full of unfounded statements, that they concluded with an entirely imaginary narrative, and that, in short, they might be described, almost without exaggeration, in the very words with which Grimm himself actually did describe them in his Correspondance Litteraire, as ‘l’ebauche d’un long roman.’  Mrs. Macdonald eagerly lays emphasis upon this discovery, because she is, of course, anxious to prove that the most damning of all the accounts of Rousseau’s conduct is an untrue one.  But she has proved too much.  The Memoires, she says, are a fiction; therefore the writers of them were liars.  The answer is obvious:  why should we not suppose that the writers were not liars at all, but simply novelists?  Will not this hypothesis fit into the facts just as well as Mrs. Macdonald’s?  Madame d’Epinay, let us suppose, wrote a narrative, partly imaginary and partly true, based upon her own experiences, but without any strict adherence to the actual course of events, and filled with personages whose actions were, in many cases, fictitious, but whose characters were, on the whole, moulded upon the actual characters of her friends.  Let us suppose that when she had finished her work—­a work full of subtle observation and delightful writing—­she showed it to Grimm and Diderot.  They had only one criticism to make:  it related to her treatment of the character which had been moulded upon that of Rousseau.  ’Your Rousseau, chere Madame, is a very poor affair indeed!  The most salient points in his character seem to have escaped you.  We know what that man really was.  We know how he behaved at that time. C’etait un homme a faire peur.  You have missed a great opportunity of drawing a fine picture of a hypocritical rascal.’  Whereupon they gave her their own impressions of Rousseau’s conduct, they showed her the letters that had passed between them, and they jotted down some notes for her guidance.  She rewrote the story in accordance with their notes and their anecdotes; but she rearranged the incidents, she condensed or amplified the letters, as she thought fit—­for she was not writing a history, but ‘l’ebauche d’un long roman.’  If we suppose that this, or something like this, was what occurred, shall we not have avoided the necessity for a theory so repugnant to common-sense as that which would impute to a man of recognised integrity the meanest of frauds?

To follow Mrs. Macdonald into the inner recesses and elaborations of her argument would be a difficult and tedious task.  The circumstances with which she is principally concerned—­the suspicions, the accusations, the anonymous letters, the intrigues, the endless problems as to whether Madame d’Epinay was jealous of Madame d’Houdetot, whether Therese told fibs, whether, on the 14th of the month, Grimm was grossly impertinent, and whether, on the 15th, Rousseau was outrageously rude, whether Rousseau revealed a secret to Diderot, which Diderot revealed to Saint-Lambert, and whether, if Diderot revealed it, he believed that