Paris, had been, from motives of delicacy towards all parties, suppressed.[362:1]
The only portion of Walpole's pamphlet that appears to possess any interest, contains Hume's remarks on his friend, D'Alembert. They were intended as an answer to Walpole's spiteful sneers; but, though eulogistic, and apparently just, they by no means exhibit a violent encomiastic zeal.