writings, in the Monthly Review, particularly in the account of his Letters from the Mountains, in the appendix to the 31st vol. of that work, where this celebrated genius is described, merely from the general tenour of his writings and the outlines of his public conduct, to be exactly such a kind of person as Mr Hume hath discovered him from intimate and personal acquaintance.--_English translator_.
It is necessary to introduce here a letter, which was written last winter, at Paris, in the name of the king of Prussia.
MY DEAR JOHN JAMES, You have renounced Geneva, your native soil. You have been driven from Switzerland, a country of which you have made such boast in your writings. In France you are outlawed: come then to me. I admire your talents, and amuse myself with your reveries; on which, however, by the way, you bestow too much time and attention. It is high time to grow prudent and happy; you have made yourself sufficiently talked of for singularities little becoming a truly great man: show your enemies that you have sometimes common sense: this will vex them without hurting you. My dominions afford you a peaceable retreat: I am desirous to do you good, and will do it, if you can but think it such. But if you are determined to refuse my assistance, you may expect that I shall say not a word about it to any one.
If you persist in perplexing your brains to find out new misfortunes, choose such as you like best; I am a king, and can make you as miserable as you can wish; at the same time, I will engage to do that which your enemies never will, I will cease to persecute you, when you are no longer vain of persecution.
Your sincere friend, FREDERICK.
This letter was written by Mr Horace Walpole, about three weeks before I left Paris; but though we lodged in the same hotel, and were often together, Mr Walpole, out of regard to me, carefully concealed this piece of pleasantry till after my departure. He then showed it to some friends, who took copies; and those of course presently multiplied; so that this little piece had been spread with rapidity all over Europe, and was in every body's hands when I saw it, for the first time, in London.
I believe every one will allow, who knows any thing of the liberty of this country, that such a piece of raillery could not, even by the utmost influence of kings, lords and commons, by all the authority ecclesiastical, civil and military, be kept from finding its way to the press. It was accordingly published in the St James's Chronicle, and a few days after I was very much surprised to find the following piece in the same paper.
MR ROUSSEAU TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ST JAMES'S CHRONICLE.
SIR, You have been wanting in that respect which every private person owes to crowned heads, in publickly ascribing to the King of Prussia, a letter full of baseness and extravagance; by which circumstance alone, you might be very well assured he could not be the author. You have even dared to subscribe his name, as if you had seen him write it with his own hand. I inform you, Sir, that this letter was fabricated at Paris, and, what rends and afflicts my heart, that the impostor hath his accomplices in England.
In justice to the King of Prussia, to truth, and to myself, you ought therefore to print the letter I am now writing, and to which I set my name, by way of reparation for a fault, which you would undoubtedly reproach yourself for if you knew of what atrociousness you have been made the instrument. Sir, I make you my sincere salutations.
J. J. R.
I was sorry to see Mr Rousseau display such an excess of sensibility, on account of so simple and unavoidable an incident, as the publication of this pretended letter from the King of Prussia. But I should have accused myself of a most black and malevolent disposition, if I had imagined Mr Rousseau could have suspected me to have been the editor of it, or that he had intentionally directed his resentment against me.
He now informs me, however, that this was really the case. Just eight days before, I had received a letter, written in the most amicable terms imaginable.[4] I am, surely, the last man in the world, who, in common sense, ought to be suspected; yet, without even the pretence of the smallest proof or probability, I am, of a sudden, the first man not only suspected, but certainly concluded to be the publisher; I am, without further inquiry or explication, intentionally insulted in a public paper; I am, from the dearest friend, converted into a treacherous and malignant enemy; and all my present and past services are at one stroke very artfully cancelled. Were it not ridiculous to employ reasoning on such a subject, and with such a man, I might ask Mr Rousseau, "Why I am supposed to have any malignity against him?"
My actions, in a hundred instances, had sufficiently demonstrated the contrary; and it is not usual for favours conferred to beget ill will in the person who confers them. But supposing I had secretly entertained an animosity towards him, would I run the risk of a discovery, by so silly a vengeance, and by sending this piece to the press, when I knew, from the usual avidity of the news-writers to find articles of intelligence, that it must necessarily in a few days be laid hold of?
[4] That of the 29th of March.
But not imagining that I was the object of so black and ridiculous a suspicion, I pursued my usual train, by serving my friend in the least doubtful manner. I renewed my applications to General Conway, as soon as the state of that gentleman's health permitted it: the General applies again to his Majesty: his Majesty's consent is renewed: the Marquis of Rockingham, first Commissioner of the Treasury, is also applied to: the whole affair is happily finished; and full of joy, I conveyed the intelligence to my friend. On which Mr Conway soon after received the following letter.
MR ROUSSEAU TO GENERAL CONWAY.
_May_ 12_th_, 1766.
SIR, Affected with a most lively sense of the favour his Majesty hath honoured me with, and with that of your goodness, which procured it me, it affords me the most pleasing sensation to reflect, that the best of Kings, and the Minister most worthy of his confidence, are pleased to interest themselves in my fortune. This, Sir, is an advantage of which I am justly tenacious, and which I will never deserve to lose. But it is necessary I should speak to you with that frankness you admire. After the many misfortunes that have befallen me, I thought myself armed against all possible events. There have happened to me some, however, which I did not foresee, and which indeed an ingenuous mind ought not to have foreseen: hence it is that they affect me by so much the more severely. The trouble in which they involve me, indeed, deprives me of the ease and presence of mind necessary to direct my conduct: all I can reasonably do, under so distressed a situation, is to suspend my resolutions about every affair of such importance as is that in agitation. So far from refusing the beneficence of the King from pride, as is imputed to me, I am proud of acknowledging it, and am only sorry I cannot do it more publicly. But when I actually receive it, I would be able to give up myself entirely to those sentiments which it would naturally inspire, and to have an heart replete with gratitude for his Majesty's goodness and yours. I am not at all afraid this manner of thinking will make any alteration in yours towards me. Deign, therefore, Sir, to preserve that goodness for me, till a more happy opportunity, when you will be satisfied that I defer taking the advantage of it, only to render myself more worthy of it. I beg of you, Sir, to accept of my most humble and respectful salutations.
J. J. R.
This letter appeared both to General Conway and me a plain refusal, as long as the article of secrecy was insisted on; but as I knew that Mr Rousseau had been acquainted with that condition from the beginning, I was the less surprised at his silence towards me. I thought that my friend, conscious of having treated me ill in this affair, was ashamed to write to me; and having prevailed on General Conway to keep the matter still open, I wrote a very friendly letter to Mr Rousseau, exhorting him to return to his former way of thinking, and to accept of the pension.
As to the deep distress which he mentions to General Conway, and which, he says, deprives him even of the use of his reason, I was set very much at ease on that head, by receiving a letter from Mr Davenport, who told me, that his guest was at that very time extremely happy, easy, cheerful, and even sociable. I saw plainly, in this event, the usual infirmity of my friend, who wishes to interest the world in his favour, by passing for sickly, and persecuted, and distressed, and unfortunate, beyond all measure, even while he is the most happy and contented. His pretences of an extreme sensibility had been too frequently repeated, to have any effect on a man who was so well acquainted with them.
I waited three weeks in vain for an answer: I thought this a little strange, and I even wrote so to Mr Davenport; but having to do with a very odd sort of a man, and still accounting for his silence by supposing him ashamed to write to me, I was resolved not to be discouraged, nor to lose the opportunity of doing him an essential service, on account of a vain ceremonial. I accordingly renewed my applications to the Ministers, and was so happy as to be enabled to write the following letter to Mr Rousseau, the only one of so old a date of which I have a copy.
MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU.
As I have not received any answer from you, I conclude, that you persevere in the same resolution of refusing all marks of his Majesty's goodness, as long as they must remain a secret. I have therefore applied to General Conway to have this condition removed; and I was so fortunate as to obtain his promise that he would speak to the King for that purpose. It will only be requisite, said he, that we know previously from Mr Rousseau, whether he would accept of a pension publicly granted him, that his Majesty may not be exposed to a second refusal. He gave me authority to write to you on that subject; and I beg to hear your resolution as soon as possible. If you give your consent, which I earnestly entreat you to do, I know, that I could depend on the good offices of the Duke of Richmond, to second General Conway's application; so that I have no doubt of success. I am, my Dear Sir, Yours, with great sincerity, D. H.
In five days I received the following answer.
MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.
I imagined, Sir, that my silence, truly interpreted by your own conscience, had said enough; but since you have some design in not understanding me, I shall speak. You have but ill disguised yourself. I know you, and you are not ignorant of it. Before we had any personal connections, quarrels, or disputes; while we knew each other only by literary reputation, you affectionately made me the offer of the good offices of yourself and friends. Affected by this generosity, I threw myself into your arms; you brought me to England, apparently to procure me an asylum, but in fact to bring me to dishonour. You applied to this noble work, with a zeal worthy of your heart, and a success worthy of your abilities. You needed not have taken so much pains: you live and converse with the world; I with myself in solitude. The public love to be deceived, and you were formed to deceive them. I know one man, however, whom you can not deceive; I mean myself. You know with what horror my heart rejected the first suspicion of your designs. You know I embraced you with tears in my eyes, and told you, if you were not the best of men, you must be the blackest of mankind. In reflecting on your private conduct, you must say to yourself sometimes, you are not the best of men: under which conviction, I doubt much if ever you will be the happiest.
I leave your friends and you to carry on your schemes as you please; giving up to you, without regret, my reputation during life; certain that, sooner or later, justice will be done to that of both. As to your good offices in matters of interest, which you have made use of as a mask, I thank you for them, and shall dispense with profiting by them. I ought not to hold a correspondence with you any longer, or to accept of it to my advantage in any affair in which you are to be the mediator. Adieu, Sir, I wish you the truest happiness; but as we ought not to have any thing to say to each other for the future, this is the last letter you will receive from me.
J. J. R.
To this I immediately sent the following reply.
MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU.
As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most friendly part, of having always given the most tender, the most active proofs of sincere affection; you may judge of my extreme surprize on perusing your epistle. Such violent accusations, confined altogether to generals, it is as impossible to answer, as it is impossible to comprehend them. But affairs cannot, must not remain on that footing.
I shall charitably suppose, that some infamous calumniator has belied me to you. But in that case, it is your duty, and I am persuaded it will be your inclination, to give me an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself; which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars of which I am accused. You say, that I myself know that I have been false to you; but I say it loudly, and will say it to the whole world, that I know the contrary, that I know my friendship towards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted, and that though instances of it have been very generally remarked both in France and England, the smallest part of it only has as yet come to the knowledge of the public. I demand, that you will produce me the man who will assert the contrary; and above all, I demand, that he will mention any one particular in which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me; you owe it to yourself; you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and to every thing that can be deemed sacred among men. As an innocent man; I will not say, as your friend; I will not say, as your benefactor; but, I repeat it, as an innocent man, I claim the privilege of proving my innocence, and of refuting any scandalous lie which may have been invented against me. Mr Davenport, to whom I have sent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, I am confident, will second my demand, and will tell you, that nothing possibly can be more equitable. Happily I have preserved the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wooton; and you there express in the strongest terms, indeed in terms too strong, your satisfaction in my poor endeavours to serve you: the little epistolary intercourse which afterwards passed between us, has been all employed on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell me, what has since given you offence. Tell me of what I am accused. Tell me the man who accuses me. Even after you have fulfilled all these conditions, to my satisfaction, and to that of Mr Davenport, you will have great difficulty to justify the employing such outrageous terms towards a man, with whom you have been so intimately connected, and whom, on many accounts, you ought to have treated with some regard and decency.
Mr Davenport knows the whole transaction about your pension, because I thought it necessary that the person who had undertaken your settlement, should be fully acquainted with your circumstances; lest he should be tempted to perform towards you concealed acts of generosity, which, if they accidentally came to your knowledge, might give you some grounds of offence. I am, Sir, D. H.
Mr Davenport's authority procured me, in three weeks, the following enormous letter; which however has this advantage, that it confirms all the material circumstances of the foregoing narrative. I have subjoined a few notes relative to some facts which Mr Rousseau hath not truly represented, and leave my readers to judge which of us deserves the greatest confidence.
MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.
SIR, I am indisposed, and little in a situation to write; but you require an explanation, and it must be given you: it was your own fault you had it not long since; but you did not desire it, and I was therefore silent: at present you do, and I have sent it. It will be a long one, for which I am very sorry; but I have much to say, and would put an end to the subject at once.
As I live retired from the world, I am ignorant of what passes in it. I have no party, no associates, no intrigues; I am told nothing, and I know only what I feel. But as care hath been taken to make me severely feel; that I well know.
The first concern of those who engage in bad designs is to secure themselves from legal proofs of detection: it would not be very advisable to seek a remedy against them at law.
The innate conviction of the heart admits of another kind of proof, which influences the sentiments of honest men.
You well know the basis of mine.
You ask me, with great confidence, to name your accuser.
That accuser, Sir, is the only man in the world whose testimony I should admit against you; it is yourself. I shall give myself up, without fear or reserve, to the natural frankness of my disposition; being an enemy to every kind of artifice, I shall speak with the same freedom as if you were an indifferent person, on whom I placed all that confidence which I no longer have in you.
I will give you a history of the emotions of my heart, and of what produced them; while speaking of Mr Hume in the third person, I shall make yourself the judge of what I ought to think of him. Notwithstanding the length of my letter, I shall pursue no other order than that of my ideas, beginning with the premises, and ending with the demonstration.
I quitted Switzerland, wearied out by the barbarous treatment I had undergone; but which affected only my personal security, while my honour was safe. I was going, as my heart directed me, to join my Lord Marshal; when I received at Strasburg, a most affectionate invitation from Mr Hume, to go over with him to England, where he promised me the most agreeable reception, and more tranquillity than I have met with. I hesitated some time between my old friend and my new one; in this I was wrong. I preferred the latter, and in this was still more so. But the desire of visiting in person a celebrated nation, of which I had heard both so much good and so much ill, prevailed. Assured I could not lose George Keith, I was flattered with the acquisition of David Hume. His great merit, extraordinary abilities, and established probity of character, made me desirous of annexing his friendship to that with which I was honoured by his illustrious countrymen. Besides, I gloried not a little in setting an example to men of letters, in a sincere union between two men so different in their principles.
Before I had received an invitation from the King of Prussia, and my Lord Marshal, undetermined about the place of my retreat, I had desired, and obtained by the interest of my friends, a passport from the Court of France. I made use of this, and went to Paris to join Mr Hume. He saw, and perhaps saw too much of, the favourable reception I met with from a great Prince, and I will venture to say, of the public. I yielded, as it was my duty, though with reluctance, to that eclat; concluding how far it must excite the envy of my enemies. At the same time, I saw with pleasure, the regard which the public entertained for Mr Hume, sensibly increasing throughout Paris, on account of the good work he had undertaken with respect to me.
Doubtless he was affected too; but I know not if it was in the same manner as I was.
We set out with one of my friends, who came to England almost entirely on my account. When we were landed at Dover, transported with the thoughts of having set foot in this land of liberty, under the conduct of so celebrated a person, I threw my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my heart, without speaking a syllable; bathing his cheeks, as I kissed them, with tears sufficiently expressive. This was not the only, nor the most remarkable instance I have given him of the effusions of a heart full of sensibility.
I know not what he does with the recollection of them, when that happens; but I have a notion they must be sometimes troublesome to him.
At our arrival in London, we were mightily caressed and entertained: all ranks of people eagerly pressing to give me marks of their benevolence and esteem. Mr Hume presented me politely to every body; and it was natural for me to ascribe to him, as I did, the best part of my good reception. My heart was full of him, I spoke in his praise to every one, I wrote to the same purpose to all my friends; my attachment to him gathering every day new strength, while his appeared the most affectionate to me, of which he frequently gave me instances that touched me extremely. That of causing my portrait to be painted, however, was not of the number. This seemed to me to carry with it too much the affectation of popularity, and had an air of ostentation which by no means pleased me. All this, however, might have been easily excusable, had Mr Hume been a man apt to throw away his money, or had a gallery of pictures with the portraits of his friends. After all, I freely confess, that, on this head, I may be in the wrong.[5] But what appears to me an act of friendship and generosity the most undoubted and estimable, in a word, the most worthy of Mr Hume, was the care he took to solicit for me, of his own accord, a pension from the King, to which most assuredly I had no right to aspire. As I was a witness to the zeal he exerted in that affair, I was greatly affected with it. Nothing could flatter me more than a piece of service of that nature; not merely for the sake of interest; for, too much attached, perhaps, to what I actually possess, I am not capable of desiring what I have not, and, as I am able to subsist on my labour, and the assistance of my friends, I covet nothing more. But the honour of receiving testimonies of the goodness, I will not say of so great a monarch, but of so good a father, so good a husband, so good a master, so good a friend, and, above all, so worthy a man, was sensibly affecting: and when I considered farther, that the minister who had obtained for me this favour, was a living instance of that probity which of all others is the most important to mankind, and at the same time hardly ever met with in the only character wherein it can be useful, I could not check the emotions of my pride, at having for my benefactors three men, who of all the world I could most desire to have my friends. Thus, so far from refusing the pension offered me, I only made one condition necessary for my acceptance; this was the consent of a person, whom I could not, without neglecting my duty, fail to consult.
Being honoured with the civilities of all the world, I endeavoured to make a proper return. In the mean time, my bad state of health, and being accustomed to live in the country, made my residence in town very disagreeable.
Immediately country houses presented themselves in plenty; I had my choice of all the counties of England. Mr Hume took the trouble to receive these proposals, and to represent them to me; accompanying me to two or three in the neighbouring counties. I hesitated a good while in my choice, and he increased the difficulty of determination.
At length I fixed on this place, and immediately Mr Hume settled the affair; all difficulties vanished, and I departed; arriving presently at this solitary, convenient, and agreeable habitation, where the owner of the house provides every thing, and nothing is wanting. I became tranquil, independent; and this seemed to be the wished-for moment when all my misfortunes should have an end. On the contrary, it was now they began; misfortunes more cruel than any I had yet experienced.
Hitherto I have spoken in the fulness of my heart, and to do justice, with the greatest pleasure, to the good offices of Mr Hume. Would to Heaven that what remains for me to say were of the same nature! It would never give me pain to speak what would redound to his honour; nor is it proper to set a value on benefits till one is accused of ingratitude, which is the case at present. I will venture to make one observation, therefore, which renders it necessary. In estimating the services of Mr Hume, by the time and the pains they took him up, they were of an infinite value, and that still more from the good will displayed in their performance; but for the actual service they were of to me, it was much more in appearance than reality. I did not come over to beg my bread in England; I brought the means of subsistence with me. I came merely to seek an asylum in a country which is open to every stranger without distinction. I was, besides, not so totally unknown as that, if I had arrived alone, I should have wanted either assistance or service. If some persons have sought my acquaintance for the sake of Mr Hume, others have sought it for my own. Thus, when Mr Davenport, for example, was so kind as to offer my present retreat, it was not for the sake of Mr Hume, whom he did not know, and whom he saw only in order to desire him to make me his obliging proposal; so that, when Mr Hume endeavours to alienate from me this worthy man, he takes that from me which he did not give me.[6] All the good that hath been done me, would have been done me nearly the same without him, and perhaps better; but the evil would not have been done me at all; for why should I have enemies in England? Why are those enemies all the friends of Mr Hume? Who could have excited their enmity against me? It certainly was not I, who knew nothing of them, nor ever saw them in my life. I should not have had a single enemy had I come to England alone.[7] I have hitherto dwelt upon public and notorious facts, which, from their own nature, and my acknowledgment, have made the greatest eclat. Those which are to follow are particular and secret, at least in their cause; and all possible measures have been taken to keep the knowledge of them from the public; but as they are well known to the person interested, they will not have the less influence toward his own conviction.
A very short time after our arrival in London, I observed an absurd change in the minds of the people regarding me, which soon became very apparent. Before I arrived in England, there was not a nation in Europe in which I had a greater reputation, I will venture to say, or was held in greater estimation. The public papers were full of encomiums on me, and a general outcry prevailed on my persecutors.[8] This was the case at my arrival, which was published in the newspapers with triumph; England prided itself in affording me refuge, and justly gloried on that occasion in its laws and government; when all of a sudden, without the least assignable cause, the tone was changed, and that so speedily and totally, that, of all the caprices of the public, never was known any thing more surprising. The signal was given in a certain _Magazine_, equally full of follies and falsehoods, in which the author, being well informed, or pretending to be so, gives me out for the son of a musician. From this time[9] I was constantly spoken of in print in a very equivocal or slighting manner.[10] Every thing that had been published concerning my misfortunes was misrepresented, altered, or placed in a wrong light, and always as much as possible to my disadvantage. So far was any body from speaking of the reception I met with at Paris, and which had made but too much noise, it was not generally supposed that I durst have appeared in that city, even one of Mr Hume's friends being very much surprised when I told him I came through it.
Accustomed as I had been too much to the inconstancy of the public, to be affected by this instance of it, I could not help being astonished, however, at a change, so very sudden and general, that not one of those who had so much praised me in my absence, appeared, now I was present, to think even of my existence. I thought it something very odd that, immediately after the return of Mr Hume, who had so much credit in London, with so much influence over the booksellers and men of letters, and such great connections with them, his presence should produce an effect so contrary to what might have been expected; that among so many writers of every kind, not one of his friends should show himself to be mine; while it was easy to be seen, that those who spoke of him were not his enemies, since, in noticing his public character, they reported that I had come through France under his protection, and by favour of a passport which he had obtained of the court; nay, they almost went so far as to insinuate, that I came over in his retinue, and at his expense. All this was of little signification, and was only singular; but what was much more so, was, that his friends changed their tone with me as much as the public. I shall always take a pleasure in saying that they were still equally solicitous to serve me, and that they exerted themselves greatly in my favour; but so far were they from showing me the same respect, particularly the gentleman at whose house we alighted on our arrival, that he accompanied all his actions with discourse so rude, and sometimes so insulting, that one would have thought he had taken an occasion to oblige me, merely to have a right to express his contempt.[11] His brother, who was at first very polite and obliging, altered his behaviour with so little reserve, that he would hardly deign to speak a single word to me, even in their own house, in return to a civil salutation, or to pay any of those civilities which are usually paid in like circumstances to strangers. Nothing new had happened, however, except the arrival of J. J. Rousseau and David Hume: and certainly the cause of these alterations did not come from me, unless, indeed, too great a portion of simplicity, discretion, and modesty, be the cause of offence in England. As to Mr Hume, he was so far from assuming such a disgusting tone, that he gave into the other extreme. I have always looked upon flatterers with an eye of suspicion: and he was so full of all kinds[12] of flattery, that he even obliged me, when I could bear it no longer,[13] to tell him my sentiments on that head.
His behaviour was such as to render few words necessary, yet I could have wished he had substituted, in the room of such gross encomiums, sometimes the language of a friend; but I never found any thing in his, which savoured of true friendship, not even in his manner of speaking of me to others in my presence. One would have thought that, in endeavouring to procure me patrons, he strove to deprive me of their good will; that he sought rather to have me assisted than loved; and I have been sometimes surprised at the rude turn he hath given to my behaviour before people who might not unreasonably have taken offence at it. I shall give an example of what I mean. Mr Pennick of the Museum, a friend of my Lord Marshal's, and minister of a parish where I was solicited to reside, came to see me. Mr Hume made my excuses, while I myself was present, for not having paid him a visit. Doctor Matty, said he, invited us on Thursday to the Museum, where Mr Rousseau should have seen you; but he chose rather to go with Mrs Garrick to the play: we could not do both the same day.[14] You will confess, Sir, this was a strange method of recommending me to Mr Pennick.
I know not what Mr Hume might say in private of me to his acquaintance, but nothing was more extraordinary than their behaviour to me, even by his own confession, and even often through his own means. Although my purse was not empty, and I needed not that of any other person, which he very well knew, yet any one would have thought I was come over to subsist on the charity of the public, and that nothing more was to be done than to give me alms in such a manner as to save me a little confusion.[15] I must own, this constant and insolent piece of affectation was one of those things which made me averse to reside in London. This certainly was not the footing on which any man should have been introduced in England, had there been a design of procuring him ever so little respect. This display of charity, however, may admit of a more favourable interpretation, and I consent it should. To proceed.
At Paris was published a fictitious letter from the King of Prussia, addressed to me, and replete with the most cruel malignity. I learned with surprise that it was one Mr Walpole, a a friend of Mr Hume's who was the editor; I asked him if it were true; in answer to which question, he only asked me, of whom I had the information. A moment