{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3902/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3902","id":"gutenberg_3902","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3902","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 II.\n\n\nThe moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more\nterrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeared\ndelightful.  To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,\nin the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of my\nbusiness to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger:\nto expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all the\ntemptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,\nmisfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evils\nthan those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn, the\nnatural consequence of my hazardous enterprise.  How different was the\nidea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess was the\nsole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty, I thought\neverything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast theatre of\nthe world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I expected to\nfind amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to serve, and\nmistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and the whole\nuniverse would be interested in my concerns; not but I could have been\ncontent with something less; a charming society, with sufficient means,\nmight have satisfied me.  My moderation was such, that the sphere in\nwhich I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but then it was to\npossess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself the principal\nobject.  A single castle, for instance, might have bounded my ambition;\ncould I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the daughter's\nlover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I might have\nbeen tolerably content, and sought no further.\n\nIn expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in the\nenvirons of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, who\nreceived me with more kindness than I should have met with in town; they\nwelcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live on\ncharity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance of\nsuperiority to furnish out the idea.\n\nI rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, at\nabout two leagues distance from Geneva.  The vicar was called M. de\nPontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught my\nattention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of the\ngentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this M. de\nPontverre, and was received with great civility.\n\nHe spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holy\nmother church, and then invited me to dinner.  I had little to object to\narguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined to\nbelieve that priests, who gave such excellent dinners, might be as good\nas our ministers.  Notwithstanding M. de Pontverre's pedigree, I\ncertainly possessed most learning; but I rather sought to be a good\ncompanion than an expert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which I thought\ndelicious, argued so powerfully on his side, that I should have blushed\nat silencing so kind a host; I, therefore, yielded him the victory, or\nrather declined the contest.  Any one who had observed my precaution,\nwould certainly have pronounced me a dissembler, though, in fact, I was\nonly courteous.\n\nFlattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice in young people;\n'tis oftener a virtue.  When treated with kindness, it is natural to feel\nan attachment for the person who confers the obligation; we do not\nacquiesce because we wish to deceive, but from dread of giving\nuneasiness, or because we wish to avoid the ingratitude of rendering evil\nfor good.  What interest had M. de Pontverre in entertaining, treating\nwith respect, and endeavoring to convince me?  None but mine; my young\nheart told me this, and I was penetrated with gratitude and respect for\nthe generous priest; I was sensible of my superiority, but scorned to\nrepay his hospitality by taking advantage of it.  I had no conception of\nhypocrisy in this forbearance, or thought of changing my religion, nay,\nso far was the idea from being familiar to me, that I looked on it with a\ndegree of horror which seemed to exclude the possibility of such an\nevent; I only wished to avoid giving offence to those I was sensible\ncaressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivate their good opinion,\nand meantime leave them the hope of success by seeming less on my guard\nthan I really was.  My conduct in this particular resembled the coquetry\nof some very honest women, who, to obtain their wishes, without\npermitting or promising anything, sometimes encourage hopes they never\nmean to realize.\n\nReason, piety, and love of order, certainly demanded that instead of\nbeing encouraged in my folly, I should have been dissuaded from the ruin\nI was courting, and sent back to my family; and this conduct any one that\nwas actuated by genuine virtue would have pursued; but it should be\nobserved that though M. de Pontverre was a religious man, he was not a\nvirtuous one, but a bigot, who knew no virtue except worshipping images\nand telling his beads, in a word, a kind of missionary, who thought the\nheight of merit consisted in writing libels against the ministers of\nGeneva.  Far from wishing to send me back, he endeavored to favor my\nescape, and put it out of my power to return even had I been so disposed.\nIt was a thousand to one but he was sending me to perish with hunger, or\nbecome a villain; but all this was foreign to his purpose; he saw a soul\nsnatched from heresy, and restored to the bosom of the church: whether I\nwas an honest man or a knave was very immaterial, provided I went to\nmass.\n\nThis ridiculous mode of thinking is not peculiar to Catholics; it is the\nvoice of every dogmatical persuasion where merit consists in belief, and\nnot in virtue.\n\n\"You are called by the Almighty,\" said M. de Pontverre; \"go to Annecy,\nwhere you will find a good and charitable lady, whom the bounty of the\nking enables to turn souls from those errors she has happily renounced.\"\nHe spoke of a Madam de Warrens, a new convert, to whom the priests\ncontrived to send those wretches who were disposed to sell their faith,\nand with these she was in a manner constrained to share a pension of two\nthousand francs bestowed on her by the King of Sardinia.  I felt myself\nextremely humiliated at being supposed to want the assistance of a good\nand charitable lady.  I had no objection to be accommodated with\neverything I stood in need of, but did not wish to receive it on the\nfooting of charity and to owe this obligation to a devotee was still\nworse; notwithstanding my scruples the persuasions of M. de Pontverre,\nthe dread of perishing with hunger, the pleasures I promised myself from\nthe journey, and hope of obtaining some desirable situation, determined\nme; and I set out though reluctantly, for Annecy.  I could easily have\nreached it in a day, but being in no great haste to arrive there, it took\nme three.  My head was filled with the ideas of adventures, and I\napproached every country-seat I saw in my way, in expectation of having\nthem realized.  I had too much timidity to knock at the doors, or even\nenter if I saw them open, but I did what I dared--which was to sing under\nthose windows that I thought had the most favorable appearance; and was\nvery much disconcerted to find I wasted my breath to no purpose, and that\nneither old nor young ladies were attracted by the melody of my voice, or\nthe wit of my poetry, though some songs my companions had taught me I\nthought excellent and that I sung them incomparably.  At length I arrived\nat Annecy, and saw Madam de Warrens.\n\nAs this period of my life, in a great measure, determined my character,\nI could not resolve to pass it lightly over.  I was in the middle of my\nsixteenth year, and though I could not be called handsome, was well made\nfor my height; I had a good foot, a well turned leg, and animated\ncountenance; a well proportioned mouth, black hair and eyebrows, and my\neyes, though small and rather too far in my head, sparkling with\nvivacity, darted that innate fire which inflamed my blood; unfortunately\nfor me, I knew nothing of all this, never having bestowed a single\nthought on my person till it was too late to be of any service to me.\nThe timidity common to my age was heightened by a natural benevolence,\nwhich made me dread the idea of giving pain.  Though my mind had received\nsome cultivation, having seen nothing of the world, I was an absolute\nstranger to polite address, and my mental acquisitions, so far from\nsupplying this defect, only served to increase my embarrassment, by\nmaking me sensible of every deficiency.\n\nDepending little, therefore, on external appearances, I had recourse to\nother expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling all\nthe flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books with the phrases\nof an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the attention, and insure the\ngood will of Madam de Warrens.  I enclosed M. de Pontverre's letter in my\nown and waited on the lady with a heart palpitating with fear and\nexpectation.  It was Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I was informed she\nwas that moment gone to church; I hasten after her, overtake, and speak\nto her.--The place is yet fresh in my memory--how can it be otherwise?\noften have I moistened it with my tears and covered it with kisses.--Why\ncannot I enclose with gold the happy spot, and render it the object of\nuniversal veneration?  Whoever wishes to honor monuments of human\nsalvation would only approach it on their knees.\n\nIt was a passage at the back of the house, bordered on the left hand by a\nlittle rivulet, which separated it from the garden, and, on the right, by\nthe court yard wall; at the end was a private door which opened into the\nchurch of the Cordeliers.  Madam de Warrens was just passing this door;\nbut on hearing my voice, instantly turned about.  What an effect did the\nsight of her produce!  I expected to see a devout, forbidding old woman;\nM. de Pontverre's pious and worthy lady could be no other in my\nconception; instead of which, I see a face beaming with charms, fine blue\neyes full of sweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzled the sight,\nthe form of an enchanting neck, nothing escaped the eager eye of the\nyoung proselyte; for that instant I was hers!--a religion preached by\nsuch missionaries must lead to paradise!\n\nMy letter was presented with a trembling hand; she took it with a smile\n--opened it, glanced an eye over M. de Pontverre's and again returned to\nmine, which she read through and would have read again, had not the\nfootman that instant informed her that service was beginning--\"Child,\"\nsaid she, in a tone of voice which made every nerve vibrate, \"you are\nwandering about at an early age--it is really a pity!\"--and without\nwaiting for an answer, added--\"Go to my house, bid them give you\nsomething for breakfast, after mass, I will speak to you.\"\n\nLouisa--Eleanora de Warrens was of the noble and ancient family of La\nTour de Pit, of Vevay, a city in the country of the Vaudois.  She was\nmarried very young to a M. de Warrens, of the house of Loys, eldest son\nof M. de Villardin, of Lausanne; there were no children by this marriage,\nwhich was far from being a happy one.  Some domestic uneasiness made\nMadam de Warrens take the resolution of crossing the Lake, and throwing\nherself at the feet of Victor Amadeus, who was then at Evian; thus\nabandoning her husband, family, and country by a giddiness similar to\nmine, which precipitation she, too, has found sufficient time and reason\nto lament.\n\nThe king, who was fond of appearing a zealous promoter of the Catholic\nfaith, took her under his protection, and complimented her with a pension\nof fifteen hundred livres of Piedmont, which was a considerable\nappointment for a prince who never had the character of being generous;\nbut finding his liberality made some conjecture he had an affection for\nthe lady, he sent her to Annecy escorted by a detachment of his guards,\nwhere, under the direction of Michael Gabriel de Bernex, titular bishop\nof Geneva, she abjured her former religion at the Convent of the\nVisitation.\n\nI came to Annecy just six years after this event; Madam de Warrens was\nthen eight--and--twenty, being born with the century.  Her beauty,\nconsisting more in the expressive animation of the countenance, than a\nset of features, was in its meridian; her manner soothing and tender; an\nangelic smile played about her mouth, which was small and delicate; she\nwore her hair (which was of an ash color, and uncommonly beautiful) with\nan air of negligence that made her appear still more interesting; she was\nshort, and rather thick for her height, though by no means disagreeably\nso; but there could not be a more lovely face, a finer neck, or hands and\narms more exquisitely formed.\n\nHer education had been derived from such a variety of sources, that it\nformed an extraordinary assemblage.  Like me, she had lost her mother at\nher birth, and had received instruction as it chanced to present itself;\nshe had learned something of her governess, something of her father, a\nlittle of her masters, but copiously from her lovers; particularly a M.\nde Tavel, who, possessing both taste and information, endeavored to adorn\nwith them the mind of her he loved.  These various instructions, not\nbeing properly arranged, tended to impede each other, and she did not\nacquire that degree of improvement her natural good sense was capable of\nreceiving; she knew something of philosophy and physic, but not enough to\neradicate the fondness she had imbibed from her father for empiricism and\nalchemy; she made elixirs, tinctures, balsams, pretended to secrets, and\nprepared magestry; while quacks and pretenders, profiting by her\nweakness, destroyed her property among furnaces, drugs and minerals,\ndiminishing those charms and accomplishments which might have been the\ndelight of the most elegant circles.  But though these interested\nwretches took advantage of her ill-applied education to obscure her\nnatural good sense, her excellent heart retained its purity; her amiable\nmildness, sensibility for the unfortunate, inexhaustible bounty, and\nopen, cheerful frankness, knew no variation; even at the approach of old\nage, when attacked by various calamities, rendered more cutting by\nindigence, the serenity of her disposition preserved to the end of her\nlife the pleasing gayety of her happiest days.\n\nHer errors proceeded from an inexhaustible fund of activity, which\ndemanded perpetual employment.  She found no satisfaction in the\ncustomary intrigues of her sex, but, being formed for vast designs,\nsought the direction of important enterprises and discoveries.  In her\nplace Madam de Longueville would have been a mere trifler, in Madam de\nLongueville's situation she would have governed the state.  Her talents\ndid not accord with her fortune; what would have gained her distinction\nin a more elevated sphere, became her ruin.  In enterprises which suited\nher disposition, she arranged the plan in her imagination, which was ever\ncarried of its utmost extent, and the means she employed being\nproportioned rather to her ideas than abilities, she failed by the\nmismanagement of those upon whom she depended, and was ruined where\nanother would scarce have been a loser.  This active disposition, which\ninvolved her in so many difficulties, was at least productive of one\nbenefit as it prevented her from passing the remainder of her life in the\nmonastic asylum she had chosen, which she had some thought of.  The\nsimple and uniform life of a nun, and the little cabals and gossipings of\ntheir parlor, were not adapted to a mind vigorous and active, which,\nevery day forming new systems, had occasions for liberty to attempt their\ncompletion.\n\nThe good bishop of Bernex, with less wit than Francis of Sales, resembled\nhim in many particulars, and Madam de Warrens, whom he loved to call his\ndaughter, and who was like Madam de Chantel in several respects, might\nhave increased the resemblance by retiring like her from the world, had\nshe not been disgusted with the idle trifling of a convent.  It was not\nwant of zeal prevented this amiable woman from giving those proofs of\ndevotion which might have been expected from a new convert, under the\nimmediate direction of a prelate.  Whatever might have influenced her to\nchange her religion, she was certainly sincere in that she had embraced;\nshe might find sufficient occasion to repent having abjured her former\nfaith, but no inclination to return to it.  She not only died a good\nCatholic, but truly lived one; nay, I dare affirm (and I think I have had\nthe opportunity to read the secrets of her heart) that it was only her\naversion to singularity that prevented her acting the devotee in public;\nin a word, her piety was too sincere to give way to any affectation of\nit.  But this is not the place to enlarge on her principles: I shall find\nother occasions to speak of them.\n\nLet those who deny the existence of a sympathy of souls, explain, if they\nknow how, why the first glance, the first word of Madam de Warrens\ninspired me, not only with a lively attachment, but with the most\nunbounded confidence, which has since known no abatement.  Say this was\nlove (which will at least appear doubtful to those who read the sequel of\nour attachment) how could this passion be attended with sentiments which\nscarce ever accompany its commencement, such as peace, serenity,\nsecurity, and confidence.  How, when making application to an amiable and\npolished woman, whose situation in life was so superior to mine, so far\nabove any I had yet approached, on whom, in a great measure, depended my\nfuture fortune by the degree of interest she might take in it; how, I say\nwith so many reasons to depress me, did I feel myself as free, as much at\nmy ease, as if I had been perfectly secure of pleasing her!  Why did I\nnot experience a moment of embarrassment, timidity or restraint?\nNaturally bashful, easily confused, having seen nothing of the world,\ncould I, the first time, the first moment I beheld her, adopt caressing\nlanguage, and a familiar tone, as readily as after ten years' intimacy\nhad rendered these freedoms natural?  Is it possible to possess love, I\nwill not say without desires, for I certainly had them, but without\ninquietude, without jealousy?  Can we avoid feeling an anxious wish at\nleast to know whether our affection is returned?  Yet such a question\nnever entered my imagination; I should as soon have inquired, do I love\nmyself; nor did she ever express a greater degree of curiosity; there\nwas, certainly, something extraordinary in my attachment to this charming\nwoman and it will be found in the sequel, that some extravagances, which\ncannot be foreseen, attended it.\n\nWhat could be done for me, was the present question, and in order to\ndiscuss the point with greater freedom, she made me dine with her.  This\nwas the first meal in my life where I had experienced a want of appetite,\nand her woman, who waited, observed it was the first time she had seen a\ntraveller of my age and appearance deficient in that particular: this\nremark, which did me no injury in the opinion of her mistress, fell hard\non an overgrown clown, who was my fellow guest, and devoured sufficient\nto have served at least six moderate feeders.  For me, I was too much\ncharmed to think of eating; my heart began to imbibe a delicious\nsensation, which engrossed my whole being, and left no room for other\nobjects.\n\nMadam de Warrens wished to hear the particulars of my little history--all\nthe vivacity I had lost during my servitude returned and assisted the\nrecital.  In proportion to the interest this excellent woman took in my\nstory, did she lament the fate to which I had exposed myself; compassion\nwas painted on her features, and expressed by every action.  She could\nnot exhort me to return to Geneva, being too well aware that her words\nand actions were strictly scrutinized, and that such advice would be\nthought high treason against Catholicism, but she spoke so feelingly of\nthe affliction I must give her(my) father, that it was easy to perceive\nshe would have approved my returning to console him.  Alas!  she little\nthought how powerfully this pleaded against herself; the more eloquently\npersuasive she appeared, the less could I resolve to tear myself from\nher.  I knew that returning to Geneva would be putting an insuperable\nbarrier between us, unless I repeated the expedient which had brought me\nhere, and it was certainly better to preserve than expose myself to the\ndanger of a relapse; besides all this, my conduct was predetermined, I\nwas resolved not to return.  Madam de Warrens, seeing her endeavors would\nbe fruitless, became less explicit, and only added, with an air of\ncommiseration, \"Poor child!  thou must go where Providence directs thee,\nbut one day thou wilt think of me.\"--I believe she had no conception at\nthat time how fatally her prediction would be verified.\n\nThe difficulty still remained how I was to gain a subsistence?  I have\nalready observed that I knew too little of engraving for that to furnish\nmy resource, and had I been more expert, Savoy was too poor a country to\ngive much encouragement to the arts.  The above-mentioned glutton, who\neat for us as well as himself, being obliged to pause in order to gain\nsome relaxation from the fatigue of it, imparted a piece of advice,\nwhich, according to him, came express from Heaven; though to judge by its\neffects it appeared to have been dictated from a direct contrary quarter:\nthis was that I should go to Turin, where, in a hospital instituted for\nthe instruction of catechumens, I should find food, both spiritual and\ntemporal, be reconciled to the bosom of the church, and meet with some\ncharitable Christians, who would make it a point to procure me a\nsituation that would turn to my advantage.  \"In regard to the expenses of\nthe journey,\" continued our advisor, \"his grace, my lord bishop, will not\nbe backward, when once madam has proposed this holy work, to offer his\ncharitable donation, and madam, the baroness, whose charity is so well\nknown,\" once more addressing himself to the continuation of his meal,\n\"will certainly contribute.\"\n\nI was by no means pleased with all these charities; I said nothing, but\nmy heart was ready to burst with vexation.  Madam de Warrens, who did not\nseem to think so highly of this expedient as the projector pretended to\ndo, contented herself by saying, everyone should endeavor to promote good\nactions, and that she would mention it to his lordship; but the meddling\ndevil, who had some private interest in this affair, and questioned\nwhether she would urge it to his satisfaction, took care to acquaint the\nalmoners with my story, and so far influenced those good priests, that\nwhen Madam de Warrens, who disliked the journey on my account, mentioned\nit to the bishop, she found it so far concluded on, that he immediately\nput into her hands the money designed for my little viaticum.  She dared\nnot advance anything against it; I was approaching an age when a woman\nlike her could not, with any propriety, appear anxious to retain me.\n\nMy departure being thus determined by those who undertook the management\nof my concerns, I had only to submit; and I did it without much\nrepugnance.  Though Turin was at a greater distance from Madam de Warrens\nthan Geneva, yet being the capital of the country I was now in, it seemed\nto have more connection with Annecy than a city under a different\ngovernment and of a contrary religion; besides, as I undertook this\njourney in obedience to her, I considered myself as living under her\ndirection, which was more flattering than barely to continue in the\nneighborhood; to sum up all, the idea of a long journey coincided with my\ninsurmountable passion for rambling, which already began to demonstrate\nitself.  To pass the mountains, to my eye appeared delightful; how\ncharming the reflection of elevating myself above my companions by the\nwhole height of the Alps!  To see the world is an almost irresistible\ntemptation to a Genevan, accordingly I gave my consent.\n\nHe who suggested the journey was to set off in two days with his wife.\nI was recommended to their care; they were likewise made my purse\n--bearers, which had been augmented by Madam de Warrens, who, not contented\nwith these kindnesses, added secretly a pecuniary reinforcement, attended\nwith the most ample instructions, and we departed on the Wednesday before\nEaster.\n\nThe day following, my father arrived at Annecy, accompanied by his\nfriend, a Mr. Rival, who was likewise a watchmaker; he was a man of sense\nand letters, who wrote better verses than La Motte, and spoke almost as\nwell; what is still more to his praise, he was a man of the strictest\nintegrity, but whose taste for literature only served to make one of his\nsons a comedian.  Having traced me to the house of Madam de Warrens, they\ncontented themselves with lamenting, like her, my fate, instead of\novertaking me, which, (as they were on horseback and I on foot) they\nmight have accomplished with the greatest ease.\n\nMy uncle Bernard did the same thing, he arrived at Consignon, received\ninformation that I was gone to Annecy, and immediately returned back to\nGeneva; thus my nearest relations seemed to have conspired with my\nadverse stars to consign me to misery and ruin.  By a similar negligence,\nmy brother was so entirely lost, that it was never known what was become\nof him.\n\nMy father was not only a man of honor but of the strictest probity, and\nendured with that magnanimity which frequently produces the most shining\nvirtues: I may add, he was a good father, particularly to me whom he\ntenderly loved; but he likewise loved his pleasures, and since we had\nbeen separated other connections had weakened his paternal affections.\nHe had married again at Nion, and though his second wife was too old to\nexpect children, she had relations; my father was united to another\nfamily, surrounded by other objects, and a variety of cares prevented my\nreturning to his remembrance.  He was in the decline of life and had\nnothing to support the inconveniences of old age; my mother's property\ndevolved to me and my brother, but, during our absence, the interest of\nit was enjoyed by my father: I do not mean to infer that this\nconsideration had an immediate effect on his conduct, but it had an\nimperceptible one, and prevented him making use of that exertion to\nregain me which he would otherwise have employed; and this, I think, was\nthe reason that having traced me as far as Annecy, he stopped short,\nwithout proceeding to Chambery, where he was almost certain I should be\nfound; and likewise accounts why, on visiting him several times since my\nflight, he always received me with great kindness, but never made any\nefforts to retain me.\n\nThis conduct in a father, whose affection and virtue I was so well\nconvinced of, has given birth to reflections on the regulation of my own\nconduct which have greatly contributed to preserve the integrity of my\nheart.  It has taught me this great lesson of morality, perhaps the only\none that can have any conspicuous influence on our actions, that we\nshould ever carefully avoid putting our interests in competition with our\nduty, or promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others;\ncertain that in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtue\nmay be, sooner or later it will give way and we shall imperceptibly\nbecome unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions.\n\nThis maxim, strongly imprinted on my mind, and reduced, though rather too\nlate, to practice, has given my conduct an appearance of folly and\nwhimsicality, not only in public, but still more among my acquaintances:\nit has been said, I affected originality, and sought to act different\nfrom other people; the truth is, I neither endeavor to conform or be\nsingular, I desire only to act virtuously and avoid situations, which,\nby setting my interest in opposition to that of another person's, might\ninspire me with a secret, though involuntary wish to his disadvantage.\n\nTwo years ago, My Lord Marshal would have put my name in his will, which\nI took every method to prevent, assuring him I would not for the world\nknow myself in the will of any one, much less in his; he gave up the\nidea; but insisted in return, that I should accept an annuity on his\nlife; this I consented to.  It will be said, I find my account in the\nalteration; perhaps I may; but oh, my benefactor!  my father, I am now\nsensible that, should I have the misfortune to survive thee, I should\nhave everything to lose, nothing to gain.\n\nThis, in my idea, in true philosophy, the surest bulwark of human\nrectitude; every day do I receive fresh conviction of its profound\nsolidity.  I have endeavored to recommend it in all my latter writings,\nbut the multitude read too superficially to have made the remark.  If I\nsurvive my present undertaking, and am able to begin another, I mean, in\na continuation of Emilius, to give such a lively and marking example of\nthis maxim as cannot fail to strike attention.  But I have made\nreflections enough for a traveller, it is time to continue my journey.\n\nIt turned out more agreeable than I expected: my clownish conductor was\nnot so morose as he appeared to be.  He was a middle-aged man, wore his\nblack, grizzly hair, in a queue, had a martial air, a strong voice, was\ntolerably cheerful, and to make up for not having been taught any trade,\ncould turn his hand to every one.  Having proposed to establish some kind\nof manufactory at Annecy, he had consulted Madam de Warrens, who\nimmediately gave into the project, and he was now going to Turin to lay\nthe plan before the minister and get his approbation, for which journey\nhe took care to be well rewarded.\n\nThis drole had the art of ingratiating himself with the priests, whom he\never appeared eager to serve; he adopted a certain jargon which he had\nlearned by frequenting their company, and thought himself a notable\npreacher; he could even repeat one passage from the Bible in Latin, and\nit answered his purpose as well as if he had known a thousand, for he\nrepeated it a thousand times a day.  He was seldom at a loss for money\nwhen he knew what purse contained it; yet, was rather artful than\nknavish, and when dealing out in an affected tone his unmeaning\ndiscourses, resembled Peter the Hermit, preaching up the crusade with a\nsabre at his side.\n\nMadam Sabran, his wife, was a tolerable, good sort of woman; more\npeaceable by day than by night; as I slept in the same chamber I was\nfrequently disturbed by her wakefulness, and should have been more so had\nI comprehended the cause of it; but I was in the chapter of dullness,\nwhich left to nature the whole care of my own instruction.\n\nI went on gayly with my pious guide and his hopeful companion, no\nsinister accident impeding our journey.  I was in the happiest\ncircumstances both of mind and body that I ever recollect having\nexperienced; young, full of health and security, placing unbounded\nconfidence in myself and others; in that short but charming moment of\nhuman life, whose expansive energy carries, if I may so express myself,\nour being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all nature\nwith an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and rising\nenjoyment of our existence.\n\nMy pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object on\nwhich imagination could fix.  I looked on myself as the work, the pupil,\nthe friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warrens; the obliging things she\nhad said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest she\nseemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks,\nwhich seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired it,\nevery consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and furnished\nthe most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my future\ncondition arose to embitter.  In sending me to Turin, I thought they\nengaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of every\ncare I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes, and\nbrilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented itself\nseemed to insure my approaching felicity.  I imagined that every house\nwas filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with sports and\nrevelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish wantoned in\nthese streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along the flowery\nbanks!  The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while their shade\nafforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy lovers; the\nmountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure, simplicity and\njoy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither, and everything I\nsaw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture.  The grandeur,\nvariety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure rendered the charm\nreasonable, in which vanity came in for its share; to go so young to\nItaly, view such an extent of country, and pursue the route of Hannibal\nover the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add to all this our\nfrequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and plenty to satisfy\nit; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing; at Mr. Sabran's\ntable what I eat could scarce be missed.  In the whole course of my life\nI cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt from care, than the\nseven or eight days I was passing from Annecy to Turin.  As we were\nobliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather appeared an agreeable\njaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still remains the most pleasing\nimpressions of it on my mind, and the idea of a pedestrian excursion,\nparticularly among the mountains, has from this time seemed delightful.\n\nIt was only in my happiest days that I travelled on foot, and ever with\nthe most unbounded satisfaction; afterwards, occupied with business and\nencumbered with baggage, I was forced to act the gentleman and employ a\ncarriage, where care, embarrassment, and restraint, were sure to be my\ncompanions, and instead of being delighted with the journey, I only\nwished to arrive at the place of destination.\n\nI was a long time at Paris, wishing to meet with two companions of\nsimilar dispositions, who would each agree to appropriate fifty guineas\nof his property and a year of his time to making the tour of Italy on\nfoot, with no other attendance than a young fellow to carry our\nnecessaries; I have met with many who seemed enchanted with the project,\nbut considered it only as a visionary scheme, which served well enough to\ntalk of, without any design of putting it in execution.  One day,\nspeaking with enthusiasm of this project to Diderot and Grimm, they gave\ninto the proposal with such warmth that I thought the matter concluded\non; but it only turned out a journey on paper, in which Grimm thought\nnothing so pleasing as making Diderot commit a number of impieties, and\nshutting me up in the Inquisition for them, instead of him.\n\nMy regret at arriving so soon at Turin was compensated by the pleasure of\nviewing a large city, and the hope of figuring there in a conspicuous\ncharacter, for my brain already began to be intoxicated with the fumes of\nambition; my present situation appeared infinitely above that of an\napprentice, and I was far from foreseeing how soon I should be much below\nit.\n\nBefore I proceed, I ought to offer an excuse, or justification to the\nreader for the great number of unentertaining particulars I am\nnecessitated to repeat.  In pursuance of the resolution I have formed to\nenter on this public exhibition of myself, it is necessary that nothing\nshould bear the appearance of obscurity or concealment.  I should be\ncontinually under the eye of the reader, he should be enabled to follow\nme In all the wanderings of my heart, through every intricacy of my\nadventures; he must find no void or chasm in my relation, nor lose sight\nof me an instant, lest he should find occasion to say, what was he doing\nat this time; and suspect me of not having dared to reveal the whole.  I\ngive sufficient scope to malignity in what I say; it is unnecessary I\nshould furnish still more by my science.\n\nMy money was all gone, even that I had secretly received from Madam de\nWarrens: I had been so indiscreet as to divulge this secret, and my\nconductors had taken care to profit by it.  Madam Sabran found means to\ndeprive me of everything I had, even to a ribbon embroidered with silver,\nwith which Madam de Warrens had adorned the hilt of my sword; this I\nregretted more than all the rest; indeed the sword itself would have gone\nthe same way, had I been less obstinately bent on retaining it.  They\nhad, it is true, supported me during the journey, but left me nothing at\nthe end of it, and I arrived at Turin, without money, clothes, or linen,\nbeing precisely in the situation to owe to my merit alone the whole honor\nof that fortune I was about to acquire.\n\nI took care in the first place to deliver the letters I was charged with,\nand was presently conducted to the hospital of the catechumens, to be\ninstructed in that religion, for which, in return, I was to receive\nsubsistence.  On entering, I passed an iron-barred gate, which was\nimmediately double-locked on me; this beginning was by no means\ncalculated to give me a favorable opinion of my situation.  I was then\nconducted to a large apartment, whose furniture consisted of a wooden\naltar at the farther end, on which was a large crucifix, and round it\nseveral indifferent chairs, of the same materials.  In this hall of\naudience were assembled four or five ill-looking banditti, my comrades in\ninstruction, who would rather have been taken for trusty servants of the\ndevil than candidates for the kingdom of heaven.  Two of these fellows\nwere Sclavonians, but gave out they were African Jews, and (as they\nassured me) had run through Spain and Italy, embracing the Christian\nfaith, and being baptised wherever they thought it worth their labor.\n\nSoon after they opened another iron gate, which divided a large balcony\nthat overlooked a court yard, and by this avenue entered our sister\ncatechumens, who, like me, were going to be regenerated, not by baptism\nbut a solemn abjuration.  A viler set of idle, dirty, abandoned harlots,\nnever disgraced any persuasion; one among them, however, appeared pretty\nand interesting; she might be about my own age, perhaps a year or two\nolder, and had a pair of roguish eyes, which frequently encountered mine;\nthis was enough to inspire me with the desire of becoming acquainted with\nher, but she had been so strongly recommended to the care of the old\ngoverness of this respectable sisterhood, and was so narrowly watched by\nthe pious missionary, who labored for her conversion with more zeal than\ndiligence, that during the two months we remained together in this house\n(where she had already been three) I found it absolutely impossible to\nexchange a word with her.  She must have been extremely stupid, though\nshe had not the appearance of it, for never was a longer course of\ninstruction; the holy man could never bring her to a state of mind fit\nfor abjuration; meantime she became weary of her cloister, declaring\nthat, Christian or not, she would stay there no longer; and they were\nobliged to take her at her word, lest she should grow refractory, and\ninsist on departing as great a sinner as she came.\n\nThis hopeful community were assembled in honor of the new-comer; when our\nguides made us a short exhortation: I was conjured to be obedient to the\ngrace that Heaven had bestowed on me; the rest were admonished to assist\nme with their prayers, and give me edification by their good example.\nOur virgins then retired to another apartment, and I was left to\ncontemplate, at leisure, that wherein I found myself.\n\nThe next morning we were again assembled for instruction: I now began to\nreflect, for the first time, on the step I was about to take, and the\ncircumstances which had led me to it.\n\nI repeat, and shall perhaps repeat again, an assertion I have already\nadvanced, and of whose truth I every day receive fresh conviction, which\nis, that if ever child received a reasonable and virtuous education, it\nwas myself.  Born in a family of unexceptionable morals, every lesson I\nreceived was replete with maxims of prudence and virtue.  My father\n(though fond of gallantry) not only possessed distinguished probity, but\nmuch religion; in the world he appeared a man of pleasure, in his family\nhe was a Christian, and implanted early in my mind those sentiments he\nfelt the force of.  My three aunts were women of virtue and piety; the\ntwo eldest were professed devotees, and the third, who united all the\ngraces of wit and good sense, was, perhaps, more truly religious than\neither, though with less ostentation.  From the bosom of this amiable\nfamily I was transplanted to M. Lambercier's, a man dedicated to the\nministry, who believed the doctrine he taught, and acted up to its\nprecepts.  He and his sister matured by their instructions those\nprinciples of judicious piety I had already imbibed, and the means\nemployed by these worthy people were so well adapted to the effect they\nmeant to produce, that so far from being fatigued, I scarce ever listened\nto their admonitions without finding myself sensibly affected, and\nforming resolutions to live virtuously, from which, except in moments of\nforgetfulness, I seldom swerved.  At my uncle's, religion was far more\ntiresome, because they made it an employment; with my master I thought no\nmore of it, though my sentiments continued the same: I had no companions\nto vitiate my morals: I became idle, careless, and obstinate, but my\nprinciples were not impaired.\n\nI possessed as much religion, therefore, as a child could be supposed\ncapable of acquiring.  Why should I now disguise my thoughts?  I am\npersuaded I had more.  In my childhood, I was not a child; I felt, I\nthought as a man: as I advanced in years, I mingled with the ordinary\nclass; in my infancy I was distinguished from it.  I shall doubtless\nincur ridicule by thus modestly holding myself up for a prodigy--I am\ncontent.  Let those who find themselves disposed to it, laugh their fill;\nafterward, let them find a child that at six years old is delighted,\ninterested, affected with romances, even to the shedding floods of tears;\nI shall then feel my ridiculous vanity, and acknowledge myself in an\nerror.\n\nThus when I said we should not converse with children on religion, if we\nwished them ever to possess any; when I asserted they were incapable of\ncommunion with the Supreme Being, even in our confined degree, I drew my\nconclusions from general observation; I knew they were not applicable to\nparticular instances: find J. J. Rousseau of six years old, converse with\nthem on religious subjects at seven, and I will be answerable that the\nexperiment will be attended with no danger.\n\nIt is understood, I believe, that a child, or even a man, is likely to be\nmost sincere while persevering in that religion in whose belief he was\nborn and educated; we frequently detract from, seldom make any additions\nto it: dogmatical faith is the effect of education.  In addition to this\ngeneral principle which attached me to the religion of my forefathers, I\nhad that particular aversion our city entertains for Catholicism, which\nis represented there as the most monstrous idolatry, and whose clergy are\npainted in the blackest colors.  This sentiment was so firmly imprinted\non my mind, that I never dared to look into their churches--I could not\nbear to meet a priest in his surplice, and never did I hear the bells of\na procession sound without shuddering with horror; these sensations soon\nwore off in great cities, but frequently returned in country parishes,\nwhich bore more similarity to the spot where I first experienced them;\nmeantime this dislike was singularly contrasted by the remembrance of\nthose caresses which priests in the neighborhood of Geneva are fond of\nbestowing on the children of that city.  If the bells of the viaticum\nalarmed me, the chiming for mass or vespers called me to a breakfast, a\ncollation, to the pleasure of regaling on fresh butter, fruits, or milk;\nthe good cheer of M. de Pontverre had produced a considerable effect on\nme; my former abhorrence began to diminish, and looking on popery through\nthe medium of amusement and good living, I easily reconciled myself to\nthe idea of enduring, though I never entertained but a very transient and\ndistant idea of making a solemn profession of it.\n\nAt this moment such a transaction appeared in all its horrors; I\nshuddered at the engagement I had entered into, and its inevitable\nconsequences.  The future neophytes with which I was surrounded were not\ncalculated to sustain my courage by their example, and I could not help\nconsidering the holy work I was about to perform as the action of a\nvillain.  Though young, I was sufficiently convinced, that whatever\nreligion might be the true one, I was about to sell mine; and even should\nI chance to chose the best, I lied to the Holy Ghost, and merited the\ndisdain of every good man.  The more I considered, the more I despised\nmyself, and trembled at the fate which had led me into such a\npredicament, as if my present situation had not been of my own seeking.\nThere were moments when these compunctions were so strong that had I\nfound the door open but for an instant, I should certainly have made my\nescape; but this was impossible, nor was the resolution of any long\nduration, being combated by too many secret motives to stand any chance\nof gaining the victory.\n\nMy fixed determination not to return to Geneva, the shame that would\nattend it, the difficulty of repassing the mountains, at a distance from\nmy country, without friends, and without resources, everything concurred\nto make me consider my remorse of conscience, as a too late repentance.\nI affected to reproach myself for what I had done, to seek excuses for\nthat I intended to do, and by aggravating the errors of the past, looked\non the future as an inevitable consequence.  I did not say, nothing is\nyet done, and you may be innocent if you please; but I said, tremble at\nthe crime thou hast committed, which hath reduced thee to the necessity\nof filling up the measure of thine iniquities.\n\nIt required more resolution than was natural to my age to revoke those\nexpectations which I had given them reason to entertain, break those\nchains with which I was enthralled, and resolutely declare I would\ncontinue in the religion of my forefathers, whatever might be the\nconsequence.  The affair was already too far advanced, and spite of all\nmy efforts they would have made a point of bringing it to a conclusion.\n\nThe sophism which ruined me has had a similar affect on the greater part\nof mankind, who lament the want of resolution when the opportunity for\nexercising it is over.  The practice of virtue is only difficult from our\nown negligence; were, we always discreet, we should seldom have occasion\nfor any painful exertion of it; we are captivated by desires we might\nreadily surmount, give into temptations that might easily be resisted,\nand insensibly get into embarrassing, perilous situations, from which we\ncannot extricate ourselves but with the utmost difficulty; intimidated by\nthe effort, we fall into the abyss, saying to the Almighty, why hast thou\nmade us such weak creatures?  But, notwithstanding our vain pretexts, He\nreplies, by our consciences, I formed ye too weak to get out of the gulf,\nbecause I gave ye sufficient strength not to have fallen into it.\n\nI was not absolutely resolved to become a Catholic, but, as it was not\nnecessary to declare my intentions immediately, I gradually accustomed\nmyself to the idea; hoping, meantime, that some unforeseen event would\nextricate me from my embarrassment.  In order to gain time, I resolved to\nmake the best defence I possibly could in favor of my own opinion; but my\nvanity soon rendered this resolution unnecessary, for on finding I\nfrequently embarrassed those who had the care of my instruction, I wished\nto heighten my triumph by giving them a complete overthrow.  I zealously\npursued my plan, not without the ridiculous hope of being able to convert\nmy convertors; for I was simple enough to believe, that could I convince\nthem of their errors, they would become Protestants; they did not find,\ntherefore, that facility in the work which they had expected, as I\ndiffered both in regard to will and knowledge from the opinion they had\nentertained of me.\n\nProtestants, in general, are better instructed in the principles of their\nreligion than Catholics; the reason is obvious; the doctrine of the\nformer requires discussion, of the latter a blind submission; the\nCatholic must content himself with the decisions of others, the\nProtestant must learn to decide for himself; they were not ignorant of\nthis, but neither my age nor appearance promised much difficulty to men\nso accustomed to disputation.  They knew, likewise, that I had not\nreceived my first communion, nor the instructions which accompany it;\nbut, on the other hand, they had no idea of the information I received at\nM. Lambercier's, or that I had learned the history of the church and\nempire almost by heart at my father's; and though (since that time,\nnearly forgot, when warmed by the dispute, very unfortunately for these\ngentlemen), it again returned to my memory.\n\nA little old priest, but tolerably venerable, held the first conference;\nat which we were all convened.  On the part of my comrades, it was rather\na catechism than a controversy, and he found more pains in giving them\ninstruction than answering their objections; but when it came to my turn,\nit was a different matter; I stopped him at every article, and did not\nspare a single remark that I thought would create a difficulty: this\nrendered the conference long and extremely tiresome to the assistants.\nMy old priest talked a great deal, was very warm, frequently rambled from\nthe subject, and extricated himself from difficulties by saying he was\nnot sufficiently versed in the French language.\n\nThe next day, lest my indiscreet objections should injure the minds of\nthose who were better disposed, I was led into a separate chamber and put\nunder the care of a younger priest, a fine speaker; that is, one who was\nfond of long perplexed sentences, and proud of his own abilities, if ever\ndoctor was.  I did not, however, suffer myself to be intimidated by his\noverbearing looks: and being sensible that I could maintain my ground, I\ncombated his assertions, exposed his mistakes, and laid about me in the\nbest manner I was able.  He thought to silence me at once with St.\nAugustine, St. Gregory, and the rest of the fathers, but found, to his\nineffable surprise, that I could handle these almost as dexterously as\nhimself; not that I had ever read them, or he either, perhaps, but I\nretained a number of passages taken from my Le Sueur, and when he bore\nhard on me with one citation, without standing to dispute, I parried it\nwith another, which method embarrassed him extremely.  At length,\nhowever, he got the better of me for two very potent reasons; in the\nfirst place, he was of the strongest side; young as I was, I thought it\nmight be dangerous to drive him to extremities, for I plainly saw the old\npriest was neither satisfied with me nor my erudition.  In the next\nplace, he had studied, I had not; this gave a degree of method to his\narguments which I could not follow; and whenever he found himself pressed\nby an unforeseen objection he put it off to the next conference,\npretending I rambled from the question in dispute.  Sometimes he even\nrejected all my quotations, maintaining they were false, and, offering to\nfetch the book, defied me to find them.  He knew he ran very little risk,\nand that, with all my borrowed learning, I was not sufficiently\naccustomed to books, and too poor a Latinist to find a passage in a large\nvolume, had I been ever so well assured it was there.  I even suspected\nhim of having been guilty of a perfidy with which he accused our\nministers, and that he fabricated passages sometimes in order to evade an\nobjection that incommoded him.\n\nMeanwhile the hospital became every day more disagreeable to me, and\nseeing but one way to get out of it, I endeavored to hasten my abjuration\nwith as much eagerness as I had hitherto sought to retard it.\n\nThe two Africans had been baptised with great ceremony, they were habited\nin white from head to foot to signify the purity of their regenerated\nsouls.  My turn came a month after; for all this time was thought\nnecessary by my directors, that they might have the honor of a difficult\nconversion, and every dogma of their faith was recapitulated, in order to\ntriumph the more completely over my new docility.\n\nAt length, sufficiently instructed and disposed to the will of my\nmasters, I was led in procession to the metropolitan church of St. John,\nto make a solemn abjuration, and undergo a ceremony made use of on these\noccasions, which, though not baptism, is very similar, and serves to\npersuade the people that Protestants are not Christians.  I was clothed\nin a kind of gray robe, decorated with white Brandenburgs.  Two men, one\nbehind, the other before me, carried copper basins which they kept\nstriking with a key, and in which those who were charitably disposed put\ntheir alms, according as they found themselves influenced by religion or\ngood will for the new convert; in a word, nothing of Catholic pageantry\nwas omitted that could render the solemnity edifying to the populace, or\nhumiliating to me.  The white dress might have been serviceable, but as I\nhad not the honor to be either Moor or Jew, they did not think fit to\ncompliment me with it.\n\nThe affair did not end here, I must now go to the Inquisition to be\nabsolved from the dreadful sin of heresy, and return to the bosom of the\nchurch with the same ceremony to which Henry the Fourth was subjected by\nhis ambassador.  The air and manner of the right reverend Father\nInquisitor was by no means calculated to dissipate the secret horror that\nseized my spirits on entering this holy mansion.  After several questions\nrelative to my faith, situation, and family, he asked me bluntly if my\nmother was damned?  Terror repressed the first gust of indignation; this\ngave me time to recollect myself, and I answered, I hope not, for God\nmight have enlightened her last moments.  The monk made no reply, but his\nsilence was attended with a look by no means expressive of approbation.\n\nAll these ceremonies ended, the very moment I flattered myself I should\nbe plentifully provided for, they exhorted me to continue a good\nChristian, and live in obedience to the grace I had received; then\nwishing me good fortune, with rather more than twenty francs of small\nmoney in my pocket, the produce of the above--mentioned collection,\nturned me out, shut the door on me, and I saw no more of them!\n\nThus, in a moment, all my flattering expectations were at an end; and\nnothing remained from my interested conversion but the remembrance of\nhaving been made both a dupe and an apostate.  It is easy to imagine what\na sudden revolution was produced in my ideas, when every brilliant\nexpectation of making a fortune terminated by seeing myself plunged\nin the completest misery.  In the morning I was deliberating what palace\nI should inhabit, before night I was reduced to seek my lodging in the\nstreet.  It may be supposed that I gave myself up to the most violent\ntransports of despair, rendered more bitter by a consciousness that my\nown folly had reduced me to these extremities; but the truth is, I\nexperienced none of these disagreeable sensations.  I had passed two\nmonths in absolute confinement; this was new to me; I was now\nemancipated, and the sentiment I felt most forcibly, was joy at my\nrecovered liberty.  After a slavery which had appeared tedious, I was\nagain master of my time and actions, in a great city, abundant in\nresources, crowded with people of fortune, to whom my merit and talents\ncould not fail to recommend me.  I had sufficient time before me to\nexpect this good fortune, for my twenty livres seemed an inexhaustible\ntreasure, which I might dispose of without rendering an account of to\nanyone.  It was the first time I had found myself so rich, and far from\ngiving way to melancholy reflections, I only adopted other hopes, in\nwhich self-love was by no means a loser.  Never did I feel so great a\ndegree of confidence and security; I looked on my fortune as already made\nand was pleased to think I should have no one but myself to thank for the\nacquisition of it.\n\nThe first thing I did was to satisfy my curiosity by rambling all over\nthe city, and I seemed to consider it as a confirmation of my liberty; I\nwent to see the soldiers mount guard, and was delighted with their\nmilitary accouterment; I followed processions, and was pleased with the\nsolemn music of the priests; I next went to see the king's palace, which\nI approached with awe, but seeing others enter, I followed their example,\nand no one prevented me; perhaps I owed this favor to the small parcel I\ncarried under my arm; be that as it may, I conceived a high opinion of my\nconsequence from this circumstance, and already thought myself an\ninhabitant there.  The weather was hot; I had walked about till I was\nboth fatigued and hungry; wishing for some refreshment, I went into a\nmilk-house; they brought me some cream-cheese curds and whey, and two\nslices of that excellent Piedmont bread, which I prefer to any other; and\nfor five or six sous I had one of the most delicious meals I ever\nrecollect to have made.\n\nIt was time to seek a lodging: as I already knew enough of the\nPiedmontese language to make myself understood, this was a work of no\ngreat difficulty; and I had so much prudence, that I wished to adapt it\nrather to the state of my purse than the bent of my inclinations.  In the\ncourse of my inquiries, I was informed that a soldier's wife, in\nPo-street, furnished lodgings to servants out of place at only one sou a\nnight, and finding one of her poor beds disengaged, I took possession of\nit.  She was young and newly married, though she already had five or six\nchildren.  Mother, children and lodgers, all slept in the same chamber,\nand it continued thus while I remained there.  She was good-natured,\nswore like a carman, and wore neither cap nor handkerchief; but she had a\ngentle heart, was officious; and to me both kind and serviceable.\n\nFor several days I gave myself up to the pleasures of independence and\ncuriosity; I continued wandering about the city and its environs,\nexamining every object that seemed curious or new; and, indeed, most\nthings had that appearance to a young novice.  I never omitted visiting\nthe court, and assisted regularly every morning at the king's mass.\nI thought it a great honor to be in the same chapel with this prince\nand his retinue; but my passion for music, which now began to make its\nappearance, was a greater incentive than the splendor of the court,\nwhich, soon seen and always the same, presently lost its attraction.\nThe King of Sardinia had at that time the best music in Europe; Somis,\nDesjardins, and the Bezuzzi shone there alternately; all these were not\nnecessary to fascinate a youth whom the sound of the most simple\ninstrument, provided it was just, transported with joy.  Magnificence\nonly produced a stupid admiration, without any violent desire to partake\nof it, my thoughts were principally employed in observing whether any\nyoung princess was present that merited my homage, and whom I could make\nthe heroine of a romance.\n\nMeantime, I was on the point of beginning one; in a less elevated sphere,\nit is true, but where could I have brought it to a conclusion, I should\nhave found pleasures a thousand times more delicious.\n\nThough I lived with the strictest economy, my purse insensibly grew\nlighter.  This economy was, however, less the effect of prudence than\nthat love of simplicity, which, even to this day, the use of the most\nexpensive tables has not been able to vitiate.  Nothing in my idea,\neither at that time or since, could exceed a rustic repast; give me milk,\nvegetables, eggs, and brown bread, with tolerable wine and I shall always\nthink myself sumptuously regaled; a good appetite will furnish out the\nrest, if the maitre d' hotel, with a number of unnecessary footmen, do\nnot satiate me with their important attentions.  Five or six sous would\nthen procure me a more agreeable meal than as many livres would have done\nsince; I was abstemious, therefore, for want of a temptation to be\notherwise: though I do not know but I am wrong to call this abstinence,\nfor with my pears, new cheese, bread and some glasses of Montferrat wine,\nwhich you might have cut with a knife, I was the greatest of epicures.\nNotwithstanding my expenses were very moderate, it was possible to see\nthe end of twenty livres; I was every day more convinced of this, and,\nspite of the giddiness of youth, my apprehensions for the future amounted\nalmost to terror.  All my castles in the air were vanished, and I became\nsensible of the necessity of seeking some occupation that would procure\nme a subsistence.\n\nEven this was a work of difficulty; I thought of my engraving, but knew\ntoo little of it to be employed as a journeyman, nor do masters abound in\nTurin; I resolved, therefore, till something better presented itself, to\ngo from shop to shop, offering to engrave ciphers, or coats of arms, on\npieces of plate, etc., and hoped to get employment by working at a low\nprice; or taking what they chose to give me.  Even this expedient did not\nanswer my expectations; almost all my applications were ineffectual, the\nlittle I procured being hardly sufficient to produce a few scanty meals.\n\nWalking one morning pretty early in the 'Contra nova', I saw a young\ntradeswoman behind a counter, whose looks were so charmingly attractive,\nthat, notwithstanding my timidity with the ladies, I entered the shop\nwithout hesitation, offered my services as usual: and had the happiness\nto have it accepted.  She made me sit down and recite my little history,\npitied my forlorn situation; bade me be cheerful, and endeavored to make\nme so by an assurance that every good Christian would give me assistance;\nthen (while she had occasion for) she went up stairs and fetched me\nsomething for breakfast.  This seemed a promising beginning, nor was what\nfollowed less flattering: she was satisfied with my work, and, when I had\na little recovered myself, still more with my discourse.  She was rather\nelegantly dressed and notwithstanding her gentle looks this appearance of\ngayety had disconcerted me; but her good-nature, the compassionate tone\nof her voice, with her gentle and caressing manner, soon set me at ease\nwith myself; I saw my endeavors to please were crowned with success, and\nthis assurance made me succeed the more.  Though an Italian, and too\npretty to be entirely devoid of coquetry, she had so much modesty, and I\nso great a share of timidity, that our adventure was not likely to be\nbrought to a very speedy conclusion, nor did they give us time to make\nany good of it.  I cannot recall the few short moments I passed with this\nlovely woman without being sensible of an inexpressible charm, and can\nyet say, it was there I tasted in their utmost perfection the most\ndelightful, as well as the purest pleasures of love.\n\nShe was a lively pleasing brunette, and the good nature that was painted\non her lovely face rendered her vivacity more interesting.  She was\ncalled Madam Basile: her husband, who was considerably older than\nherself, consigned her, during his absence, to the care of a clerk, too\ndisagreeable to be thought dangerous; but who, notwithstanding, had\npretensions that he seldom showed any signs of, except of ill--humors, a\ngood share of which he bestowed on me; though I was pleased to hear him\nplay the flute, on which he was a tolerable musician.  This second\nEgistus was sure to grumble whenever he saw me go into his mistress'\napartment, treating me with a degree of disdain which she took care to\nrepay him with interest; seeming pleased to caress me in his presence,\non purpose to torment him.  This kind of revenge, though perfectly to my\ntaste, would have been still more charming in a 'tete a tete', but she\ndid not proceed so far; at least, there was a difference in the\nexpression of her kindness.  Whether she thought me too young, that it\nwas my place to make advances, or that she was seriously resolved to be\nvirtuous, she had at such times a kind of reserve, which, though not\nabsolutely discouraging, kept my passion within bounds.\n\nI did not feel the same real and tender respect for her as I did for\nMadam de Warrens: I was embarrassed, agitated, feared to look, and hardly\ndared to breathe in her presence, yet to have left her would have been\nworse than death: How fondly did my eyes devour whatever they could gaze\non without being perceived! the flowers on her gown, the point of her\npretty foot, the interval of a round white arm that appeared between her\nglove and ruffle, the least part of her neck, each object increased the\nforce of all the rest, and added to the infatuation.  Gazing thus on what\nwas to be seen, and even more than was to be seen, my sight became\nconfused, my chest seemed contracted, respiration was every moment more\npainful.  I had the utmost difficulty to hide my agitation, to prevent my\nsighs from being heard, and this difficulty was increased by the silence\nin which we were frequently plunged.  Happily, Madam Basile, busy at her\nwork, saw nothing of all this, or seemed not to see it: yet I sometimes\nobserved a kind of sympathy, especially at the frequent rising of her\nhandkerchief, and this dangerous sight almost mastered every effort, but\nwhen on the point of giving way to my transports, she spoke a few words\nto me with an air of tranquility, and in an instant the agitation\nsubsided.\n\nI saw her several times in this manner without a word, a gesture, or even\na look, too expressive, making the least intelligence between us.  The\nsituation was both my torment and delight, for hardly in the simplicity\nof my heart, could I imagine the cause of my uneasiness.  I should\nsuppose these 'tete a tete' could not be displeasing to her, at least,\nshe sought frequent occasions to renew them; this was a very\ndisinterested labor, certainly, as appeared by the use she made, or ever\nsuffered me to make of them.\n\nBeing, one day, wearied with the clerk's discourse, she had retired to\nher chamber; I made haste to finish what I had to do in the back shop,\nand followed her; the door was half open, and I entered without being\nperceived.  She was embroidering near a window on the opposite side of\nthe room; she could not see me; and the carts in the streets made too\nmuch noise for me to be heard.  She was always well dressed, but this day\nher attire bordered on coquetry.  Her attitude was graceful, her head\nleaning gently forward, discovered a small circle of her neck; her hair,\nelegantly dressed was ornamented with flowers; her figure was universally\ncharming, and I had an uninterrupted opportunity to admire it.  I was\nabsolutely in a state of ecstasy, and, involuntary, sinking on my knees,\nI passionately extended my arms towards her, certain she could not hear,\nand having no conception that she could see me; but there was a chimney\nglass at the end of the room that betrayed all my proceedings.  I am\nignorant what effect this transport produced on her; she did not speak;\nshe did not look on me; but, partly turning her head, with the movement\nof her finger only, she pointed to the mat that was at her feet--To start\nup, with an articulate cry of joy, and occupy the place she had\nindicated, was the work of a moment; but it will hardly be believed I\ndared attempt no more, not even to speak, raise my eyes to hers, or rest\nan instant on her knees, though in an attitude which seemed to render\nsuch a support necessary.  I was dumb, immovable, but far enough from a\nstate of tranquility; agitation, joy, gratitude, ardent indefinite\nwishes, restrained by the fear of giving displeasure, which my\nunpractised heart too much dreaded, were sufficiently discernible.  She\nneither appeared more tranquil, nor less intimidated than myself--uneasy\nat my present situation; confounded at having brought me there, beginning\nto tremble for the effects of a sign which she had made without\nreflecting on the consequences, neither giving encouragement, nor\nexpressing disapprobation, with her eyes fixed on her work, she\nendeavored to appear unconscious of everything that passed; but all my\nstupidity could not hinder me from concluding that she partook of my\nembarrassment, perhaps, my transports, and was only hindered by a\nbashfulness like mine, without even that supposition giving me power to\nsurmount it.  Five or six years older than myself, every advance,\naccording to my idea, should have been made by her, and, since she did\nnothing to encourage mine, I concluded they would offend her.  Even at\nthis time, I am inclined to believe I thought right; she certainly had\nwit enough to perceive that a novice like me had occasion, not only for\nencouragement but instruction.\n\nI am ignorant how this animated, though dumb scene would have ended, or\nhow long I should have continued immovable in this ridiculous, though\ndelicious, situation, had we not been interrupted--in the height of my\nagitation, I heard the kitchen door open, which joined Madam Basile's\nchamber; who, being alarmed, said, with a quick voice and action, \"Get\nup!  Here's Rosina!\"  Rising hastily I seized one of her hands, which she\nheld out to me, and gave it two eager kisses; at the second I felt this\ncharming hand press gently on my lips.  Never in my life did I enjoy so\nsweet a moment; but the occasion I had lost returned no more, this being\nthe conclusion of our amours.\n\nThis may be the reason why her image yet remains imprinted on my heart\nin such charming colors, which have even acquired fresh lustre since I\nbecame acquainted with the world and women.  Had she been mistress of the\nleast degree of experience, she would have taken other measures to\nanimate so youthful a lover; but if her heart was weak, it was virtuous;\nand only suffered itself to be borne away by a powerful though\ninvoluntary inclination.  This was, apparently, her first infidelity, and\nI should, perhaps, have found more difficulty in vanquishing her scruples\nthan my own; but, without proceeding so far, I experienced in her company\nthe most inexpressible delights.  Never did I taste with any other woman\npleasures equal to those two minutes which I passed at the feet of Madam\nBasile without even daring to touch her gown.  I am convinced no\nsatisfaction can be compared to that we feel with a virtuous woman we\nesteem; all is transport!--A sign with the finger, a hand lightly pressed\nagainst my lips, were the only favors I ever received from Madam Basile,\nyet the bare remembrance of these trifling condescensions continues to\ntransport me.\n\nIt was in vain I watched the two following days for another tete a tete;\nit was impossible to find an opportunity; nor could I perceive on her\npart any desire to forward it; her behavior was not colder, but more\ndistant than usual, and I believe she avoided my looks for fear of not\nbeing able sufficiently to govern her own.  The cursed clerk was more\nvexatious than ever; he even became a wit, telling me, with a satirical\nsneer, that I should unquestionably make my way among the ladies.  I\ntrembled lest I should have been guilty of some indiscretion, and looking\nat myself as already engaged in an intrigue, endeavored to cover with an\nair of mystery an inclination which hitherto certainly had no great need\nof it; this made me more circumspect in my choice of opportunities, and\nby resolving only to seize such as should be absolutely free from the\ndanger of a surprise, I met none.\n\nAnother romantic folly, which I could never overcome, and which, joined\nto my natural timidity, tended directly to contradict the clerk's\npredictions, is, I always loved too sincerely, too perfectly, I may say,\nto find happiness easily attainable.  Never were passions at the same\ntime more lively and pure than mine; never was love more tender, more\ntrue, or more disinterested; freely would I have sacrificed my own\nhappiness to that of the object of my affection; her reputation was\ndearer than my life, and I could promise myself no happiness for which I\nwould have exposed her peace of mind for a moment.  This disposition has\never made me employ so much care, use so many precautions, such secrecy\nin my adventures, that all of them have failed; in a word, my want of\nsuccess with the women has ever proceeded from having loved them too\nwell.\n\nTo return to our Egistus, the fluter; it was remarkable that in becoming\nmore insupportable, the traitor put on the appearance of complaisance.\nFrom the first day Madam Basile had taken me under her protection, she\nhad endeavored to make me serviceable in the warehouse; and finding I\nunderstood arithmetic tolerably well, she proposed his teaching me to\nkeep the books; a proposition that was but indifferently received by this\nhumorist, who might, perhaps, be fearful of being supplanted.  As this\nfailed, my whole employ, besides what engraving I had to do, was to\ntranscribe some bills and accounts, to write several books over fair,\nand translate commercial letters from Italian into French.  All at once\nhe thought fit to accept the before rejected proposal, saying, he would\nteach me bookkeeping, by double--entry, and put me in a situation to\noffer my services to M. Basile on his return; but there was something so\nfalse, malicious, and ironical, in his air and manner, that it was by no\nmeans calculated to inspire me with confidence.  Madam Basile, replied\narchly, that I was much obliged to him for his kind offer, but she hoped\nfortune would be more favorable to my merits, for it would be a great\nmisfortune, with so much sense, that I should only be a pitiful clerk.\n\nShe often said, she would procure me some acquaintance that might be\nuseful; she doubtless felt the necessity of parting with me, and had\nprudently resolved on it.  Our mute declaration had been made on\nThursday, the Sunday following she gave a dinner.  A Jacobin of good\nappearance was among the guests, to whom she did me the honor to present\nme.  The monk treated me very affectionately, congratulated me on my late\nconversion, mentioned several particulars of my story, which plainly\nshowed he had been made acquainted with it, then, tapping me familiarly\non the cheek, bade me be good, to keep up my spirits, and come to see him\nat his convent, where he should have more opportunity to talk with me.\nI judged him to be a person of some consequence by the deference that was\npaid him; and by the paternal tone he assumed with Madam Basile, to be\nher confessor.  I likewise remember that his decent familiarity was\nattended with an appearance of esteem, and even respect for his fair\npenitent, which then made less impression on me than at present.  Had I\npossessed more experience how should I have congratulated myself on\nhaving touched the heart of a young woman respected by her confessor!\n\nThe table not being large enough to accommodate all the company, a small\none was prepared, where I had the satisfaction of dining with our\nagreeable clerk; but I lost nothing with regard to attention and good\ncheer, for several plates were sent to the side-table which were\ncertainly not intended for him.\n\nThus far all went well; the ladies were in good spirits, and the\ngentlemen very gallant, while Madam Basile did the honors of the table\nwith peculiar grace.  In the midst of the dinner we heard a chaise stop\nat the door, and presently some one coming up stairs--it was M. Basile.\nMethinks I now see him entering, in his scarlet coat with gold buttons\n--from that day I have held the color in abhorrence.  M. Basile was a tall\nhandsome man, of good address: he entered with a consequential look and\nan air of taking his family unawares, though none but friends were\npresent.  His wife ran to meet him, threw her arms about his neck, and\ngave him a thousand caresses, which he received with the utmost\nindifference; and without making any return saluted the company and took\nhis place at table.  They were just beginning to speak of his journey,\nwhen casting his eye on the small table he asked in a sharp tone, what\nlad that was?  Madam Basile answered ingenuously.  He then inquired\nwhether I lodged in the house; and was answered in the negative.  \"Why\nnot?\"  replied he, rudely, \"since he stays here all day, he might as well\nremain all night too.\"  The monk now interfered, with a serious and true\neulogium on Madam Basile: in a few words he made mine also, adding, that\nso far from blaming, he ought to further the pious charity of his wife,\nsince it was evident she had not passed the bounds of discretion.  The\nhusband answered with an air of petulance, which (restrained by the\npresence of the monk) he endeavored to stifle; it was, however,\nsufficient to let me understand he had already received information of\nme, and that our worthy clerk had rendered me an ill office.\n\nWe had hardly risen from table, when the latter came in triumph from his\nemployer, to inform me, I must leave the house that instant, and never\nmore during my life dare to set foot there.  He took care to aggravate\nthis commission by everything that could render it cruel and insulting.\nI departed without a word, my heart overwhelmed with sorrow, less for\nbeing obliged to quit this amiable woman, than at the thought of leaving\nher to the brutality of such a husband.  He was certainly right to wish\nher faithful; but though prudent and wellborn, she was an Italian, that\nis to say, tender and vindictive; which made me think, he was extremely\nimprudent in using means the most likely in the world to draw on himself\nthe very evil he so much dreaded.\n\nSuch was the success of my first adventure.  I walked several times up\nand down the street, wishing to get a sight of what my heart incessantly\nregretted; but I could only discover her husband, or the vigilant clerk,\nwho, perceiving me, made a sign with the ell they used in the shop, which\nwas more expressive than alluring: finding, therefore, that I was so\ncompletely watched, my courage failed, and I went no more.  I wished,\nat least, to find out the patron she had provided me, but, unfortunately,\nI did not know his name.  I ranged several times round the convent,\nendeavoring in vain to meet with him.  At length, other events banished\nthe delightful remembrance of Madam Basile; and in a short time I so far\nforgot her, that I remained as simple, as much a novice as ever, nor did\nmy penchant for pretty women even receive any sensible augmentation.\n\nHer liberality had, however, increased my little wardrobe, though she had\ndone this with precaution and prudence, regarding neatness more than\ndecoration, and to make me comfortable rather than brilliant.  The coat I\nhad brought from Geneva was yet wearable, she only added a hat and some\nlinen.  I had no ruffles, nor would she give me any, not but I felt a\ngreat inclination for them.  She was satisfied with having put it in my\npower to keep myself clean, though a charge to do this was unnecessary\nwhile I was to appear before her.\n\nA few days after this catastrophe; my hostess, who, as I have already\nobserved, was very friendly, with great satisfaction informed me she had\nheard of a situation, and that a lady of rank desired to see me.  I\nimmediately thought myself in the road to great adventures; that being\nthe point to which all my ideas tended: this, however, did not prove so\nbrilliant as I had conceived it.  I waited on the lady with the servant;\nwho had mentioned me: she asked a number of questions, and my answers not\ndispleasing her, I immediately entered into her service not, indeed, in\nthe quality of favorite, but as a footman.  I was clothed like the rest\nof her people, the only difference being, they wore a shoulder--knot,\nwhich I had not, and, as there was no lace on her livery, it appeared\nmerely a tradesman's suit.  This was the unforeseen conclusion of all my\ngreat expectancies!\n\nThe Countess of Vercellis, with whom I now lived, was a widow without\nchildren; her husband was a Piedmontese, but I always believed her to be\na Savoyard, as I could have no conception that a native of Piedmont could\nspeak such good French, and with so pure an accent.  She was a\nmiddle-aged woman, of a noble appearance and cultivated understanding,\nbeing fond of French literature, in which she was well versed.  Her\nletters had the expression, and almost the elegance of Madam de\nSavigne's; some of them might have been taken for hers.  My principal\nemploy, which was by no means displeasing to me, was to write from her\ndictating; a cancer in the breast, from which she suffered extremely,\nnot permitting her to write herself.\n\nMadam de Vercellis not only possessed a good understanding, but a strong\nand elevated soul.  I was with her during her last illness, and saw her\nsuffer and die, without showing an instant of weakness, or the least\neffort of constraint; still retaining her feminine manners, without\nentertaining an idea that such fortitude gave her any claim to\nphilosophy; a word which was not yet in fashion, nor comprehended by her\nin the sense it is held at present.  This strength of disposition\nsometimes extended almost to apathy, ever appearing to feel as little for\nothers as herself; and when she relieved the unfortunate, it was rather\nfor the sake of acting right, than from a principle of real\ncommiseration.  I have frequently experienced this insensibility, in some\nmeasure, during the three months I remained with her.  It would have been\nnatural to have had an esteem for a young man of some abilities, who was\nincessantly under her observation, and that she should think, as she felt\nher dissolution approaching, that after her death he would have occasion\nfor assistance and support: but whether she judged me unworthy of\nparticular attention, or that those who narrowly watched all her motions,\ngave her no opportunity to think of any but themselves, she did nothing\nfor me.\n\nI very well recollect that she showed some curiosity to know my story,\nfrequently questioning me, and appearing pleased when I showed her the\nletters I wrote to Madam de Warrens, or explained my sentiments; but as\nshe never discovered her own, she certainly did not take the right means\nto come at them.  My heart, naturally communicative, loved to display its\nfeelings, whenever I encountered a similar disposition; but dry, cold\ninterrogatories, without any sign of blame or approbation on my answers,\ngave me no confidence.  Not being able to determine whether my discourse\nwas agreeable or displeasing, I was ever in fear, and thought less of\nexpressing my ideas, than of being careful not to say anything that might\nseem to my disadvantage.  I have since remarked that this dry method of\nquestioning themselves into people's characters is a common trick among\nwomen who pride themselves on superior understanding.  These imagine,\nthat by concealing their own sentiments, they shall the more easily\npenetrate into those of others; being ignorant that this method destroys\nthe confidence so necessary to make us reveal them.  A man, on being\nquestioned, is immediately on his guard: and if once he supposes that,\nwithout any interest in his concerns, you only wish to set him a-talking,\neither he entertains you with lies, is silent, or, examining every word\nbefore he utters it, rather chooses to pass for a fool, than to be the\ndupe of your curiosity.  In short, it is ever a bad method to attempt to\nread the hearts of others by endeavoring to conceal our own.\n\nMadam de Vercellis never addressed a word to me which seemed to express\naffection, pity, or benevolence.  She interrogated me coldly, and my\nanswers were uttered with so much timidity, that she doubtless\nentertained but a mean opinion of my intellects, for latterly she never\nasked me any questions, nor said anything but what was absolutely\nnecessary for her service.  She drew her judgment less from what I really\nwas, than from what she had made me, and by considering me as a footman\nprevented my appearing otherwise.\n\nI am inclined to think I suffered at that time by the same interested\ngame of concealed manoeuvre, which has counteracted me throughout my\nlife, and given me a very natural aversion for everything that has the\nleast appearance of it.  Madam de Vercellis having no children, her\nnephew, the Count de la Roque, was her heir, and paid his court\nassiduously, as did her principal domestics, who, seeing her end\napproaching, endeavored to take care of themselves; in short, so many\nwere busy about her, that she could hardly have found time to think of\nme.  At the head of her household was a M. Lorenzy, an artful genius,\nwith a still more artful wife; who had so far insinuated herself into the\ngood graces of her mistress, that she was rather on the footing of a\nfriend than a servant.  She had introduced a niece of hers as lady's\nmaid: her name was Mademoiselle Pontal; a cunning gypsy, that gave\nherself all the airs of a waiting-woman, and assisted her aunt so well in\nbesetting the countess, that she only saw with their eyes, and acted\nthrough their hands.  I had not the happiness to please this worthy\ntriumvirate; I obeyed, but did not wait on them, not conceiving that my\nduty to our general mistress required me to be a servant to her servants.\nBesides this, I was a person that gave them some inquietude; they saw I\nwas not in my proper situation, and feared the countess would discover it\nlikewise, and by placing me in it, decrease their portions; for such sort\nof people, too greedy to be just, look on every legacy given to others as\na diminution of their own wealth; they endeavored, therefore, to keep me\nas much out of her sight as possible.  She loved to write letters, in her\nsituation, but they contrived to give her a distaste to it; persuading\nher, by the aid of the doctor, that it was too fatiguing; and, under\npretence that I did not understand how to wait on her, they employed two\ngreat lubberly chairmen for that purpose; in a word, they managed the\naffair so well, that for eight days before she made her will, I had not\nbeen permitted to enter the chamber.  Afterwards I went in as usual, and\nwas even more assiduous than any one, being afflicted at the sufferings\nof the unhappy lady, whom I truly respected and beloved for the calmness\nand fortitude with which she bore her illness, and often did I shed tears\nof real sorrow without being perceived by any one.\n\nAt length we lost her--I saw her expire.  She had lived like a woman of\nsense and virtue, her death was that of a philosopher.  I can truly say,\nshe rendered the Catholic religion amiable to me by the serenity with\nwhich she fulfilled its dictates, without any mixture of negligence or\naffectation.  She was naturally serious, but towards the end of her\nillness she possessed a kind of gayety, too regular to be assumed, which\nserved as a counterpoise to the melancholy of her situation.  She only\nkept her bed two days, continuing to discourse cheerfully with those\nabout her to the very last.\n\nShe had bequeathed a year's wages to all the under servants, but, not\nbeing on the household list, I had nothing: the Count de la Roque,\nhowever, ordered me thirty livres, and the new coat I had on, which M.\nLorenzy would certainly have taken from me.  He even promised to procure\nme a place; giving me permission to wait on him as often as I pleased.\nAccordingly, I went two or three times, without being able to speak to\nhim, and as I was easily repulsed, returned no more; whether I did wrong\nwill be seen hereafter.\n\nWould I had finished what I have to say of my living at Madam de\nVercellis's.  Though my situation apparently remained the same, I did not\nleave her house as I had entered it: I carried with me the long and\npainful remembrance of a crime; an insupportable weight of remorse which\nyet hangs on my conscience, and whose bitter recollection, far from\nweakening, during a period of forty years, seems to gather strength as I\ngrow old.  Who would believe, that a childish fault should be productive\nof such melancholy consequences?  But it is for the more than probable\neffects that my heart cannot be consoled.  I have, perhaps, caused an\namiable, honest, estimable girl, who surely merited a better fate than\nmyself, to perish with shame and misery.\n\nThough it is very difficult to break up housekeeping without confusion,\nand the loss of some property; yet such was the fidelity of the\ndomestics, and the vigilance of M. and Madam Lorenzy, that no article of\nthe inventory was found wanting; in short, nothing was missing but a pink\nand silver ribbon, which had been worn, and belonged to Mademoiselle\nPontal.  Though several things of more value were in my reach, this\nribbon alone tempted me, and accordingly I stole it.  As I took no great\npains to conceal the bauble, it was soon discovered; they immediately\ninsisted on knowing from whence I had taken it; this perplexed me--I\nhesitated, and at length said, with confusion, that Marion gave it me.\n\nMarion was a young Mauriennese, and had been cook to Madam de Vercellis\never since she left off giving entertainments, for being sensible she had\nmore need of good broths than fine ragouts, she had discharged her former\none.  Marion was not only pretty, but had that freshness of color only to\nbe found among the mountains, and, above all, an air of modesty and\nsweetness, which made it impossible to see her without affection; she was\nbesides a good girl, virtuous, and of such strict fidelity, that everyone\nwas surprised at hearing her named.  They had not less confidence in me,\nand judged it necessary to certify which of us was the thief.  Marion was\nsent for; a great number of people were present, among whom was the Count\nde la Roque: she arrives; they show her the ribbon; I accuse her boldly:\nshe remains confused and speechless, casting a look on me that would have\ndisarmed a demon, but which my barbarous heart resisted.  At length, she\ndenied it with firmness, but without anger, exhorting me to return to\nmyself, and not injure an innocent girl who had never wronged me.  With\ninfernal impudence, I confirmed my accusation, and to her face maintained\nshe had given me the ribbon: on which, the poor girl, bursting into\ntears, said these words--\"Ah, Rousseau!  I thought you a good\ndisposition--you render me very unhappy, but I would not be in your\nsituation.\"  She continued to defend herself with as much innocence as\nfirmness, but without uttering the least invective against me.  Her\nmoderation, compared to my positive tone, did her an injury; as it did\nnot appear natural to suppose, on one side such diabolical assurance; on\nthe other, such angelic mildness.  The affair could not be absolutely\ndecided, but the presumption was in my favor; and the Count de la Roque,\nin sending us both away, contented himself with saying, \"The conscience\nof the guilty would revenge the innocent.\"  His prediction was true, and\nis being daily verified.\n\nI am ignorant what became of the victim of my calumny, but there is\nlittle probability of her having been able to place herself agreeably\nafter this, as she labored under an imputation cruel to her character in\nevery respect.  The theft was a trifle, yet it was a theft, and, what was\nworse, employed to seduce a boy; while the lie and obstinacy left nothing\nto hope from a person in whom so many vices were united.  I do not even\nlook on the misery and disgrace in which I plunged her as the greatest\nevil: who knows, at her age, whither contempt and disregarded innocence\nmight have led her?--Alas! if remorse for having made her unhappy is\ninsupportable, what must I have suffered at the thought of rendering her\neven worse than myself.  The cruel remembrance of this transaction,\nsometimes so troubles and disorders me, that, in my disturbed slumbers,\nI imagine I see this poor girl enter and reproach me with my crime,\nas though I had committed it but yesterday.  While in easy tranquil\ncircumstances, I was less miserable on this account, but, during a\ntroubled agitated life, it has robbed me of the sweet consolation of\npersecuted innocence, and made me wofully experience, what, I think, I\nhave remarked in some of my works, that remorse sleeps in the calm\nsunshine of prosperity, but wakes amid the storms of adversity.  I could\nnever take on me to discharge my heart of this weight in the bosom of a\nfriend; nor could the closest intimacy ever encourage me to it, even with\nMadam de Warrens: all I could do, was to own I had to accuse myself of an\natrocious crime, but never said in what it consisted.  The weight,\ntherefore, has remained heavy on my conscience to this day; and I can\ntruly own the desire of relieving myself, in some measure, from it,\ncontributed greatly to the resolution of writing my Confessions.\n\nI have proceeded truly in that I have just made, and it will certainly be\nthought I have not sought to palliate the turpitude of my offence; but I\nshould not fulfill the purpose of this undertaking, did I not, at the\nsame time, divulge my interior disposition, and excuse myself as far as\nis conformable with truth.\n\nNever was wickedness further from my thoughts, than in that cruel moment;\nand when I accused the unhappy girl, it is strange, but strictly true,\nthat my friendship for her was the immediate cause of it.  She was\npresent to my thoughts; I formed my excuse from the first object that\npresented itself: I accused her with doing what I meant to have done,\nand as I designed to have given her the ribbon, asserted she had given\nit to me.  When she appeared, my heart was agonized, but the presence\nof so many people was more powerful than my compunction.  I did not fear\npunishment, but I dreaded shame: I dreaded it more than death, more than\nthe crime, more than all the world.  I would have buried, hid myself in\nthe centre of the earth: invincible shame bore down every other\nsentiment; shame alone caused all my impudence, and in proportion as I\nbecame criminal, the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid.  I felt no\ndread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face,\ndeclared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of this\novercame every other sensation.  Had I been left to myself, I should\ninfallibly have declared the truth.  Or if M. de la Rogue had taken me\naside, and said--\"Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty own\nit,\"--I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet;\nbut they intimidated, instead of encouraging me.  I was hardly out of my\nchildhood, or rather, was yet in it.  It is also just to make some\nallowance for my age.  In youth, dark, premeditated villainy is more\ncriminal than in a riper age, but weaknesses are much less so; my fault\nwas truly nothing more; and I am less afflicted at the deed itself than\nfor its consequences.  It had one good effect, however, in preserving me\nthrough the rest of my life from any criminal action, from the terrible\nimpression that has remained from the only one I ever committed; and I\nthink my aversion for lying proceeds in a great measure from regret at\nhaving been guilty of so black a one.  If it is a crime that can be\nexpiated, as I dare believe, forty years of uprightness and honor on\nvarious difficult occasions, with the many misfortunes that have\noverwhelmed my latter years, may have completed it.  Poor Marion has\nfound so many avengers in this world, that however great my offence\ntowards her, I do not fear to bear the guilt with me.  Thus have I\ndisclosed what I had to say on this painful subject; may I be permitted\nnever to mention it again.","title":"The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau \u2014 Volume 02","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":16852}