friend of a man when in reality we are no longer so, is to reserve to
ourselves the means of doing him an injury by surprising honest men into
an error. I recollected that when the illustrious Montesquieu broke with
Father de Tournemine, he immediately said to everybody: "Listen neither
to Father Tournemine nor myself, when we speak of each other, for we are
no longer friends." This open and generous proceeding was universally
applauded. I resolved to follow the example with Diderot; but what
method was I to take to publish the rupture authentically from my
retreat, and yet without scandal? I concluded on inserting in the form
of a note, in my work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus, which
declared the rupture and even the subject of it, in terms sufficiently
clear to such as were acquainted with the previous circumstances, but
could signify nothing to the rest of the world. I determined not to
speak in my work of the friend whom I renounced, except with the honor
always due to extinguished friendship. The whole may be seen in the work
itself.

There is nothing in this world but time and misfortune, and every act of
courage seems to be a crime in adversity. For that which has been
admired in Montesquieu, I received only blame and reproach. As soon as
my work was printed, and I had copies of it, I sent one to Saint Lambert,
who, the evening before, had written to me in his own name and that of
Madam d' Houdetot, a note expressive of the most tender friendship.

The following is the letter he wrote to me when he returned the copy I
had sent him.

EAUBONNE, 10th October, 1758.

"Indeed, sir, I cannot accept the present you have just made me. In that
part of your preface where, relative to Diderot, you quote a passage from
Ecclesiastes (he mistakes, it is from Ecclesiasticus) the book dropped
from my hand. In the conversations we had together in the summer, you
seemed to be persuaded Diderot was not guilty of the pretended
indiscretions you had imputed to him. You may, for aught I know to the
contrary, have reason to complain of him, but this does not give you a
right to insult him publicly. You are not unacquainted with the nature
of the persecutions he suffers, and you join the voice of an old friend
to that of envy. I cannot refrain from telling you, sir, how much this
heinous act of yours has shocked me. I am not acquainted with Diderot,
but I honor him, and I