{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3901/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3901","id":"gutenberg_3901","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3901","summary":null,"tags":["Authors, French -- 18th century -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: French Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 1712-1778"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU\n(In 12 books)\n\nPrivately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society\n\nLondon, 1903\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n     Introduction--S.W. Orson\n     Book I.\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nAmong the notable books of later times-we may say, without exaggeration,\nof all time--must be reckoned The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau.\nIt deals with leading personages and transactions of a momentous epoch,\nwhen absolutism and feudalism were rallying for their last struggle\nagainst the modern spirit, chiefly represented by Voltaire, the\nEncyclopedists, and Rousseau himself--a struggle to which, after many\nfierce intestine quarrels and sanguinary wars throughout Europe and\nAmerica, has succeeded the prevalence of those more tolerant and rational\nprinciples by which the statesmen of our own day are actuated.\n\nOn these matters, however, it is not our province to enlarge; nor is it\nnecessary to furnish any detailed account of our author's political,\nreligious, and philosophic axioms and systems, his paradoxes and his\nerrors in logic: these have been so long and so exhaustively disputed\nover by contending factions that little is left for even the most\nassiduous gleaner in the field.  The inquirer will find, in Mr. John\nMoney's excellent work, the opinions of Rousseau reviewed succinctly and\nimpartially.  The 'Contrat Social', the 'Lattres Ecrites de la Montagne',\nand other treatises that once aroused fierce controversy, may therefore\nbe left in the repose to which they have long been consigned, so far as\nthe mass of mankind is concerned, though they must always form part of\nthe library of the politician and the historian.  One prefers to turn to\nthe man Rousseau as he paints himself in the remarkable work before us.\n\nThat the task which he undertook in offering to show himself--as Persius\nputs it--'Intus et in cute', to posterity, exceeded his powers, is a\ntrite criticism; like all human enterprises, his purpose was only\nimperfectly fulfilled; but this circumstance in no way lessens the\nattractive qualities of his book, not only for the student of history or\npsychology, but for the intelligent man of the world.  Its startling\nfrankness gives it a peculiar interest wanting in most other\nautobiographies.\n\nMany censors have elected to sit in judgment on the failings of this\nstrangely constituted being, and some have pronounced upon him very\nsevere sentences.  Let it be said once for all that his faults and\nmistakes were generally due to causes over which he had but little\ncontrol, such as a defective education, a too acute sensitiveness, which\nengendered suspicion of his fellows, irresolution, an overstrained sense\nof honour and independence, and an obstinate refusal to take advice from\nthose who really wished to befriend him; nor should it be forgotten that\nhe was afflicted during the greater part of his life with an incurable\ndisease.\n\nLord Byron had a soul near akin to Rousseau's, whose writings naturally\nmade a deep impression on the poet's mind, and probably had an influence\non his conduct and modes of thought: In some stanzas of 'Childe Harold'\nthis sympathy is expressed with truth and power; especially is the\nweakness of the Swiss philosopher's character summed up in the following\nadmirable lines:\n\n         \"Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,\n          The apostle of affliction, he who threw\n          Enchantment over passion, and from woe\n          Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew\n          The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew\n          How to make madness beautiful, and cast\n          O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue\n          Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they passed\n          The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.\n\n         \"His life was one long war with self-sought foes,\n          Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind\n          Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose,\n          For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,\n          'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.\n          But he was frenzied,-wherefore, who may know?\n          Since cause might be which skill could never find;\n          But he was frenzied by disease or woe\n          To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.\"\n\nOne would rather, however, dwell on the brighter hues of the picture than\non its shadows and blemishes; let us not, then, seek to \"draw his\nfrailties from their dread abode.\"  His greatest fault was his\nrenunciation of a father's duty to his offspring; but this crime he\nexpiated by a long and bitter repentance.  We cannot, perhaps, very\nreadily excuse the way in which he has occasionally treated the memory of\nhis mistress and benefactress.  That he loved Madame de Warens--his\n'Mamma'--deeply and sincerely is undeniable, notwithstanding which he now\nand then dwells on her improvidence and her feminine indiscretions with\nan unnecessary and unbecoming lack of delicacy that has an unpleasant\neffect on the reader, almost seeming to justify the remark of one of his\nmost lenient critics--that, after all, Rousseau had the soul of a lackey.\nHe possessed, however, many amiable and charming qualities, both as a man\nand a writer, which were evident to those amidst whom he lived, and will\nbe equally so to the unprejudiced reader of the Confessions.  He had a\nprofound sense of justice and a real desire for the improvement and\nadvancement of the race.  Owing to these excellences he was beloved to\nthe last even by persons whom he tried to repel, looking upon them as\nmembers of a band of conspirators, bent upon destroying his domestic\npeace and depriving him of the means of subsistence.\n\nThose of his writings that are most nearly allied in tone and spirit to\nthe 'Confessions' are the 'Reveries d'un Promeneur Solitaire' and\n'La Nouvelle Heloise'.  His correspondence throws much light on his life\nand character, as do also parts of 'Emile'.  It is not easy in our day to\nrealize the effect wrought upon the public mind by the advent of\n'La Nouvelle Heloise'.  Julie and Saint-Preux became names to conjure\nwith; their ill-starred amours were everywhere sighed and wept over by\nthe tender-hearted fair; indeed, in composing this work, Rousseau may be\nsaid to have done for Switzerland what the author of the Waverly Novels\ndid for Scotland, turning its mountains, lakes and islands, formerly\nregarded with aversion, into a fairyland peopled with creatures whose\njoys and sorrows appealed irresistibly to every breast.  Shortly after\nits publication began to flow that stream of tourists and travellers\nwhich tends to make Switzerland not only more celebrated but more opulent\nevery year.  It, is one of the few romances written in the epistolary\nform that do not oppress the reader with a sense of languor and\nunreality; for its creator poured into its pages a tide of passion\nunknown to his frigid and stilted predecessors, and dared to depict\nNature as she really is, not as she was misrepresented by the modish\nauthors and artists of the age.  Some persons seem shy of owning an\nacquaintance with this work; indeed, it has been made the butt of\nridicule by the disciples of a decadent school.  Its faults and its\nbeauties are on the surface; Rousseau's own estimate is freely expressed\nat the beginning of the eleventh book of the Confessions and elsewhere.\nIt might be wished that the preface had been differently conceived and\nworded; for the assertion made therein that the book may prove dangerous\nhas caused it to be inscribed on a sort of Index, and good folk who never\nread a line of it blush at its name.  Its \"sensibility,\" too, is a little\noverdone, and has supplied the wits with opportunities for satire; for\nexample, Canning, in his 'New Morality':\n\n              \"Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined\n               In the fine foldins of the feeling mind....\n               Sweet child of sickly Fancy!-her of yore\n               From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;\n               And while 'midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,\n               Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of man,\n               Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine, steep\n               To lisp the story of his wrongs and weep.\"\n\nAs might be imagined, Voltaire had slight sympathy with our social\nreformer's notions and ways of promulgating them, and accordingly took\nup his wonted weapons--sarcasm and ridicule--against poor Jean-Jacques.\nThe quarrels of these two great men cannot be described in this place;\nbut they constitute an important chapter in the literary and social\nhistory of the time.  In the work with which we are immediately\nconcerned, the author seems to avoid frequent mention of Voltaire, even\nwhere we should most expect it.  However, the state of his mind when he\npenned this record of his life should be always remembered in relation to\nthis as well as other occurrences.\n\nRousseau had intended to bring his autobiography down to a later date,\nbut obvious causes prevented this: hence it is believed that a summary of\nthe chief events that marked his closing years will not be out of place\nhere.\n\nOn quitting the Ile de Saint-Pierre he travelled to Strasbourg, where he\nwas warmly received, and thence to Paris, arriving in that city on\nDecember I6, 1765.  The Prince de Conti provided him with a lodging in\nthe Hotel Saint-Simon, within the precincts of the Temple--a place of\nsanctuary for those under the ban of authority.  'Every one was eager to\nsee the illustrious proscript, who complained of being made a daily show,\n\"like Sancho Panza in his island of Barataria.\"  During his short stay in\nthe capital there was circulated an ironical letter purporting to come\nfrom the Great Frederick, but really written by Horace Walpole.  This\ncruel, clumsy, and ill-timed joke angered Rousseau, who ascribed it to,\nVoltaire.  A few sentences may be quoted:\n\n     \"My Dear Jean-Jacques,--You have renounced Geneva, your native\n     place.  You have caused your expulsion from Switzerland, a country\n     so extolled in your writings; France has issued a warrant against\n     you: so do you come to me.  My states offer you a peaceful retreat.\n     I wish you well, and will treat you well, if you will let me.  But,\n     if you persist in refusing my help, do not reckon upon my telling\n     any one that you did so.  If you are bent on tormenting your spirit\n     to find new misfortunes, choose whatever you like best.  I am a\n     king, and can procure them for you at your pleasure; and, what will\n     certainly never happen to you in respect of your enemies, I will\n     cease to persecute you as soon as you cease to take a pride in being\n     persecuted.  Your good friend,\n                                             \"FREDERICK.\"\n\n\nEarly in 1766 David Hume persuaded Rousseau to go with him to England,\nwhere the exile could find a secure shelter.  In London his appearance\nexcited general attention.  Edmund Burke had an interview with him and\nheld that inordinate vanity was the leading trait in his character.\nMr. Davenport, to whom he was introduced by Hume, generously offered\nRousseau a home at Wootton, in Staffordshire, near the, Peak Country; the\nlatter, however, would only accept the offer on condition that he should\npay a rent of L 30 a year.  He was accorded a pension of L 100 by George\nIII., but declined to draw after the first annual payment.  The climate\nand scenery of Wootton being similar to those of his native country, he\nwas at first delighted with his new abode, where he lived with Therese,\nand devoted his time to herborising and inditing the first six books of\nhis Confessions.  Soon, however, his old hallucinations acquired\nstrength, and Rousseau convinced himself that enemies were bent upon his\ncapture, if not his death.  In June, 1766, he wrote a violent letter to\nHume, calling him \"one of the worst of men.\"  Literary Paris had combined\nwith Hume and the English Government to surround him--as he supposed\n--with guards and spies; he revolved in his troubled mind all the reports\nand rumours he had heard for months and years; Walpole's forged letter\nrankled in his bosom; and in the spring of 1767 he fled; first to\nSpalding, in Lincolnshire, and subsequently to Calais, where he landed in\nMay.\n\nOn his arrival in France his restless and wandering disposition forced\nhim continually to change his residence, and acquired for him the title\nof \"Voyageur Perpetuel.\"  While at Trye, in Gisors, in 1767--8, he wrote\nthe second part of the Confessions.  He had assumed the surname of Renou,\nand about this time he declared before two witnesses that Therese was his\nwife--a proceeding to which he attached the sanctity of marriage.  In\n1770 he took up his abode in Paris, where he lived continuously for seven\nyears, in a street which now bears his name, and gained a living by\ncopying music.  Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, the author of 'Paul and\nVirginia', who became acquainted with him in 1772, has left some\ninteresting particulars of Rousseau's daily mode of life at this period.\nMonsieur de Girardin having offered him an asylum at Ermemonville in the\nspring of 1778, he and Therese went thither to reside, but for no long\ntime.  On the 3d of July, in the same year, this perturbed spirit at last\nfound rest, stricken by apoplexy.  A rumor that he had committed suicide\nwas circulated, but the evidence of trustworthy witnesses, including a\nphysician, effectually contradicts this accusation.  His remains, first\ninterred in the Ile des Peupliers, were, after the Revolution, removed to\nthe Pantheon.  In later times the Government of Geneva made some\nreparation for their harsh treatment of a famous citizen, and erected his\nstatue, modelled by his compatriot, Pradier, on an island in the Rhone.\n\n              \"See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,\n               To buried merit raise the tardy bust.\"\n\nNovember, 1896.\n                                             S. W. ORSON.\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE CONFESSIONS\n\n                                    OF\n\n                              J. J. ROUSSEAU\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\nI have entered upon a performance which is without example, whose\naccomplishment will have no imitator.  I mean to present my\nfellow-mortals with a man in all the integrity of nature; and this man\nshall be myself.\n\nI know my heart, and have studied mankind; I am not made like any one I\nhave been acquainted with, perhaps like no one in existence; if not\nbetter, I at least claim originality, and whether Nature did wisely in\nbreaking the mould with which she formed me, can only be determined after\nhaving read this work.\n\nWhenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before the\nsovereign judge with this book in my hand, and loudly proclaim, thus have\nI acted; these were my thoughts; such was I.  With equal freedom and\nveracity have I related what was laudable or wicked, I have concealed no\ncrimes, added no virtues; and if I have sometimes introduced superfluous\nornament, it was merely to occupy a void occasioned by defect of memory:\nI may have supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable, but\nhave never asserted as truth, a conscious falsehood.  Such as I was, I\nhave declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others, virtuous,\ngenerous and sublime; even as thou hast read my inmost soul: Power\neternal! assemble round thy throne an innumerable throng of my\nfellow-mortals, let them listen to my confessions, let them blush at my\ndepravity, let them tremble at my sufferings; let each in his turn expose\nwith equal sincerity the failings, the wanderings of his heart, and, if\nhe dare, aver, I was better than that man.\n\nI was born at Geneva, in 1712, son of Isaac Rousseau and Susannah\nBernard, citizens.  My father's share of a moderate competency, which was\ndivided among fifteen children, being very trivial, his business of a\nwatchmaker (in which he had the reputation of great ingenuity) was his\nonly dependence.  My mother's circumstances were more affluent; she was\ndaughter of a Mons. Bernard, minister, and possessed a considerable share\nof modesty and beauty; indeed, my father found some difficulty in\nobtaining her hand.\n\nThe affection they entertained for each other was almost as early as\ntheir existence; at eight or nine years old they walked together every\nevening on the banks of the Treille, and before they were ten, could not\nsupport the idea of separation.  A natural sympathy of soul confined\nthose sentiments of predilection which habit at first produced; born with\nminds susceptible of the most exquisite sensibility and tenderness, it\nwas only necessary to encounter similar dispositions; that moment\nfortunately presented itself, and each surrendered a willing heart.\n\nThe obstacles that opposed served only to give a decree of vivacity to\ntheir affection, and the young lover, not being able to obtain his\nmistress, was overwhelmed with sorrow and despair.  She advised him to\ntravel--to forget her.  He consented--he travelled, but returned more\npassionate than ever, and had the happiness to find her equally constant,\nequally tender.  After this proof of mutual affection, what could they\nresolve?--to dedicate their future lives to love! the resolution was\nratified with a vow, on which Heaven shed its benediction.\n\nFortunately, my mother's brother, Gabriel Bernard, fell in love with one\nof my father's sisters; she had no objection to the match, but made the\nmarriage of his sister with her brother an indispensable preliminary.\nLove soon removed every obstacle, and the two weddings were celebrated\nthe same day: thus my uncle became the husband of my aunt, and their\nchildren were doubly cousins german.  Before a year was expired, both had\nthe happiness to become fathers, but were soon after obliged to submit to\na separation.\n\nMy uncle Bernard, who was an engineer, went to serve in the empire and\nHungary, under Prince Eugene, and distinguished himself both at the siege\nand battle of Belgrade.  My father, after the birth of my only brother,\nset off, on recommendation, for Constantinople, and was appointed\nwatchmaker to the Seraglio.  During his absence, the beauty, wit, and\naccomplishments--\n\n     [They were too brilliant for her situation, the minister, her\n     father, having bestowed great pains on her education.  She was aught\n     drawing, singing, and to play on the theorbo; had learning, and\n     wrote very agreeable verses.  The following is an extempore piece\n     which she composed in the absence of her husband and brother, in a\n     conversation with some person relative to them, while walking with\n     her sister--in--law, and their two children:\n\n                    Ces deux messieurs, qui sont absens,\n                    Nous sont chers e bien des manieres;\n                    Ce sont nos amiss, nos amans,\n                    Ce sont nos maris et nos freres,\n                    Et les peres de ces enfans.\n\n                    These absent ones, who just claim\n                    Our hearts, by every tender name,\n                    To whom each wish extends\n                    Our husbands and our brothers are,\n                    The fathers of this blooming pair,\n                    Our lovers and our friends.]\n\nof my mother attracted a number of admirers, among whom Mons. de la\nClosure, Resident of France, was the most assiduous in his attentions.\nHis passion must have been extremely violent, since after a period of\nthirty years I have seen him affected at the very mention of her name.\nMy mother had a defence more powerful even than her virtue; she tenderly\nloved my father, and conjured him to return; his inclination seconding\nhis request, he gave up every prospect of emolument, and hastened to\nGeneva.\n\nI was the unfortunate fruit of this return, being born ten months after,\nin a very weakly and infirm state; my birth cost my mother her life, and\nwas the first of my misfortunes.  I am ignorant how my father supported\nher loss at that time, but I know he was ever after inconsolable.  In me\nhe still thought he saw her he so tenderly lamented, but could never\nforget I had been the innocent cause of his misfortune, nor did he ever\nembrace me, but his sighs, the convulsive pressure of his arms, witnessed\nthat a bitter regret mingled itself with his caresses, though, as may be\nsupposed, they were not on this account less ardent.  When he said to me,\n\"Jean Jacques, let us talk of your mother,\" my usual reply was, \"Yes,\nfather, but then, you know, we shall cry,\" and immediately the tears\nstarted from his eyes.  \"Ah!\" exclaimed he, with agitation, \"Give me back\nmy wife; at least console me for her loss; fill up, dear boy, the void\nshe has left in my soul.  Could I love thee thus wert thou only my son?\"\nForty years after this loss he expired in the arms of his second wife,\nbut the name of the first still vibrated on his lips, still was her image\nengraved on his heart.\n\nSuch were the authors of my being: of all the gifts it had pleased Heaven\nto bestow on them, a feeling heart was the only one that descended to me;\nthis had been the source of their felicity, it was the foundation of all\nmy misfortunes.\n\nI came into the world with so few signs of life, that they entertained\nbut little hope of preserving me, with the seeds of a disorder that has\ngathered strength with years, and from which I am now relieved at\nintervals, only to suffer a different, though more intolerable evil.\nI owed my preservation to one of my father's sisters, an amiable and\nvirtuous girl, who took the most tender care of me; she is yet living,\nnursing, at the age of four--score, a husband younger than herself, but\nworn out with excessive drinking.  Dear aunt!  I freely forgive your\nhaving preserved my life, and only lament that it is not in my power to\nbestow on the decline of your days the tender solicitude and care you\nlavished on the first dawn of mine.  My nurse, Jaqueline, is likewise\nliving: and in good health--the hands that opened my eyes to the light of\nthis world may close them at my death.  We suffer before we think; it is\nthe common lot of humanity.  I experienced more than my proportion of it.\nI have no knowledge of what passed prior to my fifth or sixth year; I\nrecollect nothing of learning to read, I only remember what effect the\nfirst considerable exercise of it produced on my mind; and from that\nmoment I date an uninterrupted knowledge of myself.\n\nEvery night, after supper, we read some part of a small collection of\nromances which had been my mother's.  My father's design was only to\nimprove me in reading, and he thought these entertaining works were\ncalculated to give me a fondness for it; but we soon found ourselves so\ninterested in the adventures they contained, that we alternately read\nwhole nights together, and could not bear to give over until at the\nconclusion of a volume.  Sometimes, in a morning, on hearing the swallows\nat our window, my father, quite ashamed of this weakness, would cry,\n\"Come, come, let us go to bed; I am more a child than thou art.\"\n\nI soon acquired, by this dangerous custom, not only an extreme facility\nin reading and comprehending, but, for my age, a too intimate\nacquaintance with the passions.  An infinity of sensations were familiar\nto me, without possessing any precise idea of the objects to which they\nrelated--I had conceived nothing--I had felt the whole.  This confused\nsuccession of emotions did not retard the future efforts of my reason,\nthough they added an extravagant, romantic notion of human life, which\nexperience and reflection have never been able to eradicate.\n\nMy romance reading concluded with the summer of 1719, the following\nwinter was differently employed.  My mother's library being quite\nexhausted, we had recourse to that part of her father's which had\ndevolved to us; here we happily found some valuable books, which was by\nno means extraordinary, having been selected by a minister that truly\ndeserved that title, in whom learning (which was the rage of the times)\nwas but a secondary commendation, his taste and good sense being most\nconspicuous.  The history of the Church and Empire by Le Sueur,\nBossuett's Discourses on Universal History, Plutarch's Lives, the history\nof Venice by Nani, Ovid's Metamorphoses, La Bruyere, Fontenelle's World,\nhis Dialogues of the Dead, and a few volumes of Moliere, were soon ranged\nin my father's closet, where, during the hours he was employed in his\nbusiness, I daily read them, with an avidity and taste uncommon, perhaps\nunprecedented at my age.\n\nPlutarch presently became my greatest favorite.  The satisfaction I\nderived from repeated readings I gave this author, extinguished my\npassion for romances, and I shortly preferred Agesilaus, Brutus, and\nAristides, to Orondates, Artemenes, and Juba.  These interesting\nstudies, seconded by the conversations they frequently occasioned with my\nfather, produced that republican spirit and love of liberty, that haughty\nand invincible turn of mind, which rendered me impatient of restraint or\nservitude, and became the torment of my life, as I continually found\nmyself in situations incompatible with these sentiments.  Incessantly\noccupied with Rome and Athens, conversing, if I may so express myself\nwith their illustrious heroes; born the citizen of a republic, of a\nfather whose ruling passion was a love of his country, I was fired with\nthese examples; could fancy myself a Greek or Roman, and readily give\ninto the character of the personage whose life I read; transported by the\nrecital of any extraordinary instance of fortitude or intrepidity,\nanimation flashed from my eyes, and gave my voice additional strength and\nenergy.  One day, at table, while relating the fortitude of Scoevola,\nthey were terrified at seeing me start from my seat and hold my hand over\na hot chafing--dish, to represent more forcibly the action of that\ndetermined Roman.\n\nMy brother, who was seven years older than myself, was brought up to my\nfather's profession.  The extraordinary affection they lavished on me\nmight be the reason he was too much neglected: this certainly was a fault\nwhich cannot be justified.  His education and morals suffered by this\nneglect, and he acquired the habits of a libertine before he arrived at\nan age to be really one.  My father tried what effect placing him with a\nmaster would produce, but he still persisted in the same ill conduct.\nThough I saw him so seldom that it could hardly be said we were\nacquainted.  I loved him tenderly, and believe he had as strong an\naffection for me as a youth of his dissipated turn of mind could be\nsupposed capable of.  One day, I remember, when my father was correcting\nhim severely, I threw myself between them, embracing my brother, whom I\ncovered with my body, receiving the strokes designed for him; I persisted\nso obstinately in my protection, that either softened by my cries and\ntears, or fearing to hurt me most, his anger subsided, and he pardoned\nhis fault.  In the end, my brother's conduct became so bad that he\nsuddenly disappeared, and we learned some time after that he was in\nGermany, but he never wrote to us, and from that day we heard no news of\nhim: thus I became an only son.\n\nIf this poor lad was neglected, it was quite different with his brother,\nfor the children of a king could not be treated with more attention and\ntenderness than were bestowed on my infancy, being the darling of the\nfamily; and what is rather uncommon, though treated as a beloved, never\na spoiled child; was never permitted, while under paternal inspection,\nto play in the street with other children; never had any occasion to\ncontradict or indulge those fantastical humors which are usually\nattributed to nature, but are in reality the effects of an injudicious\neducation.  I had the faults common to my age, was talkative, a glutton,\nand sometimes a liar, made no scruple of stealing sweetmeats, fruits,\nor, indeed, any kind of eatables; but never took delight in mischievous\nwaste, in accusing others, or tormenting harmless animals.  I recollect,\nindeed, that one day, while Madam Clot, a neighbor of ours, was gone to\nchurch, I made water in her kettle: the remembrance even now makes me\nsmile, for Madame Clot (though, if you please, a good sort of creature)\nwas one of the most tedious grumbling old women I ever knew.  Thus have I\ngiven a brief, but faithful, history of my childish transgressions.\n\nHow could I become cruel or vicious, when I had before my eyes only\nexamples of mildness, and was surrounded by some of the best people in\nthe world?  My father, my aunt, my nurse, my relations, our friends, our\nneighbors, all I had any connection with, did not obey me, it is true,\nbut loved me tenderly, and I returned their affection.  I found so little\nto excite my desires, and those I had were so seldom contradicted, that I\nwas hardly sensible of possessing any, and can solemnly aver I was an\nabsolute stranger to caprice until after I had experienced the authority\nof a master.\n\nThose hours that were not employed in reading or writing with my father,\nor walking with my governess, Jaqueline, I spent with my aunt; and\nwhether seeing her embroider, or hearing her sing, whether sitting or\nstanding by her side, I was ever happy.  Her tenderness and unaffected\ngayety, the charms of her figure and countenance have left such indelible\nimpressions on my mind, that her manner, look, and attitude are still\nbefore my eyes; I recollect a thousand little caressing questions; could\ndescribe her clothes, her head-dress, nor have the two curls of fine\nblack hair which hung on her temples, according to the mode of that time,\nescaped my memory.\n\nThough my taste, or rather passion, for music, did not show itself until\na considerable time after, I am fully persuaded it is to her I am\nindebted for it.  She knew a great number of songs, which she sung with\ngreat sweetness and melody.  The serenity and cheerfulness which were\nconspicuous in this lovely girl, banished melancholy, and made all round\nher happy.\n\nThe charms of her voice had such an effect on me, that not only several\nof her songs have ever since remained on my memory, but some I have not\nthought of from my infancy, as I grow old, return upon my mind with a\ncharm altogether inexpressible.  Would any one believe that an old dotard\nlike me, worn out with care and infirmity, should sometime surprise\nhimself weeping like a child, and in a voice querulous, and broken by\nage, muttering out one of those airs which were the favorites of my\ninfancy?  There is one song in particular, whose tune I perfectly\nrecollect, but the words that compose the latter half of it constantly\nrefuse every effort to recall them, though I have a confused idea of the\nrhymes.  The beginning, with what I have been able to recollect of the\nremainder, is as follows:\n\n                    Tircis, je n'ose\n                    Ecouter ton Chalumeau\n                    Sous l'Ormeau;\n                    Car on en cause\n                    Deja dans notre hameau.\n                    ----   ---- -------\n                    ------ --- un Berger\n                    s'engager\n                    sans danger,\n                    Et toujours l'epine est sons la rose.\n\n\nI have endeavored to account for the invincible charm my heart feels on\nthe recollection of this fragment, but it is altogether inexplicable.\nI only know, that before I get to the end of it, I always find my voice\ninterrupted by tenderness, and my eyes suffused with tears.  I have a\nhundred times formed the resolution of writing to Paris for the remainder\nof these words, if any one should chance to know them: but I am almost\ncertain the pleasure I take in the recollection would be greatly\ndiminished was I assured any one but my poor aunt Susan had sung them.\n\nSuch were my affections on entering this life.  Thus began to form and\ndemonstrate itself, a heart, at once haughty and tender, a character\neffeminate, yet invincible; which, fluctuating between weakness and\ncourage, luxury and virtue, has ever set me in contradiction to myself;\ncausing abstinence and enjoyment, pleasure and prudence, equally to shun\nme.\n\nThis course of education was interrupted by an accident, whose\nconsequences influenced the rest of my life.  My father had a quarrel\nwith M. G----, who had a captain's commission in France, and was related\nto several of the Council.  This G----, who was an insolent, ungenerous\nman, happening to bleed at the nose, in order to be revenged, accused my\nfather of having drawn his sword on him in the city, and in consequence\nof this charge they were about to conduct him to prison.  He insisted\n(according to the law of this republic) that the accuser should be\nconfined at the same time; and not being able to obtain this, preferred a\nvoluntary banishment for the remainder of his life, to giving up a point\nby which he must sacrifice his honor and liberty.\n\nI remained under the tuition of my uncle Bernard, who was at that time\nemployed in the fortifications of Geneva.  He had lost his eldest\ndaughter, but had a son about my own age, and we were sent together to\nBossey, to board with the Minister Lambercier.  Here we were to learn\nLatin, with all the insignificant trash that has obtained the name of\neducation.\n\nTwo years spent in this village softened, in some degree, my Roman\nfierceness, and again reduced me to a state of childhood.  At Geneva,\nwhere nothing was exacted, I loved reading, which was, indeed, my\nprincipal amusement; but, at Bossey, where application was expected,\nI was fond of play as a relaxation.  The country was so new, so charming\nin my idea, that it seemed impossible to find satiety in its enjoyments,\nand I conceived a passion for rural life, which time has not been able to\nextinguish; nor have I ever ceased to regret the pure and tranquil\npleasures I enjoyed at this place in my childhood; the remembrance having\nfollowed me through every age, even to that in which I am hastening again\ntowards it.\n\nM. Lambercier was a worthy, sensible man, who, without neglecting our\ninstruction, never made our acquisitions burthensome, or tasks tedious.\nWhat convinces me of the rectitude of his method is, that notwithstanding\nmy extreme aversion to restraint, the recollection of my studies is never\nattended with disgust; and, if my improvement was trivial, it was\nobtained with ease, and has never escaped memory.\n\nThe simplicity of this rural life was of infinite advantage in opening my\nheart to the reception of true friendship.  The sentiments I had hitherto\nformed on this subject were extremely elevated, but altogether imaginary.\nThe habit of living in this peaceful manner soon united me tenderly to my\ncousin Bernard; my affection was more ardent than that I had felt for my\nbrother, nor has time ever been able to efface it.  He was a tall, lank,\nweakly boy, with a mind as mild as his body was feeble, and who did not\nwrong the good opinion they were disposed to entertain for the son of my\nguardian.  Our studies, amusements, and tasks, were the same; we were\nalone; each wanted a playmate; to separate would in some measure, have\nbeen to annihilate us.  Though we had not many opportunities of\ndemonstrating our attachment to each other, it was certainly extreme; and\nso far from enduring the thought of separation, we could not even form an\nidea that we should ever be able to submit to it.  Each of a disposition\nto be won by kindness, and complaisant, when not soured by contradiction,\nwe agreed in every particular.  If, by the favor of those who governed us\nhe had the ascendant while in their presence, I was sure to acquire it\nwhen we were alone, and this preserved the equilibrium so necessary in\nfriendship.  If he hesitated in repeating his task, I prompted him; when\nmy exercises were finished, I helped to write his; and, in our\namusements, my disposition being most active, ever had the lead.  In a\nword, our characters accorded so well, and the friendship that subsisted\nbetween us was so cordial, that during the five years we were at Bossey\nand Geneva we were inseparable: we often fought, it is true, but there\nnever was any occasion to separate us.  No one of our quarrels lasted\nmore than a quarter of an hour, and never in our lives did we make any\ncomplaint of each other.  It may be said, these remarks are frivolous;\nbut, perhaps, a similiar example among children can hardly be produced.\n\nThe manner in which I passed my time at Bossey was so agreeable to my\ndisposition, that it only required a longer duration absolutely to have\nfixed my character, which would have had only peaceable, affectionate,\nbenevolent sentiments for its basis.  I believe no individual of our kind\never possessed less natural vanity than myself.  At intervals, by an\nextraordinary effort, I arrived at sublime ideas, but presently sunk\nagain into my original languor.  To be loved by every one who knew me was\nmy most ardent wish.  I was naturally mild, my cousin was equally so, and\nthose who had the care of us were of similiar dispositions.  Everything\ncontributed to strengthen those propensities which nature had implanted\nin my breast, and during the two years I was neither the victim nor\nwitness of any violent emotions.\n\nI knew nothing so delightful as to see every one content, not only with\nme, but all that concerned them.  When repeating our catechism at church,\nnothing could give me greater vexation, on being obliged to hesitate,\nthan to see Miss Lambercier's countenance express disapprobation and\nuneasiness.  This alone was more afflicting to me than the shame of\nfaltering before so many witnesses, which, notwithstanding, was\nsufficiently painful; for though not oversolicitous of praise, I was\nfeelingly alive to shame; yet I can truly affirm, the dread of being\nreprimanded by Miss Lambercier alarmed me less than the thought of making\nher uneasy.\n\nNeither she nor her brother were deficient in a reasonable severity, but\nas this was scarce ever exerted without just cause, I was more afflicted\nat their disapprobation than the punishment.  Certainly the method of\ntreating youth would be altered if the distant effects, this\nindiscriminate, and frequently indiscreet method produces, were more\nconspicuous.  I would willingly excuse myself from a further explanation,\ndid not the lesson this example conveys (which points out an evil as\nfrequent as it is pernicious) forbid my silence.\n\nAs Miss Lambercier felt a mother's affection, she sometimes exerted a\nmother's authority, even to inflicting on us when we deserved it, the\npunishment of infants.  She had often threatened it, and this threat of a\ntreatment entirely new, appeared to me extremely dreadful; but I found\nthe reality much less terrible than the idea, and what is still more\nunaccountable, this punishment increased my affection for the person who\nhad inflicted it.  All this affection, aided by my natural mildness, was\nscarcely sufficient to prevent my seeking, by fresh offences, a return of\nthe same chastisement; for a degree of sensuality had mingled with the\nsmart and shame, which left more desire than fear of a repetition.  I was\nwell convinced the same discipline from her brother would have produced a\nquite contrary effect; but from a man of his disposition this was not\nprobable, and if I abstained from meriting correction it was merely from\na fear of offending Miss Lambercier, for benevolence, aided by the\npassions, has ever maintained an empire over me which has given law to my\nheart.\n\nThis event, which, though desirable, I had not endeavored to accelerate,\narrived without my fault; I should say, without my seeking; and I\nprofited by it with a safe conscience; but this second, was also the last\ntime, for Miss Lambercier, who doubtless had some reason to imagine this\nchastisement did not produce the desired effect, declared it was too\nfatiguing, and that she renounced it for the future.  Till now we had\nslept in her chamber, and during the winter, even in her bed; but two\ndays after another room was prepared for us, and from that moment I had\nthe honor (which I could very well have dispensed with) of being treated\nby her as a great boy.\n\nWho would believe this childish discipline, received at eight years old,\nfrom the hands of a woman of thirty, should influence my propensities,\nmy desires, my passions, for the rest of my life, and that in quite a\ncontrary sense from what might naturally have been expected?  The very\nincident that inflamed my senses, gave my desires such an extraordinary\nturn, that, confined to what I had already experienced, I sought no\nfurther, and, with blood boiling with sensuality, almost from my birth,\npreserved my purity beyond the age when the coldest constitutions lose\ntheir insensibility; long tormented, without knowing by what, I gazed on\nevery handsome woman with delight; imagination incessantly brought their\ncharms to my remembrance, only to transform them into so many Miss\nLamberciers.\n\nIf ever education was perfectly chaste, it was certainly that I received;\nmy three aunts were not only of exemplary prudence, but maintained a\ndegree of modest reserve which women have long since thought unnecessary.\nMy father, it is true, loved pleasure, but his gallantry was rather of\nthe last than the present century, and he never expressed his affection\nfor any woman he regarded in terms a virgin could have blushed at;\nindeed, it was impossible more attention should be paid to that regard we\nowe the morals of children than was uniformly observed by every one I had\nany concern with.  An equal degree of reserve in this particular was\nobserved at M. Lambercier's, where a good maid-servant was discharged for\nhaving once made use of an expression before us which was thought to\ncontain some degree of indelicacy.  I had no precise idea of the ultimate\neffect of the passions, but the conception I had formed was extremely\ndisgusting; I entertained a particular aversion for courtesans, nor could\nI look on a rake without a degree of disdain mingled with terror.\n\nThese prejudices of education, proper in themselves to retard the first\nexplosions of a combustible constitution, were strengthened, as I have\nalready hinted, by the effect the first moments of sensuality produced in\nme, for notwithstanding the troublesome ebullition of my blood, I was\nsatisfied with the species of voluptuousness I had already been\nacquainted with, and sought no further.\n\nThus I passed the age of puberty, with a constitution extremely ardent,\nwithout knowing or even wishing for any other gratification of the\npassions than what Miss Lambercier had innocently given me an idea of;\nand when I became a man, that childish taste, instead of vanishing, only\nassociated with the other.  This folly, joined to a natural timidity, has\nalways prevented my being very enterprising with women, so that I have\npassed my days in languishing in silence for those I most admired,\nwithout daring to disclose my wishes.\n\nTo fall at the feet of an imperious mistress, obey her mandates, or\nimplore pardon, were for me the most exquisite enjoyments, and the more\nmy blood was inflamed by the efforts of a lively imagination the more I\nacquired the appearance of a whining lover.\n\nIt will be readily conceived that this mode of making love is not\nattended with a rapid progress or imminent danger to the virtue of its\nobject; yet, though I have few favors to boast of, I have not been\nexcluded from enjoyment, however imaginary.  Thus the senses, in\nconcurrence with a mind equally timid and romantic, have preserved my\nmoral chaste, and feelings uncorrupted, with precisely the same\ninclinations, which, seconded with a moderate portion of effrontery,\nmight have plunged me into the most unwarrantable excesses.\n\nI have made the first, most difficult step, in the obscure and painful\nmaze of my Confessions.  We never feel so great a degree of repugnance in\ndivulging what is really criminal, as what is merely ridiculous.  I am\nnow assured of my resolution, for after what I have dared disclose,\nnothing can have power to deter me.  The difficulty attending these\nacknowledgments will be readily conceived, when I declare, that during\nthe whole of my life, though frequently laboring under the most violent\nagitation, being hurried away with the impetuosity of a passion which\n(when in company with those I loved) deprived me of the faculty of sight\nand hearing, I could never, in the course of the most unbounded\nfamiliarity, acquire sufficient resolution to declare my folly, and\nimplore the only favor that remained to bestow.\n\nIn thus investigating the first traces of my sensible existence, I find\nelements, which, though seemingly incompatible, have united to produce a\nsimple and uniform effect; while others, apparently the same, have, by\nthe concurrence of certain circumstances, formed such different\ncombinations, that it would never be imagined they had any affinity; who\nwould believe, for example, that one of the most vigorous springs of my\nsoul was tempered in the identical source from whence luxury and ease\nmingled with my constitution and circulated in my veins?  Before I quit\nthis subject, I will add a striking instance of the different effects\nthey produced.\n\nOne day, while I was studying in a chamber contiguous to the kitchen, the\nmaid set some of Miss Lambercier's combs to dry by the fire, and on\ncoming to fetch them some time after, was surprised to find the teeth of\none of them broken off.  Who could be suspected of this mischief?  No one\nbut myself had entered the room: I was questioned, but denied having any\nknowledge of it.  Mr. and Miss Lambercier consult, exhort, threaten, but\nall to no purpose; I obstinately persist in the denial; and, though this\nwas the first time I had been detected in a confirmed falsehood,\nappearances were so strong that they overthrew all my protestations.\nThis affair was thought serious; the mischief, the lie, the obstinacy,\nwere considered equally deserving of punishment, which was not now to be\nadministered by Miss Lambercier.  My uncle Bernard was written to; he\narrived; and my poor cousin being charged with a crime no less serious,\nwe were conducted to the same execution, which was inflicted with great\nseverity.  If finding a remedy in the evil itself, they had sought ever\nto allay my depraved desires, they could not have chosen a shorter method\nto accomplish their designs, and, I can assure my readers, I was for a\nlong time freed from the dominion of them.\n\nAs this severity could not draw from me the expected acknowledgment,\nwhich obstinacy brought on several repetitions, and reduced me to a\ndeplorable situation, yet I was immovable, and resolutely determined to\nsuffer death rather than submit.  Force, at length, was obliged to yield\nto the diabolical infatuation of a child, for no better name was bestowed\non my constancy, and I came out of this dreadful trial, torn, it is true,\nbut triumphant.  Fifty years have expired since this adventure--the fear\nof punishment is no more.  Well, then, I aver, in the face of Heaven, I\nwas absolutely innocent: and, so far from breaking, or even touching the\ncomb, never came near the fire.  It will be asked, how did this mischief\nhappen?  I can form no conception of it, I only know my own innocence.\n\nLet any one figure to himself a character whose leading traits were\ndocility and timidity, but haughty, ardent, and invincible, in its\npassions; a child, hitherto governed by the voice of reason, treated with\nmildness, equity, and complaisance, who could not even support the idea\nof injustice, experiencing, for the first time, so violent an instance of\nit, inflicted by those he most loved and respected.  What perversion of\nideas!  What confusion in the heart, the brain, in all my little being,\nintelligent and moral!--let any one, I say, if possible, imagine all\nthis, for I am incapable of giving the least idea of what passed in my\nmind at that period.\n\nMy reason was not sufficiently established to enable me to put myself in\nthe place of others, and judge how much appearances condemned me, I only\nbeheld the rigor of a dreadful chastisement, inflicted for a crime I had\nnot committed; yet I can truly affirm, the smart I suffered, though\nviolent, was inconsiderable compared to what I felt from indignation,\nrage, and despair.  My cousin, who was almost in similar circumstances,\nhaving been punished for an involuntary fault as guilty of a premediated\ncrime, became furious by my example.  Both in the same bed, we embraced\neach other with convulsive transport; we were almost suffocated; and when\nour young hearts found sufficient relief to breathe out our indigination,\nwe sat up in the bed, and with all our force, repeated a hundred times,\nCarnifex!  Carnifex!  Carnifex!  executioner, tormentor.\n\nEven while I write this I feel my pulse quicken, and should I live a\nhundred thousand years, the agitation of that moment would still be fresh\nin my memory.  The first instance of violence and oppression is so deeply\nengraved on my soul, that every relative idea renews my emotion: the\nsentiment of indignation, which in its origin had reference only to\nmyself, has acquired such strength, and is at present so completely\ndetached from personal motives, that my heart is as much inflamed at the\nsight or relation of any act of injustice (whatever may be the object, or\nwheresoever it may be perpetrated) as if I was the immediate sufferer.\nWhen I read the history of a merciless tyrant, or the dark and the subtle\nmachination of a knavish designing priest, I could on the instant set off\nto stab the miscreants, though I was certain to perish in the attempt.\n\nI have frequently fatigued myself by running after and stoning a cock, a\ncow, a dog, or any animal I saw tormenting another, only because it was\nconscious of possessing superior strength.  This may be natural to me,\nand I am inclined to believe it is, though the lively impression of the\nfirst injustice I became the victim of was too long and too powerfully\nremembered not to have added considerable force to it.\n\nThis occurrence terminated my infantine serenity; from that moment I\nceased to enjoy a pure unadulterated happiness, and on a retrospection of\nthe pleasure of my childhood, I yet feel they ended here.  We continue at\nBossey some months after this event, but were like our first parents in\nthe Garden of Eden after they had lost their innocence; in appearance our\nsituation was the same, in effect it was totally different.\n\nAffection, respect; intimacy, confidence, no longer attached the pupils\nto their guides; we beheld them no longer as divinities, who could read\nthe secrets of our hearts; we were less ashamed of committing faults,\nmore afraid of being accused of them: we learned to dissemble, to rebel,\nto lie: all the vices common to our years began to corrupt our happy\ninnocence, mingle with our sports, and embitter our amusements.  The\ncountry itself, losing those sweet and simple charms which captivate the\nheart, appeared a gloomy desert, or covered with a veil that concealed\nits beauties.  We cultivated our little gardens no more: our flowers were\nneglected.  We no longer scratched away the mould, and broke out into\nexclamations of delight, on discovering that the grain we had sown began\nto shoot.  We were disgusted with our situation; our preceptors were\nweary of us.  In a word, my uncle wrote for our return, and we left Mr.\nand Miss Lambercier without feeling any regret at the separation.\n\nNear thirty years passed away from my leaving Bossey, without once\nrecalling the place to my mind with any degree of satisfaction; but after\nhaving passed the prime of life, as I decline into old age (while more\nrecent occurrences are wearing out apace) I feel these remembrances\nrevive and imprint themselves on my heart, with a force and charm that\nevery day acquires fresh strength; as if, feeling life fleet from me,\nI endeavored to catch it again by its commencement.  The most trifling\nincident of those happy days delight me, for no other reason than being\nof those days.  I recall every circumstance of time, place, and persons;\nI see the maid or footman busy in the chamber, a swallow entering the\nwindow, a fly settling on my hand while repeating my lessons.  I see the\nwhole economy of the apartment; on the right hand Mr. Lambercier's\ncloset, with a print representing all the popes, a barometer, a large\nalmanac, the windows of the house (which stood in a hollow at the bottom\nof the garden) shaded by raspberry shrubs, whose shoots sometimes found\nentrance; I am sensible the reader has no occasion to know all this, but\nI feel a kind of necessity for relating it.  Why am I not permitted to\nrecount all the little anecdotes of that thrice happy age, at the\nrecollection of whose joys I ever tremble with delight?  Five or six\nparticularly--let us compromise the matter--I will give up five, but\nthen I must have one, and only one, provided I may draw it out to its\nutmost length, in order to prolong my satisfaction.\n\nIf I only sought yours, I should choose that of Miss Lambercier's\nbackside, which by an unlucky fall at the bottom of the meadow, was\nexposed to the view of the King of Sardinia, who happened to be passing\nby; but that of the walnut tree on the terrace is more amusing to me,\nsince here I was an actor, whereas, in the abovementioned scene I was\nonly a spectator; and I must confess I see nothing that should occasion\nrisibility in an accident, which, however laughable in itself, alarmed me\nfor a person I loved as a mother, or perhaps something more.\n\nYe curious readers, whose expectations are already on the stretch for the\nnoble history of the terrace, listen to the tragedy, and abstain from\ntrembling, if you can, at the horrible catastrophe!\n\nAt the outside of the courtyard door, on the left hand, was a terrace;\nhere they often sat after dinner; but it was subject to one\ninconvenience, being too much exposed to the rays of the sun; to obviate\nthis defect, Mr. Lambercier had a walnut tree set there, the planting of\nwhich was attended with great solemnity.  The two boarders were\ngodfathers, and while the earth was replacing round the root, each held\nthe tree with one hand, singing songs of triumph.  In order to water it\nwith more effect, they formed a kind of luson around its foot: myself and\ncousin, who were every day ardent spectators of this watering, confirmed\neach other in the very natural idea that it was nobler to plant trees on\nthe terrace than colors on a breach, and this glory we were resolved to\nprocure without dividing it with any one.\n\nIn pursuance of this resolution, we cut a slip off a willow, and planted\nit on the terrace, at about eight or ten feet distance from the august\nwalnut tree.  We did not forget to make a hollow round it, but the\ndifficulty was how to procure a supply of water, which was brought from a\nconsiderable distance, and we not permitted to fetch it: but water was\nabsolutely necessary for our willow, and we made use of every stratagem\nto obtain it.\n\nFor a few days everything succeeded so well that it began to bud, and\nthrow out small leaves, which we hourly measured convinced (tho' now\nscarce a foot from the ground) it would soon afford us a refreshing\nshade.  This unfortunate willow, by engrossing our whole time, rendered\nus incapable of application to any other study, and the cause of our\ninattention not being known, we were kept closer than before.  The fatal\nmoment approached when water must fail, and we were already afflicted\nwith the idea that our tree must perish with drought.  At length\nnecessity, the parent of industry, suggested an invention, by which we\nmight save our tree from death, and ourselves from despair; it was to\nmake a furrow underground, which would privately conduct a part of the\nwater from the walnut tree to our willow.  This undertaking was executed\nwith ardor, but did not immediately succeed--our descent was not\nskilfully planned--the water did not run, the earth falling in and\nstopping up the furrow; yet, though all went contrary, nothing\ndiscouraged us, 'omnia vincit labor improbus'.  We made the bason deeper,\nto give the water a more sensible descent; we cut the bottom of a box\ninto narrow planks; increased the channel from the walnut tree to our\nwillow and laying a row flat at the bottom, set two others inclining\ntowards each other, so as to form a triangular channel; we formed a kind\nof grating with small sticks at the end next the walnut tree, to prevent\nthe earth and stones from stopping it up, and having carefully covered\nour work with well--trodden earth, in a transport of hope and fear\nattended the hour of watering.  After an interval, which seemed an age of\nexpectation, this hour arrived.  Mr. Lambercier, as usual, assisted at\nthe operation; we contrived to get between him and our tree, towards\nwhich he fortunately turned his back.  They no sooner began to pour the\nfirst pail of water, than we perceived it running to the willow; this\nsight was too much for our prudence, and we involuntarily expressed our\ntransport by a shout of joy.  The sudden exclamation made Mr. Lambercier\nturn about, though at that instant he was delighted to observe how\ngreedily the earth, which surrounded the root of his walnut tree, imbibed\nthe water.  Surprised at seeing two trenches partake of it, he shouted in\nhis turn, examines, perceives the roguery, and, sending instantly for a\npick axe, at one fatal blow makes two or three of our planks fly, crying\nout meantime with all his strength, an aqueduct! an aqueduct!  His\nstrokes redoubled, every one of which made an impression on our hearts;\nin a moment the planks, the channel, the bason, even our favorite willow,\nall were ploughed up, nor was one word pronounced during this terrible\ntransaction, except the above mentioned exclamation.  An aqueduct!\nrepeated he, while destroying all our hopes, an aqueduct! an aqueduct!\n\nIt maybe supposed this adventure had a still more melancholy end for the\nyoung architects; this, however, was not the case; the affair ended here.\nMr. Lambercier never reproached us on this account, nor was his\ncountenance clouded with a frown; we even heard him mention the\ncircumstance to his sister with loud bursts of laughter.  The laugh of\nMr. Lambercier might be heard to a considerable distance.  But what is\nstill more surprising after the first transport of sorrow had subsided,\nwe did not find ourselves violently afflicted; we planted a tree in\nanother spot, and frequently recollected the catastrophe of the former,\nrepeating with a significant emphasis, an aqueduct!  an aqueduct!\nTill then, at intervals, I had fits of ambition, and could fancy myself\nBrutus or Aristides, but this was the first visible effect of my vanity.\nTo have constructed an aqueduct with our own hands, to have set a slip of\nwillow in competition with a flourishing tree, appeared to me a supreme\ndegree of glory!  I had a juster conception of it at ten than Caesar\nentertained at thirty.\n\nThe idea of this walnut tree, with the little anecdotes it gave rise to,\nhave so well continued, or returned to my memory, that the design which\nconveyed the most pleasing sensations, during my journey to Geneva, in\nthe year 1754, was visiting Bossey, and reviewing the monuments of my\ninfantine amusement, above all, the beloved walnut tree, whose age at\nthat time must have been verging on a third of a century, but I was so\nbeset with company that I could not find a moment to accomplish my\ndesign.  There is little appearance now of the occasion being renewed;\nbut should I ever return to that charming spot, and find my favorite\nwalnut tree still existing, I am convinced I should water it with my\ntears.\n\nOn my return to Geneva, I passed two or three years at my uncle's,\nexpecting the determination of my friends respecting my future\nestablishment.  His own son being devoted to genius, was taught drawing,\nand instructed by his father in the elements of Euclid; I partook of\nthese instructions, but was principally fond of drawing.  Meantime, they\nwere irresolute, whether to make me a watchmaker, a lawyer, or a\nminister.  I should have preferred being a minister, as I thought it must\nbe a charming thing to preach, but the trifling income which had been my\nmother's, and was to be divided between my brother and myself, was too\ninconsiderable to defray the expense attending the prosecution of my\nstudies.  As my age did not render the choice very pressing, I remained\nwith my uncle, passing my time with very little improvement, and paying\npretty dear, though not unreasonably, for my board.\n\nMy uncle, like my father, was a man of pleasure, but had not learned,\nlike him, to abridge his amusements for the sake of instructing his\nfamily, consequently our education was neglected.  My aunt was a devotee,\nwho loved singing psalms better than thinking of our improvement, so that\nwe were left entirely to ourselves, which liberty we never abused.\n\nEver inseparable, we were all the world to each other; and, feeling no\ninclination to frequent the company of a number of disorderly lads of our\nown age, we learned none of those habits of libertinism to which our idle\nlife exposed us.  Perhaps I am wrong in charging myself and cousin with\nidleness at this time, for, in our lives, we were never less so; and what\nwas extremely fortunate, so incessantly occupied with our amusements,\nthat we found no temptation to spend any part of our time in the streets.\nWe made cages, pipes, kites, drums, houses, ships, and bows; spoiled the\ntools of my good old grandfather by endeavoring to make watches in\nimitation of him; but our favorite amusement was wasting paper, in\ndrawing, washing, coloring, etc.  There came an Italian mountebank to\nGeneva, called Gamber-Corta, who had an exhibition of puppets, that he\nmade play a kind of comedy.  We went once to see them, but could not\nspare time to go again, being busily employed in making puppets of our\nown and inventing comedies, which we immediately set about making them\nperform, mimicking to the best of our abilities the uncouth voice of\nPunch; and, to complete the business, my good aunt and uncle Bernard had\nthe patience to see and listen to our imitations; but my uncle, having\none day read an elaborate discourse to his family, we instantly gave up\nour comedies, and began composing sermons.\n\nThese details, I confess, are not very amusing, but they serve to\ndemonstrate that the former part of our education was well directed,\nsince being, at such an early age, the absolute masters of our time,\nwe found no inclination to abuse it; and so little in want of other\ncompanions, that we constantly neglected every occasion of seeking them.\nWhen taking our walks together, we observed their diversions without\nfeeling any inclination to partake of them.  Friendship so entirely\noccupied our hearts, that, pleased with each other's company the simplest\npastimes were sufficient to delight us.\n\nWe were soon remarked for being thus inseparable: and what rendered us\nmore conspicuous, my cousin was very tall, myself extremely short, so\nthat we exhibited a very whimsical contrast.  This meagre figure, small,\nsallow countenance, heavy air, and supine gait, excited the ridicule of\nthe children, who, in the gibberish of the country, nicknamed him 'Barna\nBredanna'; and we no sooner got out of doors than our ears were assailed\nwith a repetition of \"Barna Bredanna.\"  He bore this indignity with\ntolerable patience, but I was instantly for fighting.  This was what the\nyoung rogues aimed at.  I engaged accordingly, and was beat.  My poor\ncousin did all in his power to assist me, but he was weak, and a single\nstroke brought him to the ground.  I then became furious, and received\nseveral smart blows, some of which were aimed at 'Barna Bredanna'.  This\nquarrel so far increased the evil, that, to avoid their insults, we could\nonly show ourselves in the streets while they were employed at school.\n\nI had already become a redresser of grievances; there only wanted a lady\nin the way to be a knight-errant in form.  This defect was soon supplied;\nI presently had two.  I frequently went to see my father at Nion, a small\ncity in the Vaudois country, where he was now settled.  Being universally\nrespected, the affection entertained for him extended to me: and, during\nmy visits, the question seemed to be, who should show me most kindness.\nA Madame de Vulson, in particular, loaded me with caresses; and, to\ncomplete all, her daughter made me her gallant.  I need not explain what\nkind of gallant a boy of eleven must be to a girl of two and twenty; the\nartful hussies know how to set these puppets up in front, to conceal more\nserious engagements.  On my part I saw no inequality between myself and\nMiss Vulson, was flattered by the circumstance, and went into it with my\nwhole heart, or rather my whole head, for this passion certainly reached\nno further, though it transported me almost to madness, and frequently\nproduced scenes sufficient to make even a cynic expire with laughter.\n\nI have experienced two kinds of love, equally real, which have scarce any\naffinity, yet each differing materially from tender friendship.  My whole\nlife has been divided between these affections, and I have frequently\nfelt the power of both at the same instant.  For example, at the very\ntime I so publically and tyrannically claimed Miss Vulson, that I could\nnot suffer any other of my sex to approach her, I had short, but\npassionate, assignations with a Miss Goton, who thought proper to act the\nschoolmistress with me.  Our meetings, though absolutely childish,\nafforded me the height of happiness.  I felt the whole charm of mystery,\nand repaid Miss Vulson in kind, when she least expected it, the use she\nmade of me in concealing her amours.  To my great mortification, this\nsecret was soon discovered, and I presently lost my young schoolmistress.\n\nMiss Goton was, in fact, a singular personage.  She was not handsome,\nyet there was a certain something in her figure which could not easily\nbe forgotten, and this for an old fool, I am too often convinced of.\nHer eyes, in particular, neither corresponded with her age, her height,\nnor her manner; she had a lofty imposing air, which agreed extremely well\nwith the character she assumed, but the most extraordinary part of her\ncomposition was a mixture of forwardness and reserve difficult to be\nconceived; and while she took the greatest liberties with me, would never\npermit any to be taken with her in return, treating me precisely like a\nchild.  This makes me suppose she had either ceased herself to be one,\nor was yet sufficiently so to behold us play the danger to which this\nfolly exposed her.\n\nI was so absolutely in the power of both these mistresses, that when in\nthe presence of either, I never thought of her who was absent; in other\nrespects, the effects they produced on me bore no affinity.  I could have\npassed my whole life with Miss Vulson, without forming a wish to quit\nher; but then, my satisfaction was attended with a pleasing serenity;\nand, in numerous companies, I was particularly charmed with her.  The\nsprightly sallies of her wit, the arch glance of her eye, even jealousy\nitself, strengthened my attachment, and I triumphed in the preference she\nseemed to bestow on me, while addressed by more powerful rivals;\napplause, encouragement, and smiles, gave animation to my happiness.\nSurrounded by a throng of observers, I felt the whole force of love--I\nwas passionate, transported; in a tete-a-tete, I should have been\nconstrained, thoughtful, perhaps unhappy.  If Miss Vulson was ill, I\nsuffered with her; would willingly have given up my own health to\nestablish hers (and, observe I knew the want of it from experience); if\nabsent, she employed my thoughts, I felt the want of her; when present,\nher caresses came with warmth and rapture to my heart, though my senses\nwere unaffected.  The familiarities she bestowed on me I could not have\nsupported the idea of her granting to another; I loved her with a\nbrother's affection only, but experienced all the jealousy of a lover.\n\nWith Miss Goton this passion might have acquired a degree of fury; I\nshould have been a Turk, a tiger, had I once imagined she bestowed her\nfavors on any but myself.  The pleasure I felt on approaching Miss Vulson\nwas sufficiently ardent, though unattended with uneasy sensations; but at\nsight of Miss Goton, I felt myself bewildered--every sense was absorbed\nin ecstasy.  I believe it would have been impossible to have remained\nlong with her; I must have been suffocated with the violence of my\npalpitations.  I equally dreaded giving either of them displeasure; with\none I was more complaisant; with the other, more submissive.  I would not\nhave offended Miss Vulson for the world; but if Miss Goton had commanded\nme to throw myself into the flames, I think I should have instantly\nobeyed her.  Happily, both for her and myself, our amours; or rather\nrendezvous, were not of long duration: and though my connection with Miss\nVulson was less dangerous, after a continuance of some greater length,\nthat likewise had its catastrophe; indeed the termination of a love\naffair is good for nothing, unless it partakes of the romantic, and can\nfurnish out at least an exclamation.\n\nThough my correspondence with Miss Vulson was less animated, it was\nperhaps more endearing; we never separated without tears, and it can\nhardly be conceived what a void I felt in my heart.  I could neither\nthink nor speak of anything but her.  These romantic sorrows were not\naffected, though I am inclined to believe they did not absolutely centre\nin her, for I am persuaded (though I did not perceive it at that time)\nbeing deprived of amusement bore a considerable share in them.\n\nTo soften the rigor of absence, we agreed to correspond with each other,\nand the pathetic expressions these letters contained were sufficient to\nhave split a rock.  In a word, I had the honor of her not being able to\nendure the pain of separation.  She came to see me at Geneva.\n\nMy head was now completely turned; and during the two days she remained\nhere, I was intoxicated with delight.  At her departure, I would have\nthrown myself into the water after her, and absolutely rent the air with\nmy cries.  The week following she sent me sweetmeats, gloves, etc.  This\ncertainly would have appeared extremely gallant, had I not been informed\nof her marriage at the same instant, and that the journey I had thought\nproper to give myself the honor of, was only to buy her wedding suit.\n\nMy indignation may easily be conceived; I shall not attempt to describe\nit.  In this heroic fury, I swore never more to see the perfidious girl,\nsupposing it the greatest punishment that could be inflicted on her.\nThis, however, did not occasion her death, for twenty years after, while\non a visit to my father, being on the lake, I asked who those ladies were\nin a boat not far from ours.  \"What!\"  said my father smiling, \"does not\nyour heart inform you?  It is your former flame, it is Madame Christin,\nor, if you please, Miss Vulson.\"  I started at the almost forgotten name,\nand instantly ordered the waterman to turn off, not judging it worth\nwhile to be perjured, however favorable the opportunity for revenge, in\nrenewing a dispute of twenty years past, with a woman of forty.\n\nThus, before my future destination was determined, did I fool away the\nmost precious moments of my youth.  After deliberating a long time on the\nbent of my natural inclination, they resolved to dispose of me in a\nmanner the most repugnant to them.  I was sent to Mr. Masseron, the City\nRegister, to learn (according to the expression of my uncle Bernard) the\nthriving occupation of a scraper.  This nickname was inconceivably\ndispleasing to me, and I promised myself but little satisfaction in the\nprospect of heaping up money by a mean employment.  The assiduity and\nsubjection required, completed my disgust, and I never set foot in the\noffice without feeling a kind of horror, which every day gained fresh\nstrength.\n\nMr. Masseron, who was not better pleased with my abilities than I was\nwith the employment, treated me with disdain, incessantly upbraiding me\nwith being a fool and blockhead, not forgetting to repeat, that my uncle\nhad assured him I was a knowing one, though he could not find that I knew\nanything.  That he had promised to furnish him with a sprightly boy, but\nhad, in truth, sent him an ass.  To conclude, I was turned out of the\nregistry, with the additional ignominy of being pronounced a fool by all\nMr. Masseron's clerks, and fit only to handle a file.\n\nMy vocation thus determined, I was bound apprentice; not, however, to a\nwatchmaker, but to an engraver, and I had been so completely humiliated\nby the contempt of the register, that I submitted without a murmur.  My\nmaster, whose name was M. Ducommon, was a young man of a very violent and\nboorish character, who contrived in a short time to tarnish all the\namiable qualities of my childhood, to stupefy a disposition naturally\nsprightly, and reduce my feelings, as well as my condition, to an\nabsolute state of servitude.  I forgot my Latin, history, and\nantiquities; I could hardly recollect whether such people as Romans ever\nexisted.  When I visited my father, he no longer beheld his idol, nor\ncould the ladies recognize the gallant Jean Jacques; nay, I was so well\nconvinced that Mr. and Miss Lambercier would scarce receive me as their\npupil, that I endeavored to avoid their company, and from that time have\nnever seen them.  The vilest inclinations, the basest actions, succeeded\nmy amiable amusements and even obliterated the very remembrance of them.\nI must have had, in spite of my good education, a great propensity to\ndegenerate, else the declension could not have followed with such ease\nand rapidity, for never did so promising a Caesar so quickly become a\nLaradon.\n\nThe art itself did not displease me.  I had a lively taste for drawing.\nThere was nothing displeasing in the exercise of the graver; and as it\nrequired no very extraordinary abilities to attain perfection as a\nwatchcase engraver, I hoped to arrive at it.  Perhaps I should have\naccomplished my design, if unreasonable restraint, added to the brutality\nof my master, had not rendered my business disgusting.  I wasted his\ntime, and employed myself in engraving medals, which served me and my\ncompanions as a kind of insignia for a new invented order of chivalry,\nand though this differed very little from my usual employ, I considered\nit as a relaxation.  Unfortunately, my master caught me at this\ncontraband labor, and a severe beating was the consequence.  He\nreproached me at the same time with attempting to make counterfeit money\nbecause our medals bore the arms of the Republic, though, I can truly\naver, I had no conception of false money, and very little of the true,\nknowing better how to make a Roman As than one of our threepenny pieces.\n\nMy master's tyranny rendered insupportable that labor I should otherwise\nhave loved, and drove me to vices I naturally despised, such as\nfalsehood, idleness, and theft.  Nothing ever gave me a clearer\ndemonstration of the difference between filial dependence and abject\nslavery, than the remembrance of the change produced in me at that\nperiod.  Hitherto I had enjoyed a reasonable liberty; this I had suddenly\nlost.  I was enterprising at my father's, free at Mr. Lambercier's,\ndiscreet at my uncle's; but, with my master, I became fearful, and from\nthat moment my mind was vitiated.  Accustomed to live on terms of perfect\nequality, to be witness of no pleasures I could not command, to see no\ndish I was not to partake of, or be sensible of a desire I might not\nexpress; to be able to bring every wish of my heart to my lips--what a\ntransition!--at my master's I was scarce allowed to speak, was forced to\nquit the table without tasting what I most longed for, and the room when\nI had nothing particular to do there; was incessantly confined to my\nwork, while the liberty my master and his journeymen enjoyed, served only\nto increase the weight of my subjection.  When disputes happened to\narise, though conscious that I understood the subject better than any of\nthem, I dared not offer my opinion; in a word, everything I saw became an\nobject of desire, for no other reason than because I was not permitted to\nenjoy anything.  Farewell gayety, ease, those happy turns of expressions,\nwhich formerly even made my faults escape correction.  I recollect, with\npleasure, a circumstance that happened at my father's, which even now\nmakes me smile.  Being for some fault ordered to bed without my supper,\nas I was passing through the kitchen, with my poor morsel of bread in my\nhand, I saw the meat turning on the spit; my father and the rest were\nround the fire; I must bow to every one as I passed.  When I had gone\nthrough this ceremony, leering with a wistful eye at the roast meat,\nwhich looked so inviting, and smelt so savory, I could not abstain from\nmaking that a bow likewise, adding in a pitiful tone, good bye, roast\nmeal!  This unpremeditated pleasantry put them in such good humor, that I\nwas permitted to stay, and partake of it.  Perhaps the same thing might\nhave produced a similar effect at my master's, but such a thought could\nnever have occurred to me, or, if it had, I should not have had courage\nto express it.\n\nThus I learned to covet, dissemble, lie, and, at length, to steal, a\npropensity I never felt the least idea of before, though since that time\nI have never been able entirely to divest myself of it.  Desire and\ninability united naturally led to this vice, which is the reason\npilfering is so common among footmen and apprentices, though the latter,\nas they grow up, and find themselves in a situation where everything is\nat their command, lose this shameful propensity.  As I never experienced\nthe advantage, I never enjoyed the benefit.\n\nGood sentiments, ill-directed, frequently lead children into vice.\nNotwithstanding my continual wants and temptations, it was more than a\nyear before I could resolve to take even eatables.  My first theft was\noccasioned by complaisance, but it was productive of others which had not\nso plausible an excuse.\n\nMy master had a journeyman named Verrat, whose mother lived in the\nneighborhood, and had a garden at a considerable distance from the house,\nwhich produced excellent asparagus.  This Verrat, who had no great plenty\nof money, took it in his head to rob her of the most early production of\nher garden, and by the sale of it procure those indulgences he could not\notherwise afford himself; but not being very nimble, he did not care to\nrun the hazard of a surprise.  After some preliminary flattery, which I\ndid not comprehend the meaning of, he proposed this expedition to me, as\nan idea which had that moment struck him.  At first I would not listen to\nthe proposal; but he persisted in his solicitation, and as I could never\nresist the attacks of flattery, at length prevailed.  In pursuance of\nthis virtuous resolution, I every morning repaired to the garden,\ngathered the best of the asparagus, and took it to the Holard where some\ngood old women, who guessed how I came by it, wishing to diminish the\nprice, made no secret of their suspicions; this produced the desired\neffect, for, being alarmed, I took whatever they offered, which being\ntaken to Mr. Verrat, was presently metamorphosed into a breakfast, and\ndivided with a companion of his; for, though I procured it, I never\npartook of their good cheer, being fully satisfied with an inconsiderable\nbribe.\n\nI executed my roguery with the greatest fidelity, seeking only to please\nmy employer; and several days passed before it came into my head, to rob\nthe robber, and tithe Mr. Verrat's harvest.  I never considered the\nhazard I run in these expeditions, not only of a torrent of abuse, but\nwhat I should have been still more sensible of, a hearty beating; for the\nmiscreant, who received the whole benefit, would certainly have denied\nall knowledge of the fact, and I should only have received a double\nportion of punishment for daring to accuse him, since being only an\napprentice, I stood no chance of being believed in opposition to a\njourneyman.  Thus, in every situation, powerful rogues know how to save\nthemselves at the expense of the feeble.\n\nThis practice taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had\nimagined: I took care to make this discovery turn to some account,\nhelping myself to everything within my reach, that I conceived an\ninclination for.  I was not absolutely ill-fed at my master's, and\ntemperance was only painful to me by comparing it with the luxury he\nenjoyed.  The custom of sending young people from table precisely when\nthose things are served up which seem most tempting, is calculated to\nincrease their longing, and induces them to steal what they conceive to\nbe so delicious.  It may be supposed I was not backward in this\nparticular: in general my knavery succeeded pretty well, though quite the\nreverse when I happened to be detected.\n\nI recollect an attempt to procure some apples, which was attended with\ncircumstances that make me smile and shudder even at this instant.  The\nfruit was standing in the pantry, which by a lattice at a considerable\nheight received light from the kitchen.  One day, being alone in the\nhouse, I climbed up to see these precious apples, which being out of my\nreach, made this pantry appear the garden of Hesperides.  I fetched the\nspit--tried if it would reach them--it was too short--I lengthened it\nwith a small one which was used for game,--my master being very fond of\nhunting, darted at them several times without success; at length was more\nfortunate; being transported to find I was bringing up an apple, I drew\nit gently to the lattice--was going to seize it when (who can express my\ngrief and astonishment!) I found it would not pass through--it was too\nlarge.  I tried every expedient to accomplish my design, sought\nsupporters to keep the spits in the same position, a knife to divide the\napple, and a lath to hold it with; at length, I so far succeeded as to\neffect the division, and made no doubt of drawing the pieces through; but\nit was scarcely separated, (compassionate reader, sympathize with my\naffliction) when both pieces fell into the pantry.\n\nThough I lost time by this experiment, I did not lose courage, but,\ndreading a surprise, I put off the attempt till next day, when I hoped to\nbe more successful, and returned to my work as if nothing had happened,\nwithout once thinking of what the two obvious witnesses I had left in the\npantry deposed against me.\n\nThe next day (a fine opportunity offering) I renew the trial.  I fasten\nthe spits together; get on the stool; take aim; am just going to dart at\nmy prey--unfortunately the dragon did not sleep; the pantry door opens,\nmy master makes his appearance, and, looking up, exclaims, \"Bravo!\"\n--The horror of that moment returns--the pen drops from my hand.\n\nA continual repetition of ill treatment rendered me callous; it seemed a\nkind of composition for my crimes, which authorized me to continue them,\nand, instead of looking back at the punishment, I looked forward to\nrevenge.  Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all the\nvices of one.  I was convinced that to rob and be punished were\ninseparable, and constituted, if I may so express myself, a kind of\ntraffic, in which, if I perform my part of the bargain, my master would\ntake care not to be deficient in his; that preliminary settled, I applied\nmyself to thieving with great tranquility, and whenever this\ninterrogatory occurred to my mind, \"What will be the consequence?\"  the\nreply was ready, \"I know the worst, I shall be beat; no matter, I was\nmade for it.\"\n\nI love good eating; am sensual, but not greedy; I have such a variety of\ninclinations to gratify, that this can never predominate; and unless my\nheart is unoccupied, which very rarely happens, I pay but little\nattention to my appetite; to purloining eatables, but extended this\npropensity to everything I wished to possess, and if I did not become a\nrobber in form, it was only because money never tempted me.\n\nMy master had a closet in the workshop, which he kept locked; this I\ncontrived to open and shut as often as I pleased, and laid his best\ntools, fine drawings, impressions, in a word, everything he wished to\nkeep from me, under contribution.\n\nThese thefts were so far innocent, that they were always employed in his\nservice, but I was transported at having the trifles in my possession,\nand imagined I stole the art with its productions.  Besides what I have\nmentioned, his boxes contained threads of gold and silver, a number of\nsmall jewels, valuable medals, and money; yet, though I seldom had five\nsous in my pocket, I do not recollect ever having cast a wishful look at\nthem; on the contrary, I beheld these valuables rather with terror than\nwith delight.\n\nI am convinced the dread of taking money was, in a great measure, the\neffect of education.  There was mingled with the idea of it the fear of\ninfamy, a prison, punishment, and death: had I even felt the temptation,\nthese objects would have made me tremble; whereas my failings appeared a\nspecies of waggery, and, in truth, they were little else; they could but\noccasion a good trimming, and this I was already prepared for.  A sheet\nof fine drawing paper was a greater temptation than money sufficient to\nhave purchased a ream.  This unreasonable caprice is connected with one\nof the most striking singularities of my character, and has so far\ninfluenced my conduct, that it requires a particular explanation.\n\nMy passions are extremely violent; while under their influence, nothing\ncan equal my impetuosity; I am an absolute stranger to discretion,\nrespect, fear, or decorum; rude, saucy, violent, and intrepid: no shame\ncan stop, no danger intimidate me.  My mind is frequently so engrossed by\na single object, that beyond it the whole world is not worth a thought;\nthis is the enthusiasm of a moment, the next, perhaps, I am plunged in a\nstate of annihilation.  Take me in my moments of tranquility, I am\nindolence and timidity itself; a word to speak, the least trifle to\nperform, appear an intolerable labor; everything alarms and terrifies me;\nthe very buzzing of a fly will make me shudder; I am so subdued by fear\nand shame, that I would gladly shield myself from mortal view.\n\nWhen obliged to exert myself, I am ignorant what to do! when forced to\nspeak, I am at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me, I am\ninstantly out of countenance.  If animated with my subject, I express my\nthoughts with ease, but, in ordinary conversations, I can say nothing\n--absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders them\ninsupportable.\n\nI may add, that none of my predominant inclinations centre in those\npleasures which are to be purchased: money empoisons my delight; I must\nhave them unadulterated; I love those of the table, for instance, but\ncannot endure the restraints of good company, or the intemperance of\ntaverns; I can enjoy them only with a friend, for alone it is equally\nimpossible; my imagination is then so occupied with other things, that I\nfind no pleasure in eating.  Women who are to be purchased have no charms\nfor me; my beating heart cannot be satisfied without affection; it is the\nsame with every other enjoyment, if not truly disinterested, they are\nabsolutely insipid; in a word, I am fond of those things which are only\nestimable to minds formed for the peculiar enjoyment of them.\n\nI never thought money so desirable as it is usually imagined; if you\nwould enjoy you must transform it; and this transformation is frequently\nattended with inconvenience; you must bargain, purchase, pay dear, be\nbadly served, and often duped.  I buy an egg, am assured it is new-laid\n--I find it stale; fruit in its utmost perfection--'tis absolutely green.\nI love good wine, but where shall I get it?  Not at my wine merchant's\n--he will poison me to a certainty.  I wish to be universally respected;\nhow shall I compass my design?  I must make friends, send messages, write\nletters, come, go, wait, and be frequently deceived.  Money is the\nperpetual source of uneasiness; I fear it more than I love good wine.\n\nA thousand times, both during and since my apprenticeship, have I gone\nout to purchase some nicety, I approach the pastry-cook's, perceive some\nwomen at the counter, and imagine they are laughing at me.  I pass a\nfruit shop, see some fine pears, their appearance tempts me; but then two\nor three young people are near, or a man I am acquainted with is standing\nat the door; I take all that pass for persons I have some knowledge of,\nand my near sight contributes to deceive me.  I am everywhere\nintimidated, restrained by some obstacle, and with money in my pocket\nreturn as I went, for want of resolution to purchase what I long for.\n\nI should enter into the most insipid details was I to relate the trouble,\nshame, repugnance, and inconvenience of all kinds which I have\nexperienced in parting with my money, whether in my own person, or by the\nagency of others; as I proceed, the reader will get acquainted with my\ndisposition, and perceive all this without my troubling him with the\nrecital.\n\nThis once comprehended, one of my apparent contradictions will be easily\naccounted for, and the most sordid avarice reconciled with the greatest\ncontempt of money.  It is a movable which I consider of so little value,\nthat, when destitute of it, I never wish to acquire any; and when I have\na sum I keep it by me, for want of knowing how to dispose of it to my\nsatisfaction; but let an agreeable and convenient opportunity present\nitself, and I empty my purse with the utmost freedom; not that I would\nhave the reader imagine I am extravagant from a motive of ostentation,\nquite the reverse; it was ever in subservience to my pleasures, and,\ninstead of glorying in expense, I endeavor to conceal it.  I so well\nperceive that money is not made to answer my purposes, that I am almost\nashamed to have any, and, still more, to make use of it.\n\nHad I ever possessed a moderate independence, I am convinced I should\nhave had no propensity to become avaricious.  I should have required no\nmore, and cheerfully lived up to my income; but my precarious situation\nhas constantly and necessarily kept me in fear.  I love liberty, and I\nloathe constraint, dependence, and all their kindred annoyances.  As long\nas my purse contains money it secures my independence, and exempts me\nfrom the trouble of seeking other money, a trouble of which I have always\nhad a perfect horror; and the dread of seeing the end of my independence,\nmakes me proportionately unwilling to part with my money.  The money that\nwe possess is the instrument of liberty, that which we lack and strive to\nobtain is the instrument of slavery.  Thence it is that I hold fast to\naught that I have, and yet covet nothing more.\n\nMy disinterestedness, then, is in reality only idleness, the pleasure of\npossessing is not in my estimation worth the trouble of acquiring: and my\ndissipation is only another form of idleness; when we have an opportunity\nof disbursing pleasantly we should make the best possible use of it.\n\nI am less tempted by money than by other objects, because between the\nmoment of possessing the money and that of using it to obtain the desired\nobject there is always an interval, however short; whereas to possess the\nthing is to enjoy it.  I see a thing and it tempts me; but if I see not\nthe thing itself but only the means of acquiring it, I am not tempted.\nTherefore it is that I have been a pilferer, and am so even now, in the\nway of mere trifles to which I take a fancy, and which I find it easier\nto take than to ask for; but I never in my life recollect having taken a\nfarthing from any one, except about fifteen years ago, when I stole seven\nfrancs and ten sous.  The story is worth recounting, as it exhibits a\nconcurrence of ignorance and stupidity I should scarcely credit, did it\nrelate to any but myself.\n\nIt was in Paris: I was walking with M. de Franceul at the Palais Royal;\nhe pulled out his watch, he looked at it, and said to me, \"Suppose we go\nto the opera?\"--\"With all my heart.\"  We go: he takes two box tickets,\ngives me one, and enters himself with the other; I follow, find the door\ncrowded; and, looking in, see every one standing; judging, therefore,\nthat M. de Franceul might suppose me concealed by the company, I go out,\nask for my ticket, and, getting the money returned, leave the house,\nwithout considering, that by then I had reached the door every one would\nbe seated, and M. de Franceul might readily perceive I was not there.\n\nAs nothing could be more opposite to my natural inclination than this\nabominable meanness, I note it, to show there are moments of delirium\nwhen men ought not to be judged by their actions: this was not stealing\nthe money, it was only stealing the use of it, and was the more infamous\nfor wanting the excuse of a temptation.\n\nI should never end these accounts, was I to describe all the gradations\nthrough which I passed, during my apprenticeship, from the sublimity of a\nhero to the baseness of a villain.  Though I entered into most of the\nvices of my situation, I had no relish for its pleasures; the amusements\nof my companions were displeasing, and when too much restraint had made\nmy business wearisome, I had nothing to amuse me.  This renewed my taste\nfor reading which had long been neglected.  I thus committed a fresh\noffence, books made me neglect my work, and brought on additional\npunishment, while inclination, strengthened by constraint, became an\nunconquerable passion.  La Tribu, a well-known librarian, furnished me\nwith all kinds; good or bad, I perused them with avidity, and without\ndiscrimination.\n\nIt will be said; \"at length, then, money became necessary\"--true; but\nthis happened at a time when a taste for study had deprived me both of\nresolution and activity; totally occupied by this new inclination, I only\nwished to read, I robbed no longer.  This is another of my peculiarities;\na mere nothing frequently calls me off from what I appear the most\nattached to; I give in to the new idea; it becomes a passion, and\nimmediately every former desire is forgotten.\n\nReading was my new hobby; my heart beat with impatience to run over the\nnew book I carried in my pocket; the first moment I was alone, I seized\nthe opportunity to draw it out, and thought no longer of rummaging my\nmaster's closet.  I was even ashamed to think that I had been guilty of\nsuch meanness; and had my amusements been more expensive, I no longer\nfelt an inclination to continue it.  La Tribu gave me credit, and when\nonce I had the book in my possession, I thought no more of the trifle I\nwas to pay for it; as money came it naturally passed to this woman; and\nwhen she chanced to be pressing, nothing was so conveniently at hand as\nmy own effects; to steal in advance required foresight, and robbing to\npay was no temptation.\n\nThe frequent blows I received from my master, with my private and\nill-chosen studies, rendered me reserved, unsociable, and almost\nderanged my reason.  Though my taste had not preserved me from silly\nunmeaning books, by good fortune I was a stranger to licentious or\nobscene ones; not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating) had any\nscruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth she\nspoke of them with an air of mystery; this produced an effect she had\nnot foreseen, for both shame and disgust made me constantly refuse them.\nChance so well seconded my bashful disposition, that I was past the age\nof thirty before I saw any of those dangerous compositions.\n\nIn less than a year I had exhausted La Tribu's scanty library, and was\nunhappy for want of further amusement.  My reading, though frequently\nbad, had worn off my childish follies, and brought back my heart to\nnobler sentiments than my condition had inspired; meantime disgusted with\nall within my reach, and thinking everything charming that was out of it,\nmy present situation appeared extremely miserable.  My passions began to\nacquire strength, I felt their influence, without knowing whither they\nwould conduct me.  I sometimes, indeed, thought of my former follies, but\nsought no further.\n\nAt this time my imagination took a turn which helped to calm my\nincreasing emotions; it was, to contemplate those situations in the books\nI had read, which produced the most striking effect on my mind; to\nrecall, combine, and apply them to myself in such a manner, as to become\none of the personages my recollection presented, and be continually in\nthose fancied circumstances which were most agreeable to my inclinations;\nin a word, by contriving to place myself in these fictitious situations,\nthe idea of my real one was in a great measure obliterated.\n\nThis fondness for imaginary objects, and the facility with which I could\ngain possession of them, completed my disgust for everything around me,\nand fixed that inclination for solitude which has ever since been\npredominant.  We shall have more than once occasion to remark the effects\nof a disposition, misanthropic and melancholy in appearance, but which\nproceed, in fact, from a heart too affectionate, too ardent, which, for\nwant of similar dispositions, is constrained to content itself with\nnonentities, and be satisfied with fiction.  It is sufficient, at\npresent, to have traced the origin of a propensity which has modified my\npassions, set bounds to each, and by giving too much ardor to my wishes,\nhas ever rendered me too indolent to obtain them.\n\nThus I attained my sixteenth year, uneasy, discontented with myself and\neverything that surrounded me; displeased with my occupation; without\nenjoying the pleasures common to my age, weeping without a cause, sighing\nI knew not why, and fond of my chimerical ideas for want of more valuable\nrealities.\n\nEvery Sunday, after sermon-time, my companions came to fetch me out,\nwishing me to partake of their diversions.  I would willingly have been\nexcused, but when once engaged in amusement, I was more animated and\nenterprising than any of them; it was equally difficult to engage or\nrestrain me; indeed, this was ever a leading trait in my character.\nIn our country walks I was ever foremost, and never thought of returning\ntill reminded by some of my companions.  I was twice obliged to be from\nmy master's the whole night, the city gates having been shut before I\ncould reach them.  The reader may imagine what treatment this procured me\nthe following mornings; but I was promised such a reception for the\nthird, that I made a firm resolution never to expose myself to the danger\nof it.  Notwithstanding my determination, I repeated this dreaded\ntransgression, my vigilance having been rendered useless by a cursed\ncaptain, named M. Minutoli, who, when on guard, always shut the gate he\nhad charge of an hour before the usual time.  I was returning home with\nmy two companions, and had got within half a league of the city, when I\nheard them beat the tattoo; I redouble my pace, I run with my utmost\nspeed, I approach the bridge, see the soldiers already at their posts, I\ncall out to them in a suffocated voice--it is too late; I am twenty paces\nfrom the guard, the first bridge is already drawn up, and I tremble to\nsee those terrible horns advanced in the air which announce the fatal and\ninevitable destiny, which from this moment began to pursue me.\n\nI threw myself on the glacis in a transport of despair, while my\ncompanions, who only laughed at the accident, immediately determined what\nto do.  My resolution, though different from theirs, was equally sudden;\non the spot, I swore never to return to my master's, and the next\nmorning, when my companions entered the city, I bade them an eternal\nadieu, conjuring them at the same time to inform my cousin Bernard of my\nresolution, and the place where he might see me for the last time.\n\nFrom the commencement of my apprenticeship I had seldom seen him; at\nfirst, indeed, we saw each other on Sundays, but each acquiring different\nhabits, our meetings were less frequent.  I am persuaded his mother\ncontributed greatly towards this change; he was to consider himself as a\nperson of consequence, I was a pitiful apprentice; notwithstanding our\nrelationship, equality no longer subsisted between us, and it was\ndegrading himself to frequent my company.  As he had a natural good heart\nhis mother's lessons did not take an immediate effect, and for some time\nhe continued to visit me.\n\nHaving learned my resolution, he hastened to the spot I had appointed,\nnot, however, to dissuade me from it, but to render my flight agreeable,\nby some trifling presents, as my own resources would not have carried me\nfar.  He gave me among other things, a small sword, which I was very\nproud of, and took with me as far as Turin, where absolute want\nconstrained me to dispose of it.  The more I reflect on his behavior at\nthis critical moment, the more I am persuaded he followed the\ninstructions of his mother, and perhaps his father likewise: for, had he\nbeen left to his own feelings, he would have endeavored to retain, or\nhave been tempted to accompany me; on the contrary, he encouraged the\ndesign, and when he saw me resolutely determined to pursue it, without\nseeming much affected, left me to my fate.  We never saw or wrote to each\nother from that time; I cannot but regret this loss, for his heart was\nessentially good, and we seemed formed for a more lasting friendship.\n\nBefore I abandon myself to the fatality of my destiny, let me contemplate\nfor a moment the prospect that awaited me had I fallen into the hands of\na better master.  Nothing could have been more agreeable to my\ndisposition, or more likely to confer happiness, than the peaceful\ncondition of a good artificer, in so respectable a line as engravers are\nconsidered at Geneva.  I could have obtained an easy subsistence, if not\na fortune; this would have bounded my ambition; I should have had means\nto indulge in moderate pleasures, and should have continued in my natural\nsphere, without meeting with any temptation to go beyond it.  Having an\nimagination sufficiently fertile to embellish with its chimeras every\nsituation, and powerful enough to transport me from one to another, it\nwas immaterial in which I was fixed: that was best adapted to me, which,\nrequiring the least care or exertion, left the mind most at liberty; and\nthis happiness I should have enjoyed.  In my native country, in the bosom\nof my religion, family and friends, I should have passed a calm and\npeaceful life, in the uniformity of a pleasing occupation, and among\nconnections dear to my heart.  I should have been a good Christian, a\ngood citizen, a good friend, a good man.  I should have relished my\ncondition, perhaps have been an honor to it, and after having passed a\nlife of happy obscurity, surrounded by my family, I should have died at\npeace.  Soon it may be forgotten, but while remembered it would have been\nwith tenderness and regret.\n\nInstead of this--what a picture am I about to draw!--Alas!  why should I\nanticipate the miseries I have endured?  The reader will have but too\nmuch of the melancholy subject.","title":"The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau \u2014 Volume 01","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":17654}