{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3903/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3903","id":"gutenberg_3903","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3903","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 III.\n\n\nLeaving the service of Madam de Vercellis nearly as I had entered it,\nI returned to my former hostess, and remained there five or six weeks;\nduring which time health, youth, and laziness, frequently rendered my\ntemperament importunate.  I was restless, absent, and thoughtful: I wept\nand sighed for a happiness I had no idea of, though at the same time\nhighly sensible of some deficiency.  This situation is indescribable,\nfew men can even form any conception of it, because, in general, they\nhave prevented that plenitude of life, at once tormenting and delicious.\nMy thoughts were incessantly occupied with girls and women, but in a\nmanner peculiar to myself: these ideas kept my senses in a perpetual and\ndisagreeable activity, though, fortunately, they did not point out the\nmeans of deliverance.  I would have given my life to have met with a Miss\nGoton, but the time was past in which the play of infancy predominated;\nincrease of years had introduced shame, the inseparable companion of a\nconscious deviation from rectitude, which so confirmed my natural\ntimidity as to render it invincible; and never, either at that time or\nsince, could I prevail on myself to offer a proposition favorable to my\nwishes (unless in a manner constrained to it by previous advances) even\nwith those whose scruples I had no cause to dread.\n\nMy stay at Madam de Vercellis's had procured me some acquaintance, which\nI thought might be serviceable to me, and therefore wished to retain.\nAmong others, I sometimes visited a Savoyard abbe, M. Gaime, who was\ntutor to the Count of Melarede's children.  He was young, and not much\nknown, but possessed an excellent cultivated understanding, with great\nprobity, and was, altogether, one of the best men I ever knew.  He was\nincapable of doing me the service I then stood most in need of, not\nhaving sufficient interest to procure me a situation, but from him I\nreaped advantages far more precious, which have been useful to me through\nlife, lessons of pure morality, and maxims of sound judgment.\n\nIn the successive order of my inclinations and ideas, I had ever been too\nhigh or too low.  Achilles or Thersites; sometimes a hero, at others a\nvillain.  M. Gaime took pains to make me properly acquainted with myself,\nwithout sparing or giving me too much discouragement.  He spoke in\nadvantageous terms of my disposition and talents, adding, that he foresaw\nobstacles which would prevent my profiting by them; thus, according to\nhim, they were to serve less as steps by which I should mount to fortune,\nthan as resources which might enable me to exist without one.  He gave me\na true picture of human life, of which, hitherto, I had formed but a very\nerroneous idea, teaching me, that a man of understanding, though destined\nto experience adverse fortune, might, by skilful management, arrive at\nhappiness; that there was no true felicity without virtue, which was\npracticable in every situation.  He greatly diminished my admiration of\ngrandeur, by proving that those in a superior situation are neither\nbetter nor happier than those they command.  One of his maxims has\nfrequently returned to my memory: it was, that if we could truly read the\nhearts of others we should feel more inclination to descend than rise:\nthis reflection, the truth of which is striking without extravagance,\nI have found of great utility, in the various exigences of my life, as it\ntended to make me satisfied with my condition.  He gave me the first just\nconception of relative duties, which my high-flown imagination had ever\npictured in extremes, making me sensible that the enthusiasm of sublime\nvirtues is of little use in society; that while endeavoring to rise too\nhigh we are in danger of falling; and that a virtuous and uniform\ndischarge of little duties requires as great a degree of fortitude as\nactions which are called heroic, and would at the same time procure more\nhonor and happiness.  That it was infinitely more desirable to possess\nthe lasting esteem of those about us, than at intervals to attract\nadmiration.\n\nIn properly arranging the various duties between man and man, it was\nnecessary to ascend to principles; the step I had recently taken, and of\nwhich my present situation was the consequence, naturally led us to speak\nof religion.  It will easily be conceived that the honest M. Gaime was,\nin a great measure, the original of the Savoyard Vicar; prudence only\nobliging him to deliver his sentiments, on certain points, with more\ncaution and reserve, and explain himself with less freedom; but his\nsentiments and councils were the same, not even excepting his advice to\nreturn to my country; all was precisely as I have since given it to the\npubic.  Dwelling no longer, therefore, on conversations which everyone\nmay see the substance of, I shall only add, that these wise instructions\n(though they did not produce an immediate effect) were as so many seeds\nof virtue and religion in my heart which were never rooted out, and only\nrequired the fostering cares of friendship to bring to maturity.\n\nThough my conversation was not very sincere, I was affected by his\ndiscourses, and far from being weary, was pleased with them on account of\ntheir clearness and simplicity, but above all because his heart seemed\ninterested in what he said.  My disposition is naturally tender, I have\never been less attached to people for the good they have really done me\nthan for that they designed to do, and my feelings in this particular\nhave seldom misled me: thus I truly esteemed M. Gaime.  I was in a manner\nhis second disciple, which even at that time was of inestimable service\nin turning me from a propensity to vice into which my idleness was\nleading me.\n\nOne day, when I least expected it, I was sent for by the Count de la\nRoque.  Having frequently called at his house, without being able to\nspeak with him, I grew weary, and supposing he had either forgot me or\nretained some unfavorable impression of me, returned no more: but I was\nmistaken in both these conjectures.  He had more than once witnessed the\npleasure I took in fulfilling my duty to his aunt: he had even mentioned\nit to her, and afterwards spoke of it, when I no longer thought of it\nmyself.\n\nHe received me graciously, saying that instead of amusing me with useless\npromises, he had sought to place me to advantage; that he had succeeded,\nand would put me in a way to better my situation, but the rest must\ndepend on myself.  That the family into which he should introduce me\nbeing both powerful and esteemed, I should need no other patrons; and\nthough at first on the footing of a servant, I might be assured, that if\nmy conduct and sentiments were found above that station, I should not\nlong remain in it.  The end of this discourse cruelly disappointed the\nbrilliant hopes the beginning had inspired.  \"What! forever a footman?\"\nsaid I to myself, with a bitterness which confidence presently effaced,\nfor I felt myself too superior to that situation to fear long remaining\nthere.\n\nHe took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, and\nChief of the illustrious House of Solar.  The air of dignity conspicuous\nin this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which he\nreceived me yet more interesting.  He questioned me with evident\ninterest, and I replied with sincerity.  He then told the Count de la\nRoque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which he\nbelieved I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time must\nshow the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, \"Child, almost all\nsituations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours,\nhowever, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, and\nendeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment;\nfor the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of.\"  Immediately\nafter he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whom\nhe presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son.  I was elated\nwith this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude,\nthat so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of a\nfootman.  In fact, I was not treated like one.  I dined at the steward's\ntable; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth)\nhaving commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered that\nI should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house.\nMeantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of a\nfootman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without being\nappointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters,\nwhich were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Count\nde Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time.  This trial of my\ndiscretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous,\nand not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might have\ncontracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into.\nFortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained the\nlessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and I\nsometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition of\nthem.  I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, had\nno conception of my business.  Nothing could be more prudent than the\nadvice he gave me respecting my conduct.  My beginning was admirable; so\nmuch attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone.  The Abby\nGaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, and\nthat relaxation should be considered as neglect.  \"Your setting out,\"\nsaid he, \"is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor gradually\nto increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish them.\"\n\nAs they paid but little attention to my trifling talents, and supposed I\npossessed no more than nature had given me, there was no appearance\n(notwithstanding the promises of Count de Gauvon) of my meeting with any\nparticular consideration.  Some objects of more consequence had\nintervened.  The Marquis de Breil, son of the Count de Gauvon, was then\nambassador at Vienna; some circumstances had occurred at that court which\nfor some weeks kept the family in continual agitation, and left them no\ntime to think of me.  Meantime I had relaxed but little in my attentions,\nthough one object in the family did me both good and harm, making me more\nsecure from exterior dissipation, but less attentive to my duty.\n\nMademoiselle de Breil was about my own age, tolerably handsome, and very\nfair complexioned, with black hair, which notwithstanding, gave her\nfeatures that air of softness so natural to the flaxen, and which my\nheart could never resist.  The court dress, so favorable to youth, showed\nher fine neck and shape to advantage, and the mourning, which was then\nworn, seemed to add to her beauty.  It will be said, a domestic should\nnot take notice of these things; I was certainly to blame, yet I\nperceived all this, nor was I the only one; the maitre d' hotel and valet\nde chambre spoke of her sometimes at table with a vulgarity that pained\nme extremely.  My head, however, was not sufficiently turned to allow of\nmy being entirely in love; I did not forget myself, or my situation.\nI loved to see Mademoiselle de Breil; to hear her utter anything that\nmarked wit, sense, or good humor: my ambition, confined to a desire of\nwaiting on her, never exceeded its just rights.  At table I was ever\nattentive to make the most of them; if her footman quitted her chair,\nI instantly supplied his place; in default of this, I stood facing her,\nseeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and watching the\nmoment to change her plate.  What would I not have given to hear her\ncommand, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me! but no,\nI had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not even\nperceive I was there.  Her brother, who frequently spoke to me while at\ntable, having one day said something which I did not consider obliging,\nI made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her attention;\nshe cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient to fill me with\ntransport.  The next day, a second occasion presented itself, which I\nfortunately made use of.  A great dinner was given; and I saw, with\nastonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting at table,\nwith a sword by his side, and hat on his head.  By chance, the discourse\nturned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms,\nworked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'.  As the Piedmontese\nare not in general very perfect in the French language, they found fault\nwith the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no\n't'.  The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to cast\nhis eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything;\nhe immediately ordered me to speak my opinion.  I then said, I did not\nthink the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French word, not derived\nfrom the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from the verb 'ferit', he\nstrikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, some\nthreat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'.  The whole company fixed\ntheir eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never was\na greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an air\nof satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle de\nBreil.  This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at least\nas valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared to\nwait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which he\nfully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerly\nchorused by the whole table.  This interval was short, but delightful in\nmany respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, which\nplace things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for the\ninjuries of fortune.  Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil again\nraised her eyes, desiring me with a voice of timid affability to give her\nsome drink.  It will easily be supposed I did not let her wait, but\nadvancing towards her, I was seized with such a trembling, that having\nfilled the glass too full, I spilled some of the water on her plate,\nand even on herself.  Her brother asked me, giddily, why I trembled thus?\nThis question increased my confusion, while the face of Mademoiselle de\nBreil was suffused with a crimson blush.\n\nHere ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile,\nand others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate in\nthe conclusion of my amours.  In vain I placed myself in the antechamber\nof Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from her\ndaughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I the\nconfidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, that\none day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing and\ncovering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare to\nquit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of a\nfootman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness.\nTo complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to please\nMadam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, my\nservices; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly,\n\"If I had nothing to do?\"  I was obliged, therefore, to renounce this\ndear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other things\nintervening, I presently thought no more of it.\n\nThe disdain of Madam de Breil was fully compensated by the kindness of\nher father-in-law, who at length began to think of me.  The evening after\nthe entertainment, I have already mentioned, he had a conversation with\nme that lasted half an hour, which appeared to satisfy him, and\nabsolutely enchanted me.  This good man had less sense than Madam de\nVercellis, but possessed more feeling; I therefore succeeded much better\nwith him.  He bade me attach myself to his son, the Abbe Gauvon, who had\nan esteem for me, which, if I took care to cultivate, might be\nserviceable in furnishing me with what was necessary to complete their\nviews for my future establishment.  The next morning I flew to M. the\nAbbe, who did not receive me as a servant, but made me sit by his\nfireside, and questioned me with great affability.  He soon found that my\neducation, which had attempted many things, had completed none; but\nobserving that I understood something of Latin, he undertook to teach me\nmore, and appointed me to attend him every morning.  Thus, by one of the\nwhimsicalities which have marked the whole course of my life, at once\nabove and below my natural situation, I was pupil and footman in the same\nhouse: and though in servitude, had a preceptor whose birth entitled him\nto supply that place only to the children of kings.\n\nThe Abbe de Gauvon was a younger son, and designed by his family for a\nbishopric, for which reason his studies had been pursued, further than is\nusual with people of quality.  He had been sent to the university of\nSienna, where he had resided some years, and from whence he had brought a\ngood portion of cruscantism, designing to be that at Turin which the Abbe\nde Dangeau was formerly at Paris.  Being disgusted with theology, he gave\nin to the belle-lettres, which is very frequent in Italy, with those who\nhave entered the career of prelacy.  He had studied the poets, and wrote\ntolerable Latin and Italian verses; in a word, his taste was calculated\nto form mine, and give some order to that chaos of insignificant trash\nwith which my brain was encumbered; but whether my prating had misled\nhim, or that he could not support the trouble of teaching the elementary\nparts of Latin, he put me at first too high; and I had scarcely\ntranslated a few fables of Phoedrus before he put me into Virgil, where I\ncould hardly understand anything.  It will be seen hereafter that I was\ndestined frequently to learn Latin, but never to attain it.  I labored\nwith assiduity, and the abbe bestowed his attention with a degree of\nkindness, the remembrance of which, even at this time, both interests and\nsoftens me.  I passed the greater part of the morning with him as much\nfor my own instruction as his service; not that he ever permitted me to\nperform any menial office, but to copy, or write from his dictating; and\nmy employment of secretary was more useful than that of scholar, and by\nthis means I not only learned the Italian in its utmost purity, but also\nacquired a taste for literature, and some discernment of composition,\nwhich could not have been at La Tribu's, and which was useful to me when\nI afterwards wrote alone.\n\nAt this period of my life, without being romantic, I might reasonably\nhave indulged the hope of preferment.  The abbe, thoroughly pleased with\nme, expressed his satisfaction to everyone, while his father had such a\nsingular affection for me, that I was assured by the Count de Favria,\nthat he had spoken of me to the king; even Madam de Breil had laid aside\nher disdainful looks; in short I was a general favorite, which gave great\njealousy to the other servants, who seeing me honored by the instructions\nof their master's son, were persuaded I should not remain their equal.\n\nAs far as I could judge by some words dropped at random, and which I\nreflected on afterwards, it appeared to me, that the House of Solar,\nwishing to run the career of embassies, and hoping perhaps in time to\narrive at the ministry, wished to provide themselves with a person of\nmerit and talents, who depending entirely on them, might obtain their\nconfidence, and be of essential service.  This project of the Count de\nGauvon was judicious, magnanimous, and truly worthy of a powerful\nnobleman, equally provident and generous; but besides my not seeing, at\nthat time, its full extent, it was far too rational for my brain, and\nrequired too much confinement.\n\nMy ridiculous ambition sought for fortune in the midst of brilliant\nadventures, and not finding one woman in all this scheme, it appeared\ntedious, painful and melancholy; though I should rather have thought it\nmore honorable on this account, as the species of merit generally\npatronized by women is certainly less worthy that I was supposed to\npossess.\n\nEverything succeeded to my wish: I had obtained, almost forced, the\nesteem of all; the trial was over, and I was universally considered as a\nyoung man with flattering prospects, who was not at present in his proper\nsphere, but was expected soon to reach it; but my place was not assigned\nme by man, and I was to reach it by very difficult paths.  I now come to\none of those characteristic traits, which are so natural to me, and\nwhich, indeed, the reader might have observed without this reflection.\n\nThere were at Turin several new converts of my own stamp, whom I neither\nliked nor wish to see; but I had met with some Genevese who were not of\nthis description, and among others a M. Mussard, nicknamed Wryneck, a\nminiature painter, and a distant relation.  This M. Mussard, having\nlearned my situation at the Count de Gauvon's, came to see me, with\nanother Genevese, named Bacle, who had been my comrade during my\napprenticeship.  This Bacle was a very sprightly, amusing young fellow,\nfull of lively sallies, which at his time of life appeared extremely\nagreeable.  At once, then, behold me delighted with M. Bacle; charmed to\nsuch a degree that I found it impossible to quit him.  He was shortly to\ndepart for Geneva; what a loss had I to sustain!  I felt the whole force\nof it, and resolving to make the best use of this precious interval, I\ndetermined not to leave him, or, rather, he never quitted me, for my head\nwas not yet sufficiently turned to think of quitting the house without\nleave, but it was soon perceived that he engrossed my whole time, and he\nwas accordingly forbid the house.  This so incensed me, that forgetting\neverything but my friend Bacle, I went neither to the abbe nor the count,\nand was no longer to be found at home.  I paid no attention to repeated\nreprimands, and at length was threatened with dismissal.  This threat was\nmy ruin, as it suggested the idea that it was not absolutely necessary\nthat Bacle should depart alone.  From that moment I could think of no\nother pleasure, no other situation or happiness than taking this journey.\nTo render the felicity still more complete, at the end of it (though at\nan immense distance) I pictured to myself Madam de Warrens; for as to\nreturning to Geneva, it never entered into my imagination.  The hills,\nfields, brooks and villages, incessantly succeeded each other with new\ncharms, and this delightful jaunt seemed worthy to absorb my whole\nexistence.  Memory recalled, with inexpressible pleasure, how charming\nthe country had appeared in coming to Turin; what then must it be, when,\nto the pleasure of independence, should be added the company of a\ngood-humored comrade of my own age and disposition, without any\nconstraint or obligation, but free to go or stay as we pleased?  Would\nit not be madness to sacrifice the prospect of so much felicity to\nprojects of ambition, slow and difficult in their execution, and\nuncertain in their event?  But even supposing them realized, and in\ntheir utmost splendor, they were not worth one quarter of an hour of the\nsweet pleasure and liberty of youth.\n\nFull of these wise conclusions, I conducted myself so improperly, that\n(not indeed without some trouble) I got myself dismissed; for on my\nreturn one night the maitre de hotel gave me warning on the part of the\ncount.  This was exactly what I wanted; for feeling, spite of myself,\nthe extravagance of my conduct, I wished to excuse it by the addition of\ninjustice and ingratitude, by throwing the blame on others, and\nsheltering myself under the idea of necessity.\n\nI was told the Count de Favria wished to speak with me the next morning\nbefore my departure; but, being sensible that my head was so far turned\nas to render it possible for me to disobey the injunction, the maitre de\nhotel declined paying the money designed me, and which certainly I had\nvery ill earned, till after this visit; for my kind patrons being\nunwilling to place me in the situation of a footman, I had not any fixed\nwages.\n\nThe Count de Favria, though young and giddy, talked to me on this\noccasion in the most sensible and serious manner: I might add, if it\nwould not be thought vain, with the utmost tenderness.  He reminded me,\nin the most flattering terms, of the cares of his uncle, and intentions\nof his grandfather; after having drawn in lively colors what I was\nsacrificing to ruin, he offered to make my peace, without stipulating any\nconditions, but that I should no more see the worthless fellow who had\nseduced me.\n\nIt was so apparent that he did not say all this of himself, that\nnotwithstanding my blind stupidity, I powerfully felt the kindness of my\ngood old master, but the dear journey was too firmly printed on my\nimagination for any consideration to balance the charm.  Bereft of\nunderstanding, firm to my purpose, I hardened myself against conviction,\nand arrogantly answered, that as they had thought fit to give me warning,\nI had resolved to take it, and conceived it was now too late to retract,\nsince, whatever might happen to me, I was fully resolved not to be driven\na second time from the same house.  The count, justly irritated, bestowed\non me some names which I deserved, and putting me out of his apartment by\nthe shoulders, shut the door on me.  I departed triumphant, as if I had\ngained the greatest victory, and fearful of sustaining a second combat\neven had the ingratitude to leave the house without thanking the abbe for\nhis kindness.\n\nTo form a just conception of my delirium at that moment, the excess to\nwhich my heart is subject to be heated by the most trifling incidents,\nand the ardor with which my imagination seizes on the most attractive\nobjects should be conceived.  At these times, plans the most ridiculous,\nchildish, and void of sense, flatter my favorite idea, and persuade me\nthat it is reasonable to sacrifice everything to the possession of it.\nWould it be believed, that when near nineteen, any one could be so stupid\nas to build his hopes of future subsistence on an empty phial?  For\nexample:\n\nThe Abbe de Gauvon had made me a present, some weeks before, of a very\npretty heron fountain, with which I was highly delighted.  Playing with\nthis toy, and speaking of our departure, the sage Bacle and myself\nthought it might be of infinite advantage, and enable us to lengthen our\njourney.  What in the world was so curious as a heron fountain?  This\nidea was the foundation on which we built our future fortune: we were to\nassemble the country people in every village we might pass through, and\ndelight them with the sight of it, when feasting and good cheer would be\nsure to pour on us abundantly; for we were both firmly persuaded, that\nprovisions could cost nothing to those who grew and gathered them, and if\nthey did not stuff travellers, it was downright ill-nature.\n\nWe pictured in all parts entertainments and weddings, reckoning that\nwithout any expense but wind from our lungs, and the water of our\nfountain, we should be maintained through Piedmont, Savoy, France, and\nindeed, all the world over.  There was no end to our projected travels,\nand we immediately directed our course northward, rather for the pleasure\nof crossing the Alps, than from a supposed necessity of being obliged to\nstop at any place.\n\nSuch was the plan on which I set out, abandoning without regret, my\npreceptors, studies, and hopes, with the almost certain attainment of a\nfortune, to lead the life of a real vagabond.  Farewell to the capital;\nadieu to the court, ambition, love, the fair, and all the great\nadventures into which hope had led me during the preceding year!  I\ndeparted with my fountain and my friend Bacle, a purse lightly furnished,\nbut a heart over-flowing with pleasure, and only thinking how to enjoy\nthe extensive felicity which I supposed my project encircled.\n\nThis extravagant journey was performed almost as agreeably as I had\nexpected, though not exactly on the same plan; not but our fountain\nhighly amused the hostess and servants for some minutes at all the\nale-houses where we halted, yet we found it equally necessary to pay on\nour departure; but that gave us no concern, as we never thought of\ndepending on it entirely until our money should be expended.  An\naccident spared us that trouble, our fountain was broken near Bramant,\nand in good time, for we both felt (though without daring to own it to\neach other) that we began to be weary of it.  This misfortune rendered\nus gayer than ever; we laughed heartily at our giddiness in having\nforgotten that our clothes and shoes would wear out, or trusting to\nrenew them by the play of our fountain.  We continued our journey as\nmerrily as we had begun it, only drawing faster towards that termination\nwhere our drained purses made it necessary for us to arrive.\n\nAt Chambery I became pensive; not for the folly I had committed, for\nnever did any one think less of the past, but on account of the reception\nI should meet with from Madam de Warrens; for I looked on her house as my\npaternal home.  I had written her an account of my reception at the Count\nde Gauvon's; she knew my expectancies, and, in congratulating me on my\ngood fortune, had added some wise lessons on the return I ought to make\nfor the kindness with which they treated me.  She looked on my fortune as\nalready made, if not destroyed by my own negligence; what then would she\nsay on my arrival? for it never entered my mind that she might shut the\ndoor against me, but I dreaded the uneasiness I might give her; I dreaded\nher reproaches, to me more wounding than want; I resolved to bear all in\nsilence, and, if possible to appease her.  I now saw nothing but Madam de\nWarrens in the whole universe, and to live in disgrace with her was\nimpossible.\n\nI was most concerned about my companion, whom I did not wish to offend,\nand feared I should not easily get rid of.  I prefaced this separation by\nan affected coldness during the last day's journey.  The drole understood\nme perfectly; in fact, he was rather giddy than deficient in point of\nsense--I expected he would have been hurt at my inconstancy, but I was\nquite mistaken; nothing affected my friend Bacle, for hardly had we set\nfoot in town, on our arrival in Annecy, before he said, \"You are now at\nhome,\"--embraced--bade me adieu--turned on his heel, and disappeared; nor\nhave I ever heard of him since.\n\nHow did my heart beat as I approached the habitation of Madam de Warrens!\nmy legs trembled under me, my eyes were clouded with a mist, I neither\nsaw, heard, nor recollected any one, and was obliged frequently to stop\nthat I might draw breath, and recall my bewildered senses.  Was it fear\nof not obtaining that succor I stood in need of, which agitated me to\nthis degree?  At the age I then was, does the fear of perishing with\nhunger give such alarms?  No: I declare with as much truth as pride, that\nit was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of my\nlife, to expand or contract my heart.  In the course of a painful life,\nmemorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum, and\nwithout bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, both\nopulence and misery.  In want I might have begged or stolen, as others\nhave done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to such\nnecessities.  Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed so\nmany tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, make\nme heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids.  My soul, in despite of fortune,\nhas only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend on\nher; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could make\nlife pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals.\n\nThe first glance of Madam de Warrens banished all my fears--my heart\nleaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and in\ntransports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand.\nI am ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me.\nI discovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow.\n\"Poor child!\"  said she, in an affectionate tone, \"art thou here again?\nI knew you were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, that\nit did not turn out so bad as I apprehended.\"  She then made me recount\nmy history; it was not long, and I did it faithfully: suppressing only\nsome trifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing nor\nexcusing myself.\n\nThe question was, where I could lodge: she consulted her maid on this\npoint--I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when I\nheard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy; and saw\nthe little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined apartment\nwith much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put up at Madam\nde Wolmar's.  To complete all, I had the satisfaction to find that this\nfavor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they thought me\nattentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warrens say, \"They may talk\nas they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I am determined\nnot to abandon him.\"\n\nBehold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date the\nhappiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare me\nfor them.  Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly to\nenjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect of\norganization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without a\ncertain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the most\nacute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having been\nacquainted with his own temperament.  This was my case till that time,\nand such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam de\nWarrens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her long\nenough to contract that pleasing habit of affectionate sentiments with\nwhich she inspired me.  I dare affirm, that those who only love, do not\nfeel the most charming sensations we are capable of: I am acquainted with\nanother sentiment, less impetuous, but a thousand times more delightful;\nsometimes joined with love, but frequently separated from it.  This\nfeeling is not simply friendship; it is more enchanting, more tender; nor\ndo I imagine it can exist between persons of the same sex; at least I\nhave been truly a friend, if ever a man was, and yet never experienced it\nin that kind.  This distinction is not sufficiently clear, but will\nbecome so hereafter: sentiments are only distinguishable by their\neffects.\n\nMadam de Warrens inhabited an old house, but large enough to have a\nhandsome spare apartment, which she made her drawing-room.  I now\noccupied this chamber, which was in the passage I have before mentioned\nas the place of our first meeting.  Beyond the brook and gardens was a\nprospect of the country, which was by no means uninteresting to the young\ninhabitant, being the first time, since my residence at Bossey, that I\nhad seen anything before my windows but walls, roofs, or the dirty\nstreet.  How pleasing then was this novelty! it helped to increase the\ntenderness of my disposition, for I looked on this charming landscape as\nthe gift of my dear patroness, who I could almost fancy had placed it\nthere on purpose for me.  Peaceably seated, my eyes pursued her amidst\nthe flowers and the verdure; her charms seemed to me confounded with\nthose of the spring; my heart, till now contracted, here found means to\nexpand itself, and my sighs exhaled freely in this charming retreat.\n\nThe magnificence I had been accustomed to at Turin was not to be found at\nMadam de Warrens, but in lieu of it there was neatness, regularity, and a\npatriarchal abundance, which is seldom attached to pompous ostentation.\nShe had very little plate, no china, no game in her kitchen, or foreign\nwines in her cellar, but both were well furnished, and at every one's\nservice; and her coffee, though served in earthenware cups, was\nexcellent.  Whoever came to her house was invited to dine there, and\nnever did laborer, messenger, or traveller, depart without refreshment.\nHer family consisted of a pretty chambermaid from Fribourg, named\nMerceret; a valet from her own country called Claude Anet (of whom I\nshall speak hereafter), a cook, and two hired chairmen when she visited,\nwhich seldom happened.  This was a great deal to be done out of two\nthousand livres a year; yet, with good management, it might have been\nsufficient in a country where land is extremely good, and money very\nscarce.  Unfortunately, economy was never her favorite virtue; she\ncontracted debts--paid them--thus her money passed from hand to hand like\na weaver's shuttle, and quickly disappeared.\n\nThe arrangement of her housekeeping was exactly what I should have\nchosen, and I shared it with satisfaction.  I was least pleased with the\nnecessity of remaining too long at table.  Madam de Warrens was so much\nincommoded with the first smell of soup or meat, as almost to occasion\nfainting; from this she slowly recovered, talking meantime, and never\nattempting to eat for the first half hour.  I could have dined thrice in\nthe time, and had ever finished my meal long before she began; I then ate\nagain for company; and though by this means I usually dined twice, felt\nno inconvenience from it.  In short, I was perfectly at my ease, and the\nhappier as my situation required no care.  Not being at this time\ninstructed in the state of her finances, I supposed her means were\nadequate to her expense; and though I afterwards found the same\nabundance, yet when instructed in her real situation, finding her pension\never anticipated, prevented me from enjoying the same tranquility.\nForesight with me has always embittered enjoyment; in vain I saw the\napproach of misfortunes, I was never the more likely to avoid them.\n\nFrom the first moment of our meeting, the softest familiarity was\nestablished between us: and in the same degree it continued during the\nrest of her life.  Child was my name, Mamma was hers, and child and mamma\nwe have ever continued, even after a number of years had almost effaced\nthe apparent difference of age between us.  I think those names convey an\nexact idea of our behavior, the simplicity of our manners, and above all,\nthe similarity of our dispositions.  To me she was the tenderest of\nmothers, ever preferring my welfare to her own pleasure; and if my own\nsatisfaction found some interest in my attachment to her, it was not to\nchange its nature, but only to render it more exquisite, and infatuate me\nwith the charm of having a mother young and handsome, whom I was\ndelighted to caress: I say literally, to caress, for never did it enter\ninto her imagination to deny me the tenderest maternal kisses and\nendearments, or into my heart to abuse them.  It will be said, at length\nour connection was of a different kind: I confess it; but have patience,\nthat will come in its turn.\n\nThe sudden sight of her, on our first interview, was the only truly\npassionate moment she ever inspired me with; and even that was\nprincipally the work of surprise.  With her I had neither transports nor\ndesires, but remained in a ravishing calm, sensible of a happiness I\ncould not define, and thus could I have passed my whole life, or even\neternity, without feeling an instant of uneasiness.\n\nShe was the only person with whom I never experienced that want of\nconversation, which to me is so painful to endure.  Our tete-a-tetes were\nrather an inexhaustible chat than conversation, which could only conclude\nfrom interruption.  So far from finding discourse difficult, I rather\nthought it a hardship to be silent; unless, when contemplating her\nprojects, she sunk into a reverie; when I silently let her meditate, and\ngazing on her, was the happiest of men.  I had another singular fancy,\nwhich was that without pretending to the favor of a tete-a-tete, I was\nperpetually seeking occasion to form them, enjoying such opportunities\nwith rapture; and when importunate visitors broke in upon us, no matter\nwhether it was man or woman, I went out murmuring, not being able to\nremain a secondary object in her company; then, counting the minutes in\nher antechamber, I used to curse these eternal visitors, thinking it\ninconceivable how they could find so much to say, because I had still\nmore.\n\nIf ever I felt the full force of my attachment, it was when I did not see\nher.  When in her presence, I was only content; when absent, my\nuneasiness reached almost to melancholy, and a wish to live with her gave\nme emotions of tenderness even to tears.  Never shall I forget one great\nholiday, while she was at vespers, when I took a walk out of the city,\nmy heart full of her image, and the ardent wish to pass my life with her.\nI could easily enough see that at present this was impossible; that the\nhappiness I enjoyed would be of short duration, and this idea gave to my\ncontemplations a tincture of melancholy, which, however, was not gloomy,\nbut tempered with a flattering hope.  The ringing of bells, which ever\nparticularly affects me, the singing of birds, the fineness of the day,\nthe beauty of the landscape, the scattered country houses, among which in\nidea I placed our future dwelling, altogether struck me with an\nimpression so lively, tender, melancholy, and powerful, that I saw myself\nin ecstasy transported into that happy time and abode, where my heart,\npossessing all the felicity it could desire, might taste it with raptures\ninexpressible.\n\nI never recollect to have enjoyed the future with such force of illusions\nas at that time; and what has particularly struck me in the recollection\nof this reverie, is that when realized, I found my situation exactly as I\nhad imagined it.  If ever waking dream had an appearance of a prophetic\nvision, it was assuredly this; I was only deceived in its imaginary\nduration, for days, years, and life itself, passed ideally in perfect\ntranquility, while the reality lasted but a moment.  Alas!  my most\ndurable happiness was but as a dream, which I had no sooner had a glimpse\nof, than I instantly awoke.\n\nI know not when I should have done, if I was to enter into a detail of\nall the follies that affection for my dear Madam de Warrens made me\ncommit.  When absent from her, how often have I kissed the bed on a\nsupposition that she had slept there; the curtains and all the furniture\nof my chamber, on recollecting they were hers, and that her charming\nhands had touched them; nay, the floor itself, when I considered she had\nwalked there.  Sometimes even in her presence, extravagancies escaped me,\nwhich only the most violent passions seemed capable of inspiring; in a\nword, there was but one essential difference to distinguish me from an\nabsolute lover, and that particular renders my situation almost\ninconceivable.\n\nI had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no one\nof my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted with\nwomen.  My ardent constitution had found resources in those means by\nwhich youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity at the\nexpense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself.  My local\nsituation should likewise be considered--living with a pretty woman,\ncherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her during the\nwhole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled her incessantly\nto my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I knew she had slept.\nWhat a situation!  Who can read this without supposing me on the brink of\nthe grave?  But quite the contrary; that which might have ruined me,\nacted as a preservative, at least for a time.  Intoxicated with the charm\nof living with her, with the ardent desire of passing my life there,\nabsent or present I saw in her a tender mother, an amiable sister, a\nrespected friend, but nothing more; meantime, her image filled my heart,\nand left room far no other object.  The extreme tenderness with which she\ninspired me excluded every other woman from my consideration, and\npreserved me from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because I\nloved her.  Let these particulars, which I recount but indifferently, be\nconsidered, and then let any one judge what kind of attachment I had for\nher: for my part, all I can say, is, that if it hitherto appears\nextraordinary, it will appear much more so in the sequel.\n\nMy time passed in the most agreeable manner, though occupied in a way\nwhich was by no means calculated to please me; such as having projects to\ndigest, bills to write fair, receipts to transcribe, herbs to pick, drugs\nto pound, or distillations to attend; and in the midst of all this, came\ncrowds of travellers, beggars, and visitors of all denominations.  Some\ntimes it was necessary to converse at the same time with a soldier, an\napothecary, a prebendary, a fine lady, and a lay brother.  I grumbled,\nswore, and wished all this troublesome medley at the devil, while she\nseemed to enjoy it, laughing at my chagrin till the tears ran down her\ncheeks.  What excited her mirth still more, was to see that my anger was\nincreased by not being able myself to refrain from laughter.  These\nlittle intervals, in which I enjoyed the pleasure of grumbling, were\ncharming; and if, during the dispute, another importunate visitor\narrived, she would add to her amusement by maliciously prolonging the\nvisit, meantime casting glances at me for which I could almost have beat\nher; nor could she without difficulty refrain from laughter on seeing my\nconstrained politeness, though every moment glancing at her the look of\na fury, while, even in spite of myself, I thought the scene truly\ndiverting.\n\nAll this, without being pleasing in itself, contributed to amuse, because\nit made up a part of a life which I thought delightful.  Nothing that was\nperformed around me, nothing that I was obliged to do, suited my taste,\nbut everything suited my heart; and I believe, at length, I should have\nliked the study of medicine, had not my natural distaste to it\nperpetually engaged us in whimsical scenes, that prevented my thinking of\nit in a serious light.  It was, perhaps, the first time that this art\nproduced mirth.  I pretended to distinguish a physical book by its smell,\nand what was more diverting, was seldom mistaken.  Madam de Warrens made\nme taste the most nauseous drugs; in vain I ran, or endeavored to defend\nmyself; spite of resistance or wry faces, spite of my struggles, or even\nof my teeth, when I saw her charming fingers approach my lips, I was\nobliged to give up the contest.\n\nWhen shut up in an apartment with all her medical apparatus, any one who\nhad heard us running and shouting amidst peals of laughter would rather\nhave imagined we had been acting a farce than preparing opiates or\nelixirs.\n\nMy time, however, was not entirely passed in these fooleries; in the\napartment which I occupied I found a few books: there was the Spectator,\nPuffendorf, St. Everemond, and the Henriade.  Though I had not my old\npassion for books, yet I amused myself with reading a part of them.  The\nSpectator was particularly pleasing and serviceable to me.  The Abbe de\nGauvon had taught me to read less eagerly, and with a greater degree of\nattention, which rendered my studies more serviceable.  I accustomed\nmyself to reflect on elocution and the elegance of composition;\nexercising myself in discerning pure French from my provincial idiom.\nFor example, I corrected an orthographical fault (which I had in common\nwith all Genevese) by these two lines of the Henriade:\n\n     Soit qu' un ancient respect pour le sang de leurs maitres,\n     Parlat encore pour lui dans le coeur de ces traitres\n\nI was struck with the word 'parlat', and found a 't' was necessary to\nform the third person of the subjunctive, whereas I had always written\nand pronounced it parla, as in the present of the indicative.\n\nSometimes my studies were the subject of conversation with Madam de\nWarrens; sometimes I read to her, in which I found great satisfaction;\nand as I endeavored to read well, it was extremely serviceable to me.\nI have already observed that her mind was cultivated; her understanding\nwas at this time in its meridian.  Several people of learning having been\nassiduous to ingratiate themselves, had taught her to distinguish works\nof merit; but her taste (if I may so express myself) was rather\nProtestant; ever speaking warmly of Bayle, and highly esteeming St.\nEvremond, though long since almost forgotten in France: but this did not\nprevent her having a taste for literature, or expressing her thoughts\nwith elegance.  She had been brought up with polite company, and coming\nyoung to Savoy, by associating with people of the best fashion, had lost\nthe affected manners of her own country, where the ladies mistake wit for\nsense, and only speak in epigram.\n\nThough she had seen the court but superficially, that glance was\nsufficient to give her a competent idea of it; and notwithstanding secret\njealousies and the murmurs excited by her conduct and running in debt,\nshe ever preserved friends there, and never lost her pension.  She knew\nthe world, and was useful.  This was her favorite theme in our\nconversations, and was directly opposite to my chimerical ideas, though\nthe kind of instruction I particularly had occasion for.  We read Bruyere\ntogether; he pleased her more than Rochefoucault, who is a dull,\nmelancholy author, particularly to youth, who are not fond of\ncontemplating man as he really is.  In moralizing she sometimes\nbewildered herself by the length of her discourse; but by kissing her\nlips or hand from time to time I was easily consoled, and never found\nthem wearisome.\n\nThis life was too delightful to be lasting; I felt this, and the\nuneasiness that thought gave me was the only thing that disturbed my\nenjoyment.  Even in playfulness she studied my disposition, observed and\ninterrogated me, forming projects for my future fortune, which I could\nreadily have dispensed with.  Happily it was not sufficient to know my\ndisposition, inclinations and talents; it was likewise necessary to find\na situation in which they would be useful, and this was not the work of a\nday.  Even the prejudices this good woman had conceived in favor of my\nmerit put off the time of calling it into action, by rendering her more\ndifficult in the choice of means; thus (thanks to the good opinion she\nentertained of me), everything answered to my wish; but a change soon\nhappened which put a period to my tranquility.\n\nA relation of Madam de Warrens, named M. d'Aubonne, came to see her; a\nman of great understanding and intrigue, being, like her, fond of\nprojects, though careful not to ruin himself by them.  He had offered\nCardinal Fleury a very compact plan for a lottery, which, however, had\nnot been approved of, and he was now going to propose it to the court of\nTurin, where it was accepted and put into execution.  He remained some\ntime at Annecy, where he fell in love with the Intendant's lady, who was\nvery amiable, much to my taste and the only person I saw with pleasure at\nthe house of Madam de Warrens.  M. d'Aubonne saw me, I was strongly\nrecommended by his relation; he promised, therefore, to question and see\nwhat I was fit for, and, if he found me capable to seek me a situation.\nMadam de Warrens sent me to him two or three mornings, under pretense of\nmessages, without acquainting me with her real intention.  He spoke to me\ngayly, on various subjects, without any appearance of observation; his\nfamiliarity presently set me talking, which by his cheerful and jesting\nmanner he encouraged without restraint--I was absolutely charmed with\nhim.  The result of his observations was, that notwithstanding the\nanimation of my countenance, and promising exterior, if not absolutely\nsilly, I was a lad of very little sense, and without ideas of learning;\nin fine, very ignorant in all respects, and if I could arrive at being\ncurate of some village, it was the utmost honor I ought ever to aspire\nto.  Such was the account he gave of me to Madam de Warrens.  This was\nnot the first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was it\nthe last; the judgment of M. Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed.\n\nThe cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character not\nto need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I can\nin conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality,\nwhatever M. Masseron, M. d'Aubonne and many others may have said, I\ncannot help thinking them mistaken.\n\nTwo things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannot\nmyself conceive.  My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions lively\nand impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great embarrassment\nand after much afterthought.  It might be said my heart and understanding\ndo not belong to the same individual.  A sentiment takes possession of my\nsoul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, it\ndazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, but\nstupid; to think I must be cool.  What is astonishing, my conception is\nclear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus at\nleisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice.\nI could hold a tolerable conversation by the post, as they say the\nSpaniards play at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke of\nSavoy, who turned himself round, while on a journey, to cry out 'a votre\ngorge, marchand de Paris!'  I said, \"Here is a trait of my character!\"\n\nThis slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not only\nsensible of in conversation, but even alone.  When I write, my ideas are\narranged with the utmost difficulty.  They glance on my imagination and\nferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation; during\nthis state of agitation, I see nothing properly, cannot write a single\nword, and must wait till it is over.  Insensibly the agitation subsides,\nthe chaos acquires form, and each circumstance takes its proper place.\nHave you never seen an opera in Italy? where during the change of scene\neverything is in confusion, the decorations are intermingled, and any one\nwould suppose that all would be overthrown; yet by little and little,\neverything is arranged, nothing appears wanting, and we feel surprised to\nsee the tumult succeeded by the most delightful spectacle.  This is a\nresemblance of what passes in my brain when I attempt to write; had I\nalways waited till that confusion was past, and then painted, in their\nnatural beauties, the objects that had presented themselves, few authors\nwould have surpassed me.\n\nThence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing; my manuscripts,\nblotted, scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they cost\nme; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe four\nor five times before it went to press.  Never could I do anything when\nplaced at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or in\nthe woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that I\ncompose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has not\nthe advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain by\nheart six verses.  Some of my periods I have turned and returned in my\nhead five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus it\nis that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, than\nthose that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could never\nsucceed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;\nnor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without it\ncosting me hours of fatigue.  If I write immediately what strikes me, my\nletter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which,\nwhen read, can hardly be understood.\n\nIt is not only painful to me to give language to my ideas but even to\nreceive them.  I have studied mankind, and think myself a tolerable\nobserver, yet I know nothing from what I see, but all from what I\nremember, nor have I understanding except in my recollections.  From all\nthat is said, from all that passes in my presence, I feel nothing,\nconceive nothing, the exterior sign being all that strikes me; afterwards\nit returns to my remembrance; I recollect the place, the time, the\nmanner, the look, and gesture, not a circumstance escapes me; it is then,\nfrom what has been done or said, that I imagine what has been thought,\nand I have rarely found myself mistaken.\n\nSo little master of my understanding when alone, let any one judge what I\nmust be in conversation, where to speak with any degree of ease you must\nthink of a thousand things at the same time: the bare idea that I should\nforget something material would be sufficient to intimidate me.  Nor can\nI comprehend how people can have the confidence to converse in large\ncompanies, where each word must pass in review before so many, and where\nit would be requisite to know their several characters and histories to\navoid saying what might give offence.  In this particular, those who\nfrequent the world would have a great advantage, as they know better\nwhere to be silent, and can speak with greater confidence; yet even they\nsometimes let fall absurdities; in what predicament then must he be who\ndrops as it were from the clouds? it is almost impossible he should speak\nten minutes with impunity.\n\nIn a tete-a-tete there is a still worse inconvenience; that is; the\nnecessity of talking perpetually, at least, the necessity of answering\nwhen spoken to, and keeping up the conversation when the other is silent.\nThis insupportable constraint is alone sufficient to disgust me with\nvariety, for I cannot form an idea of a greater torment than being\nobliged to speak continually without time for recollection.  I know not\nwhether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint; but if I am\nobliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense.  What is still worse,\ninstead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing to\nsay, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination: and\nendeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible, I\nhastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they only\nchance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to conquer or hide my\nincapacity, I rarely fail to show it.\n\nI think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I have\nfrequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this was\nthe more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise, and\nexpectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more shocking.\nThis detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will not be\nuseless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which might\notherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a savage\nhumor I do not possess.  I love society as much as any man, was I not\ncertain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but totally\ndifferent from what I really am.  The plan I have adopted of writing and\nretirement, is what exactly suits me.  Had I been present, my worth would\nnever have been known, no one would even have suspected it; thus it was\nwith Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived for several\nyears; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though on the whole\nthis rule may be subject to some exceptions.  I shall now return to my\nhistory.\n\nThe estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable of\npromised, the question only remained how to render her capable of\nfulfilling my destined vocation.  The principle difficulty was, I did not\nknow Latin enough for a priest.  Madam de Warrens determined to have me\ntaught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to the\nSuperior, who was a Lazarist, called M. Gras, a good-natured little\nfellow, half blind, meagre, gray-haired, insensible, and the least\npedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no great\nmatter.\n\nHe frequently visited Madam de Warrens, who entertained, caressed, and\nmade much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he was\nwilling enough to perform.  While thus employed, she would run about the\nroom, this way or that, as occasion happened to call her.  Drawn by the\nlace, Monsieur the Superior followed, grumbling, repeating at every\nmoment, \"Pray, madam, do stand still;\" the whole forming a scene truly\ndiverting.\n\nM. Gras willingly assented to the project of Madam de Warrens, and, for a\nvery moderate pension, charged himself with the care of instructing me.\nThe consent of the bishop was all that remained necessary, who not only\ngranted it, but offered to pay the pension, permitting me to retain the\nsecular habit till they could judge by a trial what success they might\nhave in my improvement.\n\nWhat a change! but I was obliged to submit; though I went to the seminary\nwith about the same spirits as if they had been taking me to execution.\nWhat a melancholy abode! especially for one who left the house of a\npretty woman.  I carried one book with me, that I had borrowed of Madam\nde Warrens, and found it a capital resource! it will not be easily\nconjectured what kind of book this was--it was a music book.  Among the\ntalents she had cultivated, music was not forgotten; she had a tolerable\ngood voice, sang agreeably, and played on the harpsichord.  She had taken\nthe pains to give me some lessons in singing, though before I was very\nuninformed in that respect, hardly knowing the music of our psalms.\nEight or ten interrupted lessons, far from putting me in a condition to\nimprove myself, did not teach me half the notes; notwithstanding, I had\nsuch a passion for the art, that I determined to exercise myself alone.\nThe book I took was not of the most easy kind; it was the cantatas of\nClerambault.  It may be conceived with what attention and perseverance I\nstudied, when I inform my reader, that without knowing anything of\ntransposition or quantity, I contrived to sing with tolerable\ncorrectness, the first recitative and air in the cantata of Alpheus and\nArethusa; it is true this air is, so justly set, that it is only\nnecessary to recite the verses in their just measure to catch the music.\n\nThere was at the seminary a curst Lazarist, who by undertaking to teach\nme Latin made me detest it.  His hair was coarse, black and greasy, his\nface like those formed in gingerbread, he had the voice of a buffalo, the\ncountenance of an owl, and the bristles of a boar in lieu of a beard; his\nsmile was sardonic, and his limbs played like those of a puppet moved by\nwires.  I have forgotten his odious name, but the remembrance of his\nfrightful precise countenance remains with me, though hardly can I\nrecollect it without trembling; especially when I call to mind our\nmeeting in the gallery, when he graciously advanced his filthy square cap\nas a sign for me to enter his apartment, which appeared more dismal in my\napprehension than a dungeon.  Let any one judge the contrast between my\npresent master and the elegant Abbe de Gauvon.\n\nHad I remained two months at the mercy of this monster, I am certain my\nhead could not have sustained it; but the good M. Gras, perceiving I was\nmelancholy, grew thin, and did not eat my victuals, guessed the cause of\nmy uneasiness (which indeed was not very difficult) and taking me from\nthe claws of this beast, by another yet more striking contrast, placed me\nwith the gentlest of men, a young Faucigneran abbe, named M. Gatier,\nwho studied at the seminary, and out of complaisance for M. Gras, and\nhumanity to myself, spared some time from the prosecution of his own\nstudies in order to direct mine.  Never did I see a more pleasing\ncountenance than that of M. Gatier.  He was fair complexioned, his beard\nrather inclined to red; his behavior like that of the generality of his\ncountrymen (who under a coarseness of countenance conceal much\nunderstanding), marked in him a truly sensible and affectionate soul.\nIn his large blue eyes there was a mixture of softness, tenderness, and\nmelancholy, which made it impossible to see him without feeling one's\nself interested.  From the looks and manner of this young abbe he might\nhave been supposed to have foreseen his destiny, and that he was born to\nbe unhappy.\n\nHis disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience and\ncomplaisance, he rather appeared to study with than to instruct me.\nSo much was not necessary to make me love him, his predecessor having\nrendered that very easy; yet, notwithstanding all the time he bestowed on\nme, notwithstanding our mutual good inclinations, and that his plan of\nteaching was excellent, with much labor, I made little progress.  It is\nvery singular, that with a clear conception I could never learn much from\nmasters except my father and M. Lambercier; the little I know besides I\nhave learned alone, as will be seen hereafter.  My spirit, impatient of\nevery species of constraint, cannot submit to the law of the moment; even\nthe fear of not learning prevents my being attentive, and a dread of\nwearying those who teach, makes me feign to understand them; thus they\nproceed faster than I can comprehend, and the conclusion is I learn\nnothing.  My understanding must take its own time and cannot submit to\nthat of another.\n\nThe time of ordination being arrived, M. Gatier returned to his province\nas deacon, leaving me with gratitude, attachment, and sorrow for his\nloss.  The vows I made for him were no more answered than those I offered\nfor myself.  Some years after, I learned, that being vicar of a parish,\na young girl was with child by him, being the only one (though he\npossessed a very tender heart) with whom he was ever in love.  This was a\ndreadful scandal in a diocese severely governed, where the priests (being\nunder good regulation) ought never to have children--except by married\nwomen.  Having infringed this politic law, he was put in prison, defamed,\nand driven from his benefice.  I know not whether it was ever after in\nhis power to reestablish his affairs; but the remembrance of his\nmisfortunes, which were deeply engraven on my heart, struck me when I\nwrote Emilius, and uniting M. Gatier with M. Gaime, I formed from these\ntwo worthy priests the character of the Savoyard Vicar, and flatter\nmyself the imitation has not dishonored the originals.\n\nWhile I was at the seminary, M. d'Aubonne was obliged to quit Annecy,\nMoultou being displeased that he made love to his wife, which was acting\nlike a dog in the manger, for though Madam Moultou was extremely amiable,\nhe lived very ill with her, treating her with such brutality that a\nseparation was talked of.  Moultou, by repeated oppressions, at length\nprocured a dismissal from his employment: he was a disagreeable man; a\nmole could not be blacker, nor an owl more knavish.  It is said the\nprovincials revenge themselves on their enemies by songs; M. d'Aubonne\nrevenged himself on his by a comedy, which he sent to Madam de Warrens,\nwho showed it to me.  I was pleased with it, and immediately conceived\nthe idea of writing one, to try whether I was so silly as the author had\npronounced me.  This project was not executed till I went to Chambery,\nwhere I wrote 'The Lover of Himself'.  Thus when I said in the preface to\nthat piece, \"it was written at eighteen,\" I cut off a few years.\n\nNearly about this time an event happened, not very important in itself,\nbut whose consequence affected me, and made a noise in the world when I\nhad forgotten it.  Once a week I was permitted to go out; it is not\nnecessary to say what use I made of this liberty.  Being one Sunday at\nMadam de Warrens, a building belonging to the Cordeliers, which joined\nher house, took fire; this building which contained their oven, being\nfull of dry fagots, blazed violently and greatly endangered the house;\nfor the wind happening to drive the flames that way, it was covered with\nthem.  The furniture, therefore, was hastily got out and carried into the\ngarden which fronted the windows, on the other side the before-mentioned\nbrook.  I was so alarmed that I threw indiscriminately everything that\ncame to hand out of the window, even to a large stone mortar, which at\nanother time I should have found it difficult to remove, and should have\nthrown a handsome looking-glass after it had not some one prevented me.\nThe good bishop, who that day was visiting Madam de Warrens, did not\nremain idle; he took her into the garden, where they went to prayers with\nthe rest that were assembled there, and where sometime afterwards,\nI found them on their knees, and presently joined them.  While the good\nman was at his devotions, the wind changed, so suddenly and critically,\nthat the flames which had covered the house and began to enter the\nwindows, were carried to the other side of the court, and the house\nreceived no damage.  Two years after, Monsieur de Berner being dead, the\nAntoines, his former brethren, began to collect anecdotes which might\nserve as arguments of his beatification; at the desire of Father Baudet,\nI joined to these an attestation of what I have just related, in doing\nwhich, though I attested no more than the truth, I certainly acted ill,\nas it tended to make an indifferent occurrence pass for a miracle.  I had\nseen the bishop in prayer, and had likewise seen the wind change during\nthe prayer, and even much to the purpose, all this I could certify truly;\nbut that one of these facts was the cause of the other, I ought not to\nhave attested, because it is what I could not possibly be assured of.\nThus much I may say, that as far as I can recollect what my ideas were at\nthat time, I was sincerely, and in good earnest a Catholic.  Love of the\nmarvellous is natural to the human heart; my veneration for the virtuous\nprelate, and secret pride in having, perhaps, contributed to the event in\nquestion, all helped to seduce me; and certainly, if this miracle was the\neffect of ardent prayer, I had a right to claim a share of the merits.\n\nMore than thirty years after, when I published the 'Lettres de la\nMontagne', M. Feron (I know not by what means) discovered this\nattestation, and made use of it in his paper.  I must confess the\ndiscovery was very critically timed, and appeared very diverting,\neven to me.\n\nI was destined to be the outcast of every condition; for notwithstanding\nM. Gatier gave the most favorable account he possibly could of my\nstudies, they plainly saw the improvement I received bore no proportion\nto the pains taken to instruct me, which was no encouragement to continue\nthem: the bishop and superior, therefore, were disheartened, and I was\nsent back to Madam de Warrens, as a subject not even fit to make a priest\nof; but as they allowed, at the same time, that I was a tolerably good\nlad, and far from being vicious, this account counterbalanced the former,\nand determined her not to abandon me.\n\nI carried back in triumph the dear music book, which had been so useful\nto me, the air of Alpheus and Arethusa being almost all I had learned at\nthe seminary.  My predilection for this art started the idea of making a\nmusician of, me.  A convenient opportunity offered; once a week, at\nleast, she had a concert at her house, and the music-master from the\ncathedral, who directed this little band, came frequently to see her.\nThis was a Parisian, named M. le Maitre, a good composer, very lively,\ngay, young, well made, of little understanding, but, upon the whole, a\ngood sort of man.  Madam de Warrens made us acquainted; I attached myself\nto him, and he seemed not displeased with me.  A pension was talked of,\nand agreed on; in short, I went home with him, and passed the winter the\nmore agreeably at his chambers, as they were not above twenty paces\ndistant from Madam de Warrens', where we frequently supped together.\nIt may easily be supposed that this situation, ever gay, and singing with\nthe musicians and children of the choir, was more pleasing to me than the\nseminary and fathers of St. Lazarus.  This life, though free, was\nregular; here I learned to prize independence, but never to abuse it.\nFor six whole months I never once went out except to see Madam de\nWarrens, or to church, nor had I any inclination to it.  This interval is\none of those in which I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction, and which I\nhave ever recollected with pleasure.  Among the various situations I have\nbeen placed in, some were marked with such an idea of virtuous\nsatisfaction, that the bare remembrance affects me as if they were yet\npresent.  I vividly recollect the time, the place, the persons, and even\nthe temperature of the air, while the lively idea of a certain local\nimpression peculiar to those times, transports me back again to the very\nspot; for example, all that was repeated at our meetings, all that was\nsung in the choir, everything that passed there; the beautiful and noble\nhabits of the canons, the chasubles of the priests, the mitres of the\nsingers, the persons of the musicians; an old lame carpenter who played\nthe counter-bass, a little fair abbe who performed on the violin, the\nragged cassock which M. le Maitre, after taking off his sword, used to\nput over his secular habit, and the fine surplice with which he covered\nthe rags of the former, when he went to the choir; the pride with which I\nheld my little flute to my lips, and seated myself in the orchestra, to\nassist in a recitative which M. le Maitre had composed on purpose for me;\nthe good dinner that afterwards awaited us, and the good appetites we\ncarried to it.  This concourse of objects, strongly retraced in my\nmemory, has charmed me a hundred time as much, or perhaps more, than ever\nthe reality had done.  I have always preserved an affection for a certain\nair of the 'Conditor alme Syderum', because one Sunday in Advent I heard\nthat hymn sung on the steps of the cathedral, (according to the custom of\nthat place) as I lay in bed before daybreak.  Mademoiselle Merceret,\nMadam de Warrens' chambermaid, knew something of music; I shall never\nforget a little piece that M. le Maitre made me sing with her, and which\nher mistress listened to with great satisfaction.  In a word, every\nparticular, even down to the servant Perrine, whom the boys of the choir\ntook such delight in teasing.  The remembrance of these times of\nhappiness and innocence frequently returning to my mind, both ravish and\naffect me.\n\nI lived at Annecy during a year without the least reproach, giving\nuniversal satisfaction.  Since my departure from Turin I had been guilty\nof no folly, committed none while under the eye of Madam de Warrens.\nShe was my conductor, and ever led me right; my attachment for her became\nmy only passion, and what proves it was not a giddy one, my heart and\nunderstanding were in unison.  It is true that a single sentiment,\nabsorbing all my faculties, put me out of a capacity of learning even\nmusic: but this was not my fault, since to the strongest inclination,\nI added the utmost assiduity.  I was attentive and thoughtful; what could\nI do?  Nothing was wanting towards my progress that depended on me;\nmeantime, it only required a subject that might inspire me to occasion\nthe commission of new follies: that subject presented itself, chance\narranged it, and (as will be seen hereafter) my inconsiderate head gave\nin to it.\n\nOne evening, in the month of February, when it was very cold, being all\nsat round the fire, we heard some one knock at the street door.  Perrine\ntook a light, went down and opened it: a young man entering, came\nupstairs, presented himself with an easy air, and making M. Maitre a\nshort, but well-turned compliment, announced himself as a French\nmusician, constrained by the state of his finances to take this liberty.\nThe hart of the good Le Maitre leaped at the name of a French musician,\nfor he passionately loved both his country and profession; he therefore\noffered the young traveller his service--and use of his apartment, which\nhe appeared to stand much in need of, and which he accepted without much\nceremony.  I observed him while he was chatting and warming himself\nbefore supper; he was short and thick, having some fault in his shape,\nthough without any particular deformity; he had (if I may so express\nmyself) an appearance of being hunchbacked, with flat shoulders, and I\nthink he limped.  He wore a black coat, rather worn than old, which hung\nin tatters, a very fine but dirty shirt, frayed ruffles; a pair of\nsplatterdashes so large that he could have put both legs into either of\nthem, and, to secure himself from the snow, a little hat, only fit to be\ncarried under his arm.  With this whimsical equipage, he had, however,\nsomething elegant in his manners and conversation; his countenance was\nexpressive and agreeable, and he spoke with facility if not with modesty;\nin short, everything about him bore the mark of a young debauchee, who\ndid not crave assistance like a beggar, but as a thoughtless madcap.\nHe told us his name was Venture de Villeneuve, that he came from Paris,\nhad lost his way, and seeming to forget that he had announced himself for\na musician, added that he was going to Grenoble to see a relation that\nwas a member of Parliament.\n\nDuring supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well: he knew\nall the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors,\nactresses, pretty women, and powerful lords; in short nothing was\nmentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with.  Though no\nsooner was any topic started, than by some drollery, which set every one\na-laughing, he made them forget what had been said.  This was on a\nSaturday; the next day there was to be music at the cathedral: M. le\nMaitre asked if he would sing there--\"Very willingly.\"--\"What part would\nhe chose?\"--\"The counter-tenor:\" and immediately began speaking of other\nthings.  Before he went to church they offered him his part to peruse,\nbut he did not even look at it.  This Gasconade surprised Le Maitre\n--\"You'll see,\" said he, whispering to me, \"that he does not know a single\nnote.\"--I replied: \"I am very much afraid of him.\"  I followed them into\nthe church; but was extremely uneasy, and when they began, my heart beat\nviolently, so much was I interested in his behalf.\n\nI was presently out of pain: he sung his two recitatives with all\nimaginable taste and judgment; and what was yet more, with a very\nagreeable voice.  I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise.  After mass,\nM. Venture received the highest compliments from the canons and\nmusicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace.  M. le\nMaitre embraced him heartily; I did the same; he saw I was rejoiced at\nhis success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction.\n\nIt will easily be surmised, that after having been delighted with M.\nBacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuated\nwith M. Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of the\nworld, and might be called an agreeable rake.  This was exactly what\nhappened, and would, I believe, have happened to any other young man in\nmy place; especially supposing him possessed of better judgment to\ndistinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it; for Venture\ndoubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, very\nrare at his age, namely, that of never being in haste to display his\ntalents.  It is true, he boasted of many things he did not understand,\nbut of those he knew (which were very numerous) he said nothing,\npatiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did with\nease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect.\nAs there was ever some intermission between the proofs of his various\nabilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever discovered\nall his talents.  Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing in\nconversation, ever smiling, but never laughing, and repeating the rudest\nthings in the most elegant manner--even the most modest women were\nastonished at what they endured from him: it was in vain for them to\ndetermine to be angry; they could not assume the appearance of it.\nIt was extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a country\nwhere they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so long\nremained only a musician.\n\nMy attachment to M. Venture, more reasonable in its cause, was also less\nextravagant in its effects, though more lively and durable than that I\nhad conceived for M. Bacle.  I loved to see him, to hear him, all his\nactions appeared charming, everything he said was an oracle to me, but\nthe enchantment did not extend far enough to disable me from quitting\nhim.  I spoke of him with transport to Madam de Warrens, Le Maitre\nlikewise spoke in his praise, and she consented we should bring him to\nher house.  This interview did not succeed; he thought her affected, she\nfound him a libertine, and, alarmed that I had formed such an ill\nacquaintance, not only forbade me bringing him there again, but likewise\npainted so strongly the danger I ran with this young man, that I became a\nlittle more circumspect in giving in to the attachment; and very happily,\nboth for my manners and wits, we were soon separated.\n\nM. le Maitre, like most of his profession, loved good wine; at table he\nwas moderate, but when busy in his closet he must drink.  His maid was so\nwell acquainted with this humor that no sooner had he prepared his paper\nto compose, and taken his violoncello, than the bottle and glass arrived,\nand was replenished from time to time: thus, without being ever\nabsolutely intoxicated, he was usually in a state of elevation.  This was\nreally unfortunate, for he had a good heart, and was so playful that\nMadam de Warrens used to call him the kitten.  Unhappily, he loved his\nprofession, labored much and drank proportionately, which injured his\nhealth, and at length soured his temper.  Sometimes he was gloomy and\neasily offended, though incapable of rudeness, or giving offence to any\none, for never did he utter a harsh word, even to the boys of the choir:\non the other hand, he would not suffer another to offend him, which was\nbut just: the misfortune was, having little understanding, he did not\nproperly discriminate, and was often angry without cause.\n\nThe Chapter of Geneva, where so many princes and bishops formerly thought\nit an honor to be seated, though in exile it lost its ancient splendor,\nretained (without any diminution) its pride.  To be admitted, you must\neither be a gentleman or Doctor of Sorbonne.  If there is a pardonable\npride, after that derived from personal merit, it is doubtless that\narising from birth, though, in general, priests having laymen in their\nservice treat them with sufficient haughtiness, and thus the canons\nbehaved to poor Le Maitre.  The chanter, in particular, who was called\nthe Abbe de Vidonne, in other respects a well-behaved man, but too full\nof his nobility, did not always show him the attention his talents\nmerited.  M. le Maitre could not bear these indignities patiently;\nand this year, during passion week, they had a more serious dispute than\nordinary.  At an institution dinner that the bishop gave the canons, and\nto which M. Maitre was always invited, the abbe failed in some formality,\nadding, at the same time, some harsh words, which the other could not\ndigest; he instantly formed the resolution to quit them the following\nnight; nor could any consideration make him give up his design, though\nMadam de Warrens (whom he went to take leave of) spared no pains to\nappease him.  He could not relinquish the pleasure of leaving his tyrants\nembarrassed for the Easter feast, at which time he knew they stood in\ngreatest need of him.  He was most concerned about his music, which he\nwished to take with him; but this could not easily be accomplished, as it\nfilled a large case, and was very heavy, and could not be carried under\nthe arm.\n\nMadam de Warrens did what I should have done in her situation; and\nindeed, what I should yet do: after many useless efforts to retain him,\nseeing he was resolved to depart, whatever might be the event, she formed\nthe resolution to give him every possible assistance.  I must confess Le\nMaitre deserved it of her, for he was (if I may use the expression)\ndedicated to her service, in whatever appertained to either his art or\nknowledge, and the readiness with which he obliged gave a double value to\nhis complaisance: thus she only paid back, on an essential occasion, the\nmany favors he had been long conferring on her; though I should observe,\nshe possessed a soul that, to fulfill such duties, had no occasion to be\nreminded of previous obligations.  Accordingly she ordered me to follow\nLe Maitre to Lyons, and to continue with him as long as he might have\noccasion for my services.  She has since avowed, that a desire of\ndetaching me from Venture had a great hand in this arrangement.  She\nconsulted Claude Anet about the conveyance of the above-mentioned case.\nHe advised, that instead of hiring a beast at Annecy, which would\ninfallibly discover us, it would be better, at night, to take it to some\nneighboring village, and there hire an ass to carry it to Seyssel, which\nbeing in the French dominions, we should have nothing to fear.  This plan\nwas adopted; we departed the same night at seven, and Madam de Warrens,\nunder pretense of paying my expenses, increased the purse of poor Le\nMaitre by an addition that was very acceptable.  Claude Anet, the\ngardiner, and myself, carried the case to the first village, then hired\nan ass, and the same night reached Seyssel.\n\nI think I have already remarked that there are times in which I am so\nunlike myself that I might be taken for a man of a direct opposite\ndisposition; I shall now give an example of this.  M. Reydelet, curate of\nSeyssel, was canon of St. Peter's, consequently known to M. le Maitre,\nand one of the people from whom he should have taken most pains to\nconceal himself; my advice, on the contrary, was to present ourselves to\nhim, and, under some pretext, entreat entertainment as if we visited him\nby consent of the chapter.  Le Maitre adopted the idea, which seemed to\ngive his revenge the appearance of satire and waggery; in short, we went\nboldly to Reydelet, who received us very kindly.  Le Maitre told him he\nwas going to Bellay by desire of the bishop, that he might superintend\nthe music during the Easter holidays, and that he proposed returning that\nway in a few days.  To support this tale, I told a hundred others, so\nnaturally that M. Reydelet thought me a very agreeable youth, and treated\nme with great friendship and civility.  We were well regaled and well\nlodged: M. Reydelet scarcely knew how to make enough of us; and we parted\nthe best friends in the world, with a promise to stop longer on our\nreturn.  We found it difficult to refrain from laughter, or wait till we\nwere alone to give free vent to our mirth: indeed, even now, the bare\nrecollection of it forces a smile, for never was waggery better or more\nfortunately maintained.  This would have made us merry during the\nremainder of our journey, if M. le Maitre (who did not cease drinking)\nhad not been two or three times attacked with a complaint that he\nafterwards became very subject to, and which resembled an epilepsy.\nThese fits threw me into the most fearful embarrassments, from which I\nresolved to extricate myself with the first opportunity.\n\nAccording to the information given to M. Reydelet, we passed our Easter\nholidays at Bellay, and though not expected there, were received by the\nmusic--master, and welcomed by every one with great pleasure.  M. le\nMaitre was of considerable note in his profession, and, indeed, merited\nthat distinction.  The music-master of Bellay (who was fond of his own\nworks) endeavored to obtain the approbation of so good a judge; for\nbesides being a connoisseur, M. le Maitre was equitable, neither a\njealous, ill-natured critic, nor a servile flatterer.  He was so superior\nto the generality of country music-masters and they were so sensible of\nit, that they treated him rather as their chief than a brother musician.\n\nHaving passed four or five days very agreeably at Bellay, we departed,\nand continuing our journey without meeting with any accidents, except\nthose I have just spoken of, arrived at Lyons, and were lodged at Notre\nDame de Pitie.  While we waited for the arrival of the before-mentioned\ncase (which by the assistance of another lie, and the care of our good\npatron, M. Reydelet, we had embarked on the Rhone) M. le Maitre went to\nvisit his acquaintance, and among others Father Cato, a Cordelier, who\nwill be spoken of hereafter, and the Abbe Dortan, Count of Lyons, both of\nwhom received him well, but afterwards betrayed him, as will be seen\npresently; indeed, his good fortune terminated with M. Reydelet.\n\nTwo days after our arrival at Lyons, as we passed a little street not far\nfrom our inn, Le Maitre was attacked by one of his fits; but it was now\nso violent as to give me the utmost alarm.  I screamed with terror,\ncalled for help, and naming our inn, entreated some one to bear him to\nit, then (while the people were assembled, and busy round a man that had\nfallen senseless in the street) he was abandoned by the only friend on\nwhom he could have any reasonable dependence; I seized the instant when\nno one heeded me, turned the corner of the street and disappeared.\nThanks to Heaven, I have made my third painful confession; if many such\nremained, I should certainly abandon the work I have undertaken.\n\nOf all the incidents I have yet related, a few traces are remaining in\nthe places where I have lived; but what I have to relate in the following\nbook is almost entirely unknown; these are the greatest extravagancies of\nmy life, and it is happy they had not worse conclusions.  My head, (if I\nmay use the simile) screwed up to the pitch of an instrument it did not\nnaturally accord with, had lost its diapason; in time it returned to it\nagain, when I discontinued my follies, or at least gave in to those more\nconsonant to my disposition.  This epoch of my youth I am least able to\nrecollect, nothing having passed sufficiently interesting to influence my\nheart, to make me clearly retrace the remembrance.  In so many successive\nchanges, it is difficult not to make some transpositions of time or\nplace.  I write absolutely from memory, without notes or materials to\nhelp my recollection.  Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they had\nrecently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill up\nbut by the aid of recital, as confused as the remaining traces of those\nto which they refer.  It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred in\ntrifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance I can\nanswer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same veracity\nthe reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it.\n\nMy resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Maitre; I set out\nimmediately for Annecy.  The cause and mystery of our departure had\ninterested me for the security of our retreat: this interest, which\nentirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every other\nidea; but no sooner was I secure and in tranquility, than my predominant\nsentiment regained its place.  Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me, I\nhad no wish but to return to Madam de Warrens; the tenderness and truth\nof my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginable\nproject, and all the follies of ambition, I conceived no happiness but\nliving near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that the\ndistance between us was increased.  I returned, therefore, as soon as\npossible, with such speed, and with my spirits in such a state of\nagitation, that though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, I\nhave not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leaving\nLyons and reaching Annecy.  Let anyone judge whether this last event can\nhave slipped my memory, when informed that on my arrival I found Madam de\nWarrens was not there, having set out for Paris.\n\nI was never well informed of the motives of this journey.  I am certain\nshe would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious to\nlearn the secrets of his friend.  My heart is ever so entirely filled\nwith the present, or with past pleasures, which become a principal part\nof my enjoyment, that there is not a chink or corner for curiosity to\nenter.  All that I conceive from what I heard of it, is, that in the\nrevolution caused at Turin by the abdication of the King of Sardinia,\nshe feared being forgotten, and was willing by favor of the intrigues of\nM. d' Aubonne to seek the same advantage in the court of France, where\nshe has often told me she should, have preferred it, as the multiplicity\nof business there prevents your conduct from being so closely inspected.\nIf this was her business, it is astonishing that on her return she was\nnot ill received; be that as it will, she continued to enjoy her\nallowance without any interruption.  Many people imagined she was charged\nwith some secret commission, either by the bishop, who then had business\nat the court of France, where he himself was soon after obliged to go,\nor some one yet more powerful, who knew how to insure her a gracious\nreception at her return.  If this was the case, it is certain the\nambassadress was not ill chosen, since being young and handsome, she had\nall the necessary qualifications to succeed in a negotiation.","title":"The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau \u2014 Volume 03","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":16504}