, and made me wofully experience, what, I think, I
have remarked in some of my works, that remorse sleeps in the calm
sunshine of prosperity, but wakes amid the storms of adversity. I could
never take on me to discharge my heart of this weight in the bosom of a
friend; nor could the closest intimacy ever encourage me to it, even with
Madam de Warrens: all I could do, was to own I had to accuse myself of an
atrocious crime, but never said in what it consisted. The weight,
therefore, has remained heavy on my conscience to this day; and I can
truly own the desire of relieving myself, in some measure, from it,
contributed greatly to the resolution of writing my Confessions.

I have proceeded truly in that I have just made, and it will certainly be
thought I have not sought to palliate the turpitude of my offence; but I
should not fulfill the purpose of this undertaking, did I not, at the
same time, divulge my interior disposition, and excuse myself as far as
is conformable with truth.

Never was wickedness further from my thoughts, than in that cruel moment;
and when I accused the unhappy girl, it is strange, but strictly true,
that my friendship for her was the immediate cause of it. She was
present to my thoughts; I formed my excuse from the first object that
presented itself: I accused her with doing what I meant to have done,
and as I designed to have given her the ribbon, asserted she had given
it to me. When she appeared, my heart was agonized, but the presence
of so many people was more powerful than my compunction. I did not fear
punishment, but I dreaded shame: I dreaded it more than death, more than
the crime, more than all the world. I would have buried, hid myself in
the centre of the earth: invincible shame bore down every other
sentiment; shame alone caused all my impudence, and in proportion as I
became criminal, the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid. I felt no
dread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face,
declared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of this
overcame every other sensation. Had I been left to myself, I should
infallibly have declared the truth. Or if M. de la Rogue had taken me
aside, and said--"Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty own
it,"--I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet;
but they intimidated, instead of encouraging me. I was hardly out of my
childhood, or rather, was yet in it. It is also ju