Life and Correspondence of David Hume, Volume 2

by John Hill Burton

After this true picture of myself, in which I have struggled to exert the noble impartiality and candour which shine in all your writings, my first care is, sir, to acknowledge the infinite obligations you have conferred upon me by your kind letter. I have translated the P. S. to send it to my friend. The esteem of such a man must be the best balm for his wounded heart. But I am afraid he will not accept the glorious support you are so good as to offer him. I fear that the weight of his calamities has impaired his health, and he cannot sustain the fatigues of a long journey. In his last letter to me, he expresses a resolution never to see England upon that account. Nevertheless, I am informed since, that new persecutions may possibly determine him to alter his mind. An irregular trial has deprived him of the natural rights in his own country. The commonwealth of Berne, from the example of Geneva and France,

has burnt his book, and he has been reduced to leave in a hurry the asylum that a friend had proffered him there. Such are the grievous misfortunes of this virtuous and unhappy man. I pity, I love him, and wish earnestly to sooth the sorrows under which he labours. Nevertheless, sir, I would fain also vindicate the honour of my nation in the eyes of so good a judge as you are. The reflection you cast upon it gives uneasiness; but mistrusting greatly my capacity, I fear to betray the cause I would defend by an enterprise so unequal to my force. I dare only to say, that your happy country has not attained in a moment the perfect constitution which gives us admiration. All convenient and well-calculated laws are not framed at once; and those most exceptionable, while they stand, deserve obedience and respect.

Is it possible, sir, that this late unhappy event could deprive of the honour of your presence, a country filled with your fervent admirers, and where every one will endeavour to outdo each other in expressing the veneration and regard you so justly deserve? I hope you will not keep this severe resolution. If we want a liberty you think an advantage, 'tis a reason to pity, and not to punish us. Besides, your case and that of M. Rousseau, though both foreigners in France, are quite different. Few days before I received your letter, I heard that it was a friend of mine who has favoured me with your last performance. I am infinitely obliged to him for this gracious gift, and to you, sir, for your good intention.

But what strange a creature will you think me, to venture to point a mistake in a work so perfect? In several parts of the first volume our countryman Godefroy of Bouillon is named Godefroy de Boulogne. You have reasons, perhaps, for the alteration, and I am ready to submit to them. I would only express my doubts: I hope you will excuse this freedom.

Since I have gone so far, permit me, sir, to ask your opinion upon the last book of M. Rousseau. I should be very glad to have my judgment of it confirmed or mended by yours. Nothing would be wanting to my satisfaction, if in the same letter, where you could grant me the favour I

wish for, I was assured you had renewed the project to come here, and that you would speedily execute it. I am, sir, with esteem, gratitude, and, permit me to add, friendship, your most humble servant.

In answer to this letter, Hume says that he had at first regarded it as a sort of challenge to answer it in French, but that he had given up the attempt as an unequal contest with "the sole instance of a foreigner, not habituated to our tongue, who has, from reading alone, become so entirely mistress of it." He then gives an account of the letter he had received from Lord Marischal, and says of Rousseau's refusal of the kindnesses proferred to him,—"Rousseau, with his usual dignity, refused all these gratuities, though at the same time he desired my lord to learn from me, whether it were possible for him to gain from the London booksellers as much money as would suffice for his maintenance; and this recompense, being the fruit of his own industry, he would have no scruple to accept of. I think this instance of conduct a kind of phenomenon in the republic of letters, and one very honourable for M. Rousseau. One is only apt to wish that he could practise this virtue with less hardship and difficulty; though we must also confess, that the difficulty adds to the lustre of it. I have heard, that the circumstance which deterred him from coming over to England, as he first intended, was a harsh reflection, which he threw out on the people in his 'Treatise of Education:' if this was his motive, I am persuaded that he would find it a vain fear, and that every one would rather have been anxious to show respect to his merit."[113:1]

He then obeys the mandate to criticise the "Emile."

You deign, madam, to ask my opinion of the new performance of M. Rousseau. I know that it becomes me better to form my judgment upon yours; but in compliance with your commands, I shall not make a secret of my sentiments. All the writings of that author appear to me admirable, particularly on the head of eloquence; and if I be not much mistaken, he gives to the French tongue an energy, which it scarce seems to have reached in any other hands. But as his enemies have objected, that with this domineering force of genius there is always intermingled some degree of extravagance, it is impossible for his friends altogether to deny the charge; and were it not for his frequent and earnest protestations to the contrary, one would be apt to suspect, that he chooses his topics less from persuasion, than from the pleasure of showing his invention, and surprising the reader by his paradoxes. The "Treatise of Education," as it possesses much of the merit, seems also exposed to the faults of his other performances; and as he indulges his love of the marvellous even in so serious and important a subject, he has given a pledge to the public that he was in earnest in all his other topics. If I dared to object any thing to M. Rousseau's eloquence, which is the shining side of his character, I should say, that it was not wholly free from the defect sometimes found in that of the Roman orator; and that their great talent for expression was apt to produce a prolixity in both. This last performance chiefly is exposed to this objection; and I own, that though it abounds in noble and shining passages, it gave me rather less pleasure than his former writings. However, it carries still the stamp of a great genius; and, what enhances its beauty, the stamp of a very particular genius. The noble pride and spleen and indignation of the author bursts out with freedom in a hundred places, and serves fully to characterize the lofty spirit of the man.

When I came to peruse that passage of Mons. Rousseau's Treatise, which has occasioned all the persecution against him, I was not in the least surprised that it gave offence.