to discharge, but which were indispensable. My liberty was precarious.
In a greater state of subjection than a person at the command of another,
it was my duty to be so by inclination. When I arose in the morning,
I never could say to myself, I will employ this day as I think proper.
And, moreover, besides my being subject to obey the call of Madam
d'Epinay, I was exposed to the still more disagreeable importunities of
the public and chance comers. The distance I was at from Paris did not
prevent crowds of idlers, not knowing how to spend their time, from daily
breaking in upon me, and, without the least scruple, freely disposing of
mine. When I least expected visitors I was unmercifully assailed by
them, and I seldom made a plan for the agreeable employment of the day
that was not counteracted by the arrival of some stranger.

In short, finding no real enjoyment in the midst of the pleasures I had
been most desirous to obtain, I, by sudden mental transitions, returned
in imagination to the serene days of my youth, and sometimes exclaimed
with a sigh: "Ah! this is not Les Charmettes!"

The recollection of the different periods of my life led me to reflect
upon that at which I was arrived, and I found I was already on the
decline, a prey to painful disorders, and imagined I was approaching the
end of my days without having, tasted, in all its plentitude, scarcely
anyone of the pleasures after which my heart had so much thirsted, or
having given scope to the lively sentiments I felt it had in reserve.
I had not favored even that intoxicating voluptuousness with which my
mind was richly stored, and which, for want of an object, was always
compressed, an never exhaled but by signs.

How was it possible that, with a mind naturally expansive, I, with whom
to live was to love, should not hitherto have found a friend entirely