being obliged to speak continually without time for recollection. I
know not whether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint;
but if I am obliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense. What is
still worse, instead of learning how to be silent when I have
absolutely nothing to say, it is generally at such times that I have a
violent inclination; and, endeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as
speedily as possible, I hastily gabble a number of words without ideas,
happy when they only chance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to
conquer or hide my incapacity, I rarely fail to show it.

I think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I have
frequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this
was the more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise,
and expectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more
shocking. This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will
not be useless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which
might otherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a
savage humor I do not possess. I love society as much as any man, was
I not certain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but
totally different from what I really am. The plan I have adopted of
writing and retirement is what exactly suits me. Had I been present,
my worth would never have been known, no one would ever have suspected
it; thus it was with Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I
lived for several years; indeed, she has often since owned it to me:
though on the whole this rule may be subject to some exceptions. . . .

The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive. Vincennes is
two leagues from Paris. The state of my finances not permitting me to
pay for hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on
foot, when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive