continue to
be obstinate, of their being crushed by France; this however did not
happen; I know the reason why it did not, but this is not the place to
explain what I mean.

The effect produced at Neuchatel by the Letters from the Mountain was at
first very mild. I sent a copy of them to M. de Montmollin, who received
it favorably, and read it without making any objection. He was ill as
well as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in a friendly manner to
see me, and conversed on general subjects. A rumor was however begun;
the book was burned I know not where. From Geneva, Berne, and perhaps
from Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed to Neuchatel, and
especially to Val de Travers, where, before even the ministers had taken
any apparent Steps, an attempt was secretly made to stir up the people,
I ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by the people of that
country in which I have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leaving
about me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing to do any
service in my power, and which was consistent with justice, making myself
perhaps too familiar with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it was
possible for me to do it, all distinction which might excite the least
jealousy. This, however, did not prevent the populace, secretly stirred
up against me, by I know not whom, from being by degrees irritated
against me, even to fury, nor from publicly insulting me, not only in the
country and upon the road, but in the street. Those to whom I had
rendered the greatest services became most irritated against me, and even
people who still continued to receive my benefactions, not daring to
appear, excited others, and seemed to wish thus to be revenged of me for
their humiliation, by the obligations they were under for the favors I
had conferred upon them. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention to what
was passing, and did not yet come forward. But as the time of communion
approached, he came to advise me not to present myself at the holy table,
assuring me, however, he was not my enemy, and that he would leave me
undisturbed. I found this compliment whimsical enough; it brought to my
recollection the letter from Madam de Boufflers, and I could not conceive
to whom it could be a matter of such importance whether I communicated or
not. Considering this condescension on my part as an act of cowardice,
and moreover, being unwilling to give to the people a new pretext under