{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3906/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3906","id":"gutenberg_3906","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3906","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 VI.\n\n\n               Hoc erat in votis: Modus agri non ila magnus\n               Hortus ubi, et leclo vicinus aqua fons;\n               Et paululum sylvae superhis forel.\n\n\nI cannot add, 'auctius acque di melius fecere'; but no matter, the former\nis enough for my purpose; I had no occasion to have any property there,\nit was sufficient that I enjoyed it; for I have long since both said and\nfelt, that the proprietor and possessor are two very different people,\neven leaving husbands and lovers out of the question.\n\nAt this moment began the short happiness of my life, those peaceful and\nrapid moments, which have given me a right to say, I have lived.\nPrecious and ever--regretted moments!  Ah! recommence your delightful\ncourse; pass more slowly through my memory, if possible, than you\nactually did in your fugitive succession.  How shall I prolong, according\nto my inclination, this recital at once so pleasing and simple?  How\nshall I continue to relate the same occurrences, without wearying my\nreaders with the repetition, any more than I was satiated with the\nenjoyment?  Again, if all this consisted of facts, actions, or words, I\ncould somehow or other convey an idea of it; but how shall I describe\nwhat was neither said nor done, nor even thought, but enjoyed, felt,\nwithout being able to particularize any other object of my happiness than\nthe bare idea?  I rose with the sun, and was happy; I walked, and was\nhappy; I saw Madam de Warrens, and was happy; I quitted her, and still\nwas happy!--Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills, or\nstrolled along the valley; read, was idle, worked in the garden, or\ngathered fruits, happiness continually accompanied me; it was fixed on no\nparticular object, it was within me, nor could I depart from it a single\nmoment.\n\nNothing that passed during that charming epocha, nothing that I did,\nsaid, or thought, has escaped my memory.  The time that preceded or\nfollowed it, I only recollect by intervals, unequally and confused; but\nhere I remember all as distinctly as if it existed at this moment.\nImagination, which in my youth was perpetually anticipating the future,\nbut now takes a retrograde course, makes some amends by these charming\nrecollections for the deprivation of hope, which I have lost forever.\nI no longer see anything in the future that can tempt my wishes, it is a\nrecollection of the past alone that can flatter me, and the remembrance\nof the period I am now describing is so true and lively, that it\nsometimes makes me happy, even in spite of my misfortunes.\n\nOf these recollections I shall relate one example, which may give some\nidea of their force and precision.  The first day we went to sleep at\nCharmettes, the way being up-hill, and Madam de Warrens rather heavy, she\nwas carried in a chair, while I followed on foot.  Fearing the chairmen\nwould be fatigued, she got out about half-way, designing to walk the rest\nof it.  As we passed along, she saw something blue in the hedge, and\nsaid, \"There's some periwinkle in flower yet!\"  I had never seen any\nbefore, nor did I stop to examine this: my sight is too short to\ndistinguish plants on the ground, and I only cast a look at this as I\npassed: an interval of near thirty years had elapsed before I saw any\nmore periwinkle, at least before I observed it, when being at Cressier in\n1764, with my friend, M. du Peyrou, we went up a small mountain, on the\nsummit of which there is a level spot, called, with reason, 'Belle--vue',\nI was then beginning to herbalize;--walking and looking among the bushes,\nI exclaimed with rapture, \"Ah, there's some periwinkle!\"  Du Peyrou, who\nperceived my transport, was ignorant of the cause, but will some day be\ninformed: I hope, on reading this.  The reader may judge by this\nimpression, made by so small an incident, what an effect must have been\nproduced by every occurrence of that time.\n\nMeantime, the air of the country did not restore my health; I was\nlanguishing and became more so; I could not endure milk, and was obliged\nto discontinue the use of it.  Water was at this time the fashionable\nremedy for every complaint; accordingly I entered on a course of it, and\nso indiscreetly, that it almost released me, not only from my illness but\nalso from my life.  The water I drank was rather hard and difficult to\npass, as water from mountains generally is; in short, I managed so well,\nthat in the course of two months I totally ruined my stomach, which until\nthat time had been very good, and no longer digesting anything properly,\nhad no reason to expect a cure.  At this time an accident happened, as\nsingular in itself as in its subsequent consequences, which can only\nterminate with my existence.\n\nOne morning, being no worse than usual, while putting up the leaf of a\nsmall table, I felt a sudden and almost inconceivable revolution\nthroughout my whole frame.  I know not how to describe it better than as\na kind of tempest, which suddenly rose in my blood, and spread in a\nmoment over every part of my body.  My arteries began beating so\nviolently that I not only felt their motion, but even heard it,\nparticularly that of the carotids, attended by a loud noise in my ears,\nwhich was of three, or rather four, distinct kinds.  For instance, first\na grave hollow buzzing; then a more distinct murmur, like the running of\nwater; then an extremely sharp hissing, attended by the beating I before\nmentioned, and whose throbs I could easily count, without feeling my\npulse, or putting a hand to any part of my body.  This internal tumult\nwas so violent that it has injured my auricular organs, and rendered me,\nfrom that time, not entirely deaf, but hard of hearing.\n\nMy surprise and fear may easily be conceived; imagining it was the stroke\nof death, I went to bed, and the physician being sent for, trembling with\napprehension, I related my case; judging it past all cure.  I believe the\ndoctor was of the same opinion; however he performed his office, running\nover a long string of causes and effects beyond my comprehension, after\nwhich, in consequence of this sublime theory, he set about, 'in anima\nvili', the experimental part of his art, but the means he was pleased to\nadopt in order to effect a cure were so troublesome, disgusting, and\nfollowed by so little effect, that I soon discontinued it, and after some\nweeks, finding I was neither better nor worse, left my bed, and returned\nto my usual method of living; but the beating of my arteries and the\nbuzzing in my ears has never quitted me a moment during the thirty years'\ntime which has elapsed since that time.\n\nTill now, I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of repose,\nwith other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it, even to this\ntime, persuaded me I had but a short time to live.  This idea\ntranquillized me for a time: I became less anxious about a cure, and\nbeing persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ the\nremainder of it as usefully as possible.  This was practicable by a\nparticular indulgence of Nature, which, in this melancholy state,\nexempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I should\nhave experienced.  I was incommoded by the noise, but felt no pain, nor\nwas it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnal\nwakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath, which is not violent\nenough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I attempted to\nrun, or use any degree of exertion.\n\nThis accident, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my body, only\nkilled my passions, and I have reason to thank Heaven for the happy\neffect produced by it on my soul.  I can truly say, I only began to live\nwhen I considered myself as entering the grave; for, estimating at their\nreal value those things I was quitting; I began to employ myself on\nnobler objects, namely by anticipating those I hoped shortly to have the\ncontemplation of, and which I had hitherto too much neglected.  I had\noften made light of religion, but was never totally devoid of it;\nconsequently, it cost me less pain to employ my thoughts on that subject,\nwhich is generally thought melancholy, though highly pleasing to those\nwho make it an object of hope and consolation; Madam de Warrens,\ntherefore, was more useful to me on this occasion than all the\ntheologians in the world would have been.\n\nShe, who brought everything into a system, had not failed to do as much\nby religion; and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinity\nto each other.  Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous,\nbeing made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, and\nprejudices derived from education.  Men, in general, make God like\nthemselves; the virtuous make Him good, and the profligate make Him\nwicked; ill-tempered and bilious devotees see nothing but hell, because\nthey would willingly damn all mankind; while loving and gentle souls\ndisbelieve it altogether; and one of the astonishments I could never\novercome, is to see the good Fenelon speak of it in his Telemachus as if\nhe really gave credit to it; but I hope he lied in that particular, for\nhowever strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely must\nlie sometimes.  Madam de Warrens spoke truth with me, and that soul, made\nup without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angry God,\nsaw only clemency and forgiveness, where devotees bestowed inflexible\njustice, and eternal punishment.\n\nShe frequently said there would be no justice in the Supreme Being should\nHe be strictly just to us; because, not having bestowed what was\nnecessary to render us essentially good, it would be requiring more than\nhe had given.  The most whimsical idea was, that not believing in hell,\nshe was firmly persuaded of the reality of purgatory.  This arose from\nher not knowing what to do with the wicked, being loathed to damn them\nutterly, nor yet caring to place them with the good till they had become\nso; and we must really allow, that both in this world and the next, the\nwicked are very troublesome company.\n\nIt is clearly seen that the doctrine of original sin and the redemption\nof mankind is destroyed by this system; consequently that the basis of\nthe Christian dispensation, as generally received, is shaken, and that\nthe Catholic faith cannot subsist with these principles; Madam de\nWarrens, notwithstanding, was a good Catholic, or at least pretended to\nbe one, and certainly desired to become such, but it appeared to her that\nthe Scriptures were too literally and harshly explained, supposing that\nall we read of everlasting torments were figurative threatenings, and the\ndeath of Jesus Christ an example of charity, truly divine, which should\nteach mankind to love God and each other; in a word, faithful to the\nreligion she had embraced, she acquiesced in all its professions of\nfaith, but on a discussion of each particular article, it was plain she\nthought diametrically opposite to that church whose doctrines she\nprofessed to believe.  In these cases she exhibited simplicity of art, a\nfrankness more eloquent than sophistry, which frequently embarrassed her\nconfessor; for she disguised nothing from him.  \"I am a good Catholic,\"\nshe would say, \"and will ever remain so; I adopt with all the powers of\nmy soul the decisions of our holy Mother Church; I am not mistress of my\nfaith, but I am of my will, which I submit to you without reserve; I will\nendeavor to believe all,--what can you require more?\"\n\nHad there been no Christian morality established, I am persuaded she\nwould have lived as if regulated by its principles, so perfectly did they\nseem to accord with her disposition.  She did everything that was\nrequired; and she would have done the same had there been no such\nrequisition: but all this morality was subordinate to the principles of\nM. Tavel, or rather she pretended to see nothing in religion that\ncontradicted them; thus she would have favored twenty lovers in a day,\nwithout any idea of a crime, her conscience being no more moved in that\nparticular than her passions.  I know that a number of devotees are not\nmore scrupulous, but the difference is, they are seduced by constitution,\nshe was blinded by her sophisms.  In the midst of conversations the most\naffecting, I might say the most edifying, she would touch on this\nsubject, without any change of air or manner, and without being sensible\nof any contradiction in her opinions; so much was she persuaded that our\nrestrictions on that head are merely political, and that any person of\nsense might interpret, apply, or make exceptions to them, without any\ndanger of offending the Almighty.\n\nThough I was far enough from being of the same opinion in this\nparticular, I confess I dared not combat hers; indeed, as I was situated,\nit would have been putting myself in rather awkward circumstances, since\nI could only have sought to establish my opinion for others, myself being\nan exception.  Besides, I entertained but little hopes of making her\nalter hers, which never had any great influence on her conduct, and at\nthe time I am speaking of none; but I have promised faithfully to\ndescribe her principles, and I will perform my engagement--I now return\nto myself.\n\nFinding in her all those ideas I had occasion for to secure me from the\nfears of death and its future consequences, I drew confidence and\nsecurity from this source; my attachment became warmer than ever, and I\nwould willingly have transmitted to her my whole existence, which seemed\nready to abandon me.  From this redoubled attachment, a persuasion that I\nhad but a short time to live, and profound security on my future state,\narose an habitual and even pleasing serenity, which, calming every\npassion that extends our hopes and fears, made me enjoy without\ninquietude or concern the few days which I imagined remained for me.\nWhat contributed to render them still snore agreeable was an endeavor to\nencourage her rising taste for the country, by every amusement I could\npossibly devise, wishing to attach her to her garden, poultry, pigeons,\nand cows: I amused myself with them and these little occupations, which\nemployed my time without injuring my tranquillity, were more serviceable\nthan a milk diet, or all the remedies bestowed on my poor shattered\nmachine, even to effecting the utmost possible reestablishment of it.\n\nThe vintage and gathering in our fruit employed the remainder of the\nyear; we became more and more attached to a rustic life, and the society\nof our honest neighbors.  We saw the approach of winter with regret, and\nreturned to the city as if going into exile.  To me this return was\nparticularly gloomy, who never expected to see the return of spring, and\nthought I took an everlasting leave of Charmettes.  I did not quit it\nwithout kissing the very earth and trees, casting back many a wishful\nlook as I went towards Chambery.\n\nHaving left my scholars for so long a time, and lost my relish for the\namusements of the town, I seldom went out, conversing only with Madam de\nWarrens and a Monsieur Salomon, who had lately become our physician.  He\nwas an honest man, of good understanding, a great Cartesian, spoke\ntolerably well on the system of the world, and his agreeable and\ninstructive conversations were more serviceable than his prescriptions.\nI could never bear that foolish trivial mode of conversation which is so\ngenerally adopted; but useful instructive discourse has always given me\ngreat pleasure, nor was I ever backward to join in it.  I was much\npleased with that of M. Salomon; it appeared to me, that when in his\ncompany, I anticipated the acquisition of that sublime knowledge which my\nsoul would enjoy when freed from its mortal fetters.  The inclination I\nhad for him extended to the subjects which he treated on, and I began to\nlook after books which might better enable me to understand his\ndiscourse.  Those which mingled devotion with science were most agreeable\nto me, particularly Port Royal's Oratory, and I began to read or rather\nto devour them.  One fell into my hands written by Father Lami, called\n'Entretiens sur les Sciences', which was a kind of introduction to the\nknowledge of those books it treated of.  I read it over a hundred times,\nand resolved to make this my guide; in short, I found (notwithstanding my\nill state of health) that I was irresistibly drawn towards study, and\nthough looking on each day as the last of my life, read with as much\navidity as if certain I was to live forever.\n\nI was assured that reading would injure me; but on the contrary, I am\nrather inclined to think it was serviceable, not only to my soul, but\nalso to my body; for this application, which soon became delightful,\ndiverted my thoughts from my disorders, and I soon found myself much less\naffected by them.  It is certain, however, that nothing gave me absolute\nease, but having no longer any acute pain, I became accustomed to\nlanguishment and wakefulness; to thinking instead of acting; in short, I\nlooked on the gradual and slow decay of my body as inevitably progressive\nand only to be terminated by death.\n\nThis opinion not only detached me from all the vain cares of life, but\ndelivered me from the importunity of medicine, to which hitherto, I had\nbeen forced to submit, though contrary to my inclination.  Salomon,\nconvinced that his drugs were unavailing, spared me the disagreeable task\nof taking them, and contented himself with amusing the grief of my poor\nMadam de Warrens by some of those harmless preparations, which serve to\nflatter the hopes of the patient and keep up the credit of the doctor.\nI discontinued the strict regimen I had latterly observed, resumed the\nuse of wine, and lived in every respect like a man in perfect health,\nas far as my strength would permit, only being careful to run into no\nexcess; I even began to go out and visit my acquaintance, particularly\nM. de Conzie, whose conversation was extremely pleasing to me.  Whether\nit struck me as heroic to study to my last hour, or that some hopes of\nlife yet lingered in the bottom of my heart, I cannot tell, but the\napparent certainty of death, far from relaxing my inclination for\nimprovement, seemed to animate it, and I hastened to acquire knowledge\nfor the other world, as if convinced I should only possess that portion I\ncould carry with me.  I took a liking to the shop of a bookseller, whose\nname was Bouchard, which was frequented by some men of letters, and as\nthe spring (whose return I had never expected to see again) was\napproaching, furnished myself with some books for Charmettes, in case I\nshould have the happiness to return there.\n\nI had that happiness, and enjoyed it to the utmost extent.  The rapture\nwith which I saw the trees put out their first bud, is inexpressible!\nThe return of spring seemed to me like rising from the grave into\nparadise.  The snow was hardly off the ground when we left our dungeon\nand returned to Charmettes, to enjoy the first warblings of the\nnightingale.  I now thought no more of dying, and it is really singular,\nthat from this time I never experienced any dangerous illness in the\ncountry.  I have suffered greatly, but never kept my bed, and have often\nsaid to those about me, on finding myself worse than ordinary, \"Should\nyou see me at the point of death, carry me under the shade of an oak, and\nI promise you I shall recover.\"\n\nThough weak, I resumed my country occupations, as far as my strength\nwould permit, and conceived a real grief at not being able to manage our\ngarden without help; for I could not take five or six strokes with the\nspade without being out of breath and overcome with perspiration; when I\nstooped the beating redoubled, and the blood flew with such violence to\nmy head, that I was instantly obliged to stand upright.  Being therefore\nconfined to less fatiguing employments, I busied myself about the dove\n--house, and was so pleased with it that I sometimes passed several hours\nthere without feeling a moment's weariness.  The pigeon is very timid and\ndifficult to tame, yet I inspired mine with so much confidence that they\nfollowed me everywhere, letting me catch them at pleasure, nor could I\nappear in the garden without having two or three on my arms or head in an\ninstant, and notwithstanding the pleasure I took in them, their company\nbecame so troublesome that I was obliged to lessen the familiarity.  I\nhave ever taken great pleasure in taming animals, particularly those that\nare wild and fearful.  It appeared delightful to me, to inspire them with\na confidence which I took care never to abuse, wishing them to love me\nfreely.\n\nI have already mentioned that I purchased some books: I did not forget to\nread them, but in a manner more proper to fatigue than instruct me.\nI imagined that to read a book profitably, it was necessary to be\nacquainted with every branch of knowledge it even mentioned; far from\nthinking that the author did not do this himself, but drew assistance\nfrom other books, as he might see occasion.  Full of this silly idea, I\nwas stopped every moment, obliged to run from one book to another, and\nsometimes, before I could reach the tenth page of what I was studying,\nfound it necessary to turn over a whole library.  I was so attached to\nthis ridiculous method, that I lost a prodigious deal of time and had\nbewildered my head to such a degree, that I was hardly capable of doing,\nseeing or comprehending anything.  I fortunately perceived, at length,\nthat I was in the wrong road, which would entangle me in an inextricable\nlabyrinth, and quitted it before I was irrevocably lost.\n\nWhen a person has any real taste for the sciences, the first thing he\nperceives in the pursuit of them is that connection by which they\nmutually attract, assist, and enlighten each other, and that it is\nimpossible to attain one without the assistance of the rest.  Though the\nhuman understanding cannot grasp all, and one must ever be regarded as\nthe principal object, yet if the rest are totally neglected, the favorite\nstudy is generally obscure; I was convinced that my resolution to improve\nwas good and useful in itself, but that it was necessary I should change\nmy method; I, therefore, had recourse to the encyclopaedia.  I began by a\ndistribution of the general mass of human knowledge into its various\nbranches, but soon discovered that I must pursue a contrary course, that\nI must take each separately, and trace it to that point where it united\nwith the rest: thus I returned to the general synthetical method, but\nreturned thither with a conviction that I was going right.  Meditation\nsupplied the want of knowledge, and a very natural reflection gave\nstrength to my resolutions, which was, that whether I lived or died, I\nhad no time to lose; for having learned but little before the age of\nfive-and-twenty, and then resolving to learn everything, was engaging to\nemploy the future time profitably.  I was ignorant at what point accident\nor death might put a period to my endeavors, and resolved at all events\nto acquire with the utmost expedition some idea of every species of\nknowledge, as well to try my natural disposition, as to judge for myself\nwhat most deserved cultivation.\n\nIn the execution of my plan, I experienced another advantage which I had\nnever thought of; this was, spending a great deal of time profitably.\nNature certainly never meant me for study, since attentive application\nfatigues me so much, that I find it impossible to employ myself half an\nhour together intently on any one subject; particularly while following\nanother person's ideas, for it has frequently happened that I have\npursued my own for a much longer period with success.  After reading a\nfew pages of an author with close application, my understanding is\nbewildered, and should I obstinately continue, I tire myself to no\npurpose, a stupefaction seizes me, and I am no longer conscious of what I\nread; but in a succession of various subjects, one relieves me from the\nfatigue of the other, and without finding respite necessary, I can follow\nthem with pleasure.\n\nI took advantage of this observation in the plan of my studies, taking\ncare to intermingle them in such a manner that I was never weary: it is\ntrue that domestic and rural concerns furnished many pleasing\nrelaxations; but as my eagerness for improvement increased, I contrived\nto find opportunities for my studies, frequently employing myself about\ntwo things at the same time, without reflecting that both were\nconsequently neglected.\n\nIn relating so many trifling details, which delight me, but frequently\ntire my reader, I make use of the caution to suppress a great number,\nthough, perhaps, he would have no idea of this, if I did not take care to\ninform him of it: for example, I recollect with pleasure all the\ndifferent methods I adopted for the distribution of my time, in such a\nmanner as to produce the utmost profit and pleasure.  I may say, that the\nportion of my life which I passed in this retirement, though in continual\nill-health, was that in which I was least idle and least wearied.  Two or\nthree months were thus employed in discovering the bent of my genius;\nmeantime, I enjoyed, in the finest season of the year, and in a spot it\nrendered delightful, the charms of a life whose worth I was so highly\nsensible of, in such a society, as free as it was charming; if a union so\nperfect, and the extensive knowledge I purposed to acquire, can be called\nsociety.  It seemed to me as if I already possessed the improvements I\nwas only in pursuit of: or rather better, since the pleasure of learning\nconstituted a great part of my happiness.\n\nI must pass over these particulars, which were to me the height of\nenjoyment, but are too trivial to bear repeating: indeed, true happiness\nis indescribable, it is only to be felt, and this consciousness of\nfelicity is proportionately more, the less able we are to describe it;\nbecause it does not absolutely result from a concourse of favorable\nincidents, but is an affection of the mind itself.  I am frequently\nguilty of repetitions, but should be infinitely more so, did I repeat the\nsame thing as often as it recurs with pleasure to my mind.  When at\nlength my variable mode of life was reduced to a more uniform course, the\nfollowing was nearly the distribution of time which I adopted: I rose\nevery morning before the sun, and passed through a neighboring orchard\ninto a pleasant path, which, running by a vineyard, led towards Chambery.\nWhile walking, I offered up my prayers, not by a vain motion of the lips,\nbut a sincere elevation of my heart, to the Great Author of delightful\nnature, whose beauties were so charmingly spread out before me!  I never\nlove to pray in a chamber; it seems to me that the walls and all the\nlittle workmanship of man interposed between God and myself: I love to\ncontemplate Him in his works, which elevate my soul, and raise my\nthoughts to Him.  My prayers were pure, I can affirm it, and therefore\nworthy to be heard:--I asked for myself and her from whom my thoughts\nwere never divided, only an innocent and quiet life, exempt from vice,\nsorrow and want; I prayed that we might die the death of the just, and\npartake of their lot hereafter: for the rest, it was rather admiration\nand contemplation than request, being satisfied that the best means to\nobtain what is necessary from the Giver of every perfect good, is rather\nto deserve than to solicit.  Returning from my walk, I lengthened the way\nby taking a roundabout path, still contemplating with earnestness and\ndelight the beautiful scenes with which I was surrounded, those only\nobjects that never fatigue either the eye or the heart.  As I approached\nour habitation, I looked forward to see if Madam de Warrens was stirring,\nand when I perceived her shutters open, I even ran with joy towards the\nhouse: if they were yet shut I went into the garden to wait their\nopening, amusing myself, meantime, by a retrospection of what I had read\nthe preceding evening, or in gardening.  The moment the shutter drew back\nI hastened to embrace her, frequently half asleep; and this salute, pure\nas it was affectionate, even from its innocence, possessed a charm which\nthe senses can never bestow.  We usually breakfasted on milk-coffee; this\nwas the time of day when we had most leisure, and when we chatted with\nthe greatest freedom.  These sittings, which were usually pretty long,\nhave given me a fondness for breakfasts, and I infinitely prefer those of\nEngland, or Switzerland, which are considered as a meal, at which all the\nfamily assemble, than those of France, where they breakfast alone in\ntheir several apartments, or more frequently have none at all.  After an\nhour or two passed in discourse, I went to my study till dinner;\nbeginning with some philosophical work, such as the logic of Port-Royal,\nLocke's Essays, Mallebranche, Leibtnitz, Descartes, etc.  I soon found\nthat these authors perpetually contradict each other, and formed the\nchimerical project of reconciling them, which cost me much labor and loss\nof time, bewildering my head without any profit.  At length (renouncing\nthis idea) I adopted one infinitely more profitable, to which I attribute\nall the progress I have since made, notwithstanding the defects of my\ncapacity; for 'tis certain I had very little for study.  On reading each\nauthor, I acquired a habit of following all his ideas, without suffering\nmy own or those of any other writer to interfere with them, or entering\ninto any dispute on their utility.  I said to myself, \"I will begin by\nlaying up a stock of ideas, true or false, but clearly conceived, till my\nunderstanding shall be sufficiently furnished to enable me to compare and\nmake choice of those that are most estimable.\"  I am sensible this method\nis not without its inconveniences, but it succeeded in furnishing me with\na fund of instruction.  Having passed some years in thinking after\nothers, without reflection, and almost without reasoning, I found myself\npossessed of sufficient materials to set about thinking on my own\naccount, and when journeys of business deprived me of the opportunities\nof consulting books, I amused myself with recollecting and comparing what\nI had read, weighing every opinion on the balance of reason, and\nfrequently judging my masters.  Though it was late before I began to\nexercise my judicial faculties, I have not discovered that they had lost\ntheir vigor, and on publishing my own ideas, have never been accused of\nbeing a servile disciple or of swearing 'in verba magistri'.\n\nFrom these studies I passed to the elements of geometry, for I never went\nfurther, forcing my weak memory to retain them by going the same ground a\nhundred and a hundred times over.  I did not admire Euclid, who rather\nseeks a chain of demonstration than a connection of ideas: I preferred\nthe geometry of Father Lama, who from that time became one of my favorite\nauthors, and whose works I yet read with pleasure.  Algebra followed, and\nFather Lama was still my guide: when I made some progress, I perused\nFather Reynaud's Science of Calculation, and then his Analysis\nDemonstrated; but I never went far enough thoroughly to understand the\napplication of algebra to geometry.  I was not pleased with this method\nof performing operations by rule without knowing what I was about:\nresolving geometrical problems by the help of equations seemed like\nplaying a tune by turning round a handle.  The first time I found by\ncalculation that the square of a binocular figure was composed of the\nsquare of each of its parts, and double the product of one by the other;\nthough convinced that my multiplication was right, I could not be\nsatisfied till I had made and examined the figure: not but I admire\nalgebra when applied to abstract quantities, but when used to demonstrate\ndimensions, I wished to see the operation, and unless explained by lines,\ncould not rightly comprehend it.\n\nAfter this came Latin: it was my most painful study, and in which I never\nmade great progress.  I began by Port-Royal's Rudiments, but without\nsuccess; I lost myself in a crowd of rules; and in studying the last\nforgot all that preceded it.  A study of words is not calculated for a\nman without memory, and it was principally an endeavor to make my memory\nmore retentive, that urged me obstinately to persist in this study, which\nat length I was obliged to relinquish.  As I understood enough to read an\neasy author by the aid of a dictionary, I followed that method, and found\nit succeed tolerably well.  I likewise applied myself to translation, not\nby writing, but mentally, and by exercise and perseverance attained to\nread Latin authors easily, but have never been able to speak or write\nthat language, which has frequently embarrassed me when I have found\nmyself (I know not by what means) enrolled among men of letters.\n\nAnother inconvenience that arose from this manner of learning is, that I\nnever understood prosody, much less the rules of versification; yet,\nanxious to understand the harmony of the language, both in prose and\nverse, I have made many efforts to obtain it, but am convinced, that\nwithout a master it is almost impossible.  Having learned the composition\nof the hexameter, which is the easiest of all verses, I had the patience\nto measure out the greater part of Virgil into feet and quantity, and\nwhenever I was dubious whether a syllable was long or short, immediately\nconsulted my Virgil.  It may easily be conceived that I ran into many\nerrors in consequence of those licenses permitted by the rules of\nversification; and it is certain, that if there is an advantage in\nstudying alone, there are also great inconveniences and inconceivable\nlabor, as I have experienced more than any one.\n\nAt twelve I quitted my books, and if dinner was not ready, paid my\nfriends, the pigeons, a visit, or worked in the garden till it was, and\nwhen I heard myself called, ran very willingly, and with a good appetite\nto partake of it, for it is very remarkable, that let me be ever so\nindisposed my appetite never fails.  We dined very agreeably, chatting\ntill Madam de Warrens could eat.  Two or three times a week, when it was\nfine, we drank our coffee in a cool shady arbor behind the house, that I\nhad decorated with hops, and which was very refreshing during the heat;\nwe usually passed an hour in viewing our flowers and vegetables, or in\nconversation relative to our manner of life, which greatly increased the\npleasure of it.  I had another little family at the end of the garden;\nthese were several hives of bees, which I never failed to visit once a\nday, and was frequently accompanied by Madam de Warrens.  I was greatly\ninterested in their labor, and amused myself seeing them return to the\nhives, their little thighs so loaded with the precious store that they\ncould hardly walk.  At first, curiosity made me indiscreet, and they\nstung me several times, but afterwards, we were so well acquainted, that\nlet me approach as near as I would, they never molested me, though the\nhives were full and the bees ready to swarm.  At these times I have been\nsurrounded, having them on my hands and face without apprehending any\ndanger.  All animals are distrustful of man, and with reason, but when\nonce assured he does not mean to injure them, their confidence becomes so\ngreat that he must be worse than a barbarian who abuses it.\n\nAfter this I returned to my books; but my afternoon employment ought\nrather to bear the name of recreation and amusement, than labor or study.\nI have never been able to bear application after dinner, and in general\nany kind of attention is painful to me during the heat of the day.  I\nemployed myself, 'tis true, but without restraint or rule, and read\nwithout studying.  What I most attended to at these times, was history\nand geography, and as these did not require intense application, made as\nmuch progress in them as my weak memory would permit.  I had an\ninclination to study Father Petau, and launched into the gloom of\nchronology, but was disgusted at the critical part, which I found had\nneither bottom nor banks; this made me prefer the more exact measurement\nof time by the course of the celestial bodies.  I should even have\ncontracted a fondness for astronomy, had I been in possession of\ninstruments, but was obliged to content myself with some of the elements\nof that art, learned from books, and a few rude observations made with a\ntelescope, sufficient only to give me a general idea of the situation of\nthe heavenly bodies; for my short sight is insufficient to distinguish\nthe stars without the help of a glass.\n\nI recollect an adventure on this subject, the remembrance of which has\noften diverted me.  I had bought a celestial planisphere to study the\nconstellations by, and, having fixed it on a frame, when the nights were\nfine and the sky clear, I went into the garden; and fixing the frame on\nfour sticks, something higher than myself, which I drove into the ground,\nturned the planisphere downwards, and contrived to light it by means of a\ncandle (which I put in a pail to prevent the wind from blowing it out)\nand then placed in the centre of the above--mentioned four supporters;\nthis done, I examined the stars with my glass, and from time to time\nreferring to my planisphere, endeavored to distinguish the various\nconstellations.  I think I have before observed that our garden was on a\nterrace, and lay open to the road.  One night, some country people\npassing very late, saw me in a most grotesque habit, busily employed in\nthese observations: the light, which struck directly on the planisphere,\nproceeding from a cause they could not divine (the candle being concealed\nby the sides of the pail), the four stakes supporting a large paper,\nmarked over with various uncouth figures, with the motion of the\ntelescope, which they saw turning backwards and forwards, gave the whole\nan air of conjuration that struck them with horror and amazement.  My\nfigure was by no means calculated to dispel their fears; a flapped hat\nput on over my nightcap, and a short cloak about my shoulder (which Madam\nde Warrens had obliged me to put on) presented in their idea the image of\na real sorcerer.  Being near midnight, they made no doubt but this was\nthe beginning of some diabolical assembly, and having no curiosity to pry\nfurther into these mysteries, they fled with all possible speed, awakened\ntheir neighbors, and described this most dreadful vision.  The story\nspread so fast that the next day the whole neighborhood was informed that\na nocturnal assembly of witches was held in the garden that belonged to\nMonsieur Noiret, and I am ignorant what might have been the consequence\nof this rumor if one of the countrymen who had been witness to my\nconjurations had not the same day carried his complaint to two Jesuits,\nwho frequently came to visit us, and who, without knowing the foundation\nof the story, undeceived and satisfied them.  These Jesuits told us the\nwhole affair, and I acquainted them with the cause of it, which\naltogether furnished us with a hearty laugh.  However, I resolved for the\nfuture to make my observations without light, and consult my planisphere\nin the house.  Those who have read Venetian magic, in the 'Letters from\nthe Mountain', may find that I long since had the reputation of being a\nconjurer.\n\nSuch was the life I led at Charmettes when I had no rural employments,\nfor they ever had the preference, and in those that did not exceed my\nstrength, I worked like a peasant; but my extreme weakness left me little\nexcept the will; besides, as I have before observed, I wished to do two\nthings at once, and therefore did neither well.  I obstinately persisted\nin forcing my memory to retain a great deal by heart, and for that\npurpose, I always carried some book with me, which, while at work,\nI studied with inconceivable labor.  I was continually repeating\nsomething, and am really amazed that the fatigue of these vain and\ncontinual efforts did not render me entirely stupid.  I must have learned\nand relearned the Eclogues of Virgil twenty times over, though at this\ntime I cannot recollect a single line of them.  I have lost or spoiled a\ngreat number of books by a custom I had of carrying them with me into the\ndove-house, the garden, orchard or vineyard, when, being busy about\nsomething else, I laid my book at the foot of a tree, on the hedge, or\nthe first place that came to hand, and frequently left them there,\nfinding them a fortnight after, perhaps, rotted to pieces, or eaten by\nthe ants or snails; and this ardor for learning became so far a madness\nthat it rendered me almost stupid, and I was perpetually muttering some\npassage or other to myself.\n\nThe writings of Port-Royal, and those of the Oratory, being what I most\nread, had made me half a Jansenist, and, notwithstanding all my\nconfidence, their harsh theology sometimes alarmed me.  A dread of hell,\nwhich till then I had never much apprehended, by little and little\ndisturbed my security, and had not Madam de Warrens tranquillized my\nsoul, would at length have been too much for me.  My confessor, who was\nhers likewise, contributed all in his power to keep up my hopes.  This\nwas a Jesuit, named Father Hemet; a good and wise old man, whose memory\nI shall ever hold in veneration.  Though a Jesuit, he had the simplicity\nof a child, and his manners, less relaxed than gentle, were precisely\nwhat was necessary to balance the melancholy impressions made on me by\nJansenism.  This good man and his companion, Father Coppier, came\nfrequently to visit us at Charmette, though the road was very rough and\ntedious for men of their age.  These visits were very comfortable to me,\nwhich may the Almighty return to their souls, for they were so old that I\ncannot suppose them yet living.  I sometimes went to see them at\nChambery, became acquainted at their convent, and had free access to the\nlibrary.  The remembrance of that happy time is so connected with the\nidea of those Jesuits, that I love one on account of the other, and\nthough I have ever thought their doctrines dangerous, could never find\nmyself in a disposition to hate them cordially.\n\nI should like to know whether there ever passed such childish notions in\nthe hearts of other men as sometimes do in mine.  In the midst of my\nstudies, and of a life as innocent as man could lead, notwithstanding\nevery persuasion to the contrary, the dread of hell frequently tormented\nme.  I asked myself, \"What state am I in?  Should I die at this instant,\nmust I be damned?\"  According to my Jansenists the matter was\nindubitable, but according to my conscience it appeared quite the\ncontrary: terrified and floating in this cruel uncertainty, I had\nrecourse to the most laughable expedient to resolve my doubts, for which\nI would willingly shut up any man as a lunatic should I see him practise\nthe same folly.  One day, meditating on this melancholy subject,\nI exercised myself in throwing stones at the trunks of trees, with my\nusual dexterity, that is to say, without hitting any of them.  In the\nheight of this charming exercise, it entered my mind to make a kind of\nprognostic, that might calm my inquietude; I said, \"I will throw this\nstone at the tree facing me; if I hit my mark, I will consider it as a\nsign of salvation; if I miss, as a token of damnation.\"  While I said\nthis, I threw the stone with a trembling hand and beating breast but so\nhappily that it struck the body of the tree, which truly was not a\ndifficult matter, for I had taken care to choose one that was very large\nand very near me.  From that moment I never doubted my salvation: I know\nnot on recollecting this trait, whether I ought to laugh or shudder at\nmyself.  Ye great geniuses, who surely laugh at my folly, congratulate\nyourselves on your superior wisdom, but insult not my unhappiness, for I\nswear to you that I feel it most sensibly.\n\nThese troubles, these alarms, inseparable, perhaps, from devotion, were\nonly at intervals; in general, I was tranquil, and the impression made on\nmy soul by the idea of approaching death, was less that of melancholy\nthan a peaceful languor, which even had its pleasures.  I have found\namong my old papers a kind of congratulation and exhortation which I made\nto myself on dying at an age when I had the courage to meet death with\nserenity, without having experienced any great evils, either of body or\nmind.  How much justice was there in the thought!  A preconception of\nwhat I had to suffer made me fear to live, and it seemed that I dreaded\nthe fate which must attend my future days.  I have never been so near\nwisdom as during this period, when I felt no great remorse for the past,\nnor tormenting fear for the future; the reigning sentiment of my soul\nbeing the enjoyment of the present.  Serious people usually possess a\nlively sensuality, which makes them highly enjoy those innocent pleasures\nthat are allowed them.  Worldlings (I know not why) impute this to them\nas a crime: or rather, I well know the cause of this imputation, it is\nbecause they envy others the enjoyment of those simple and pure delights\nwhich they have lost the relish of.  I had these inclinations, and found\nit charming to gratify them in security of conscience.  My yet\ninexperienced heart gave in to all with the calm happiness of a child,\nor rather (if I dare use the expression) with the raptures of an angel;\nfor in reality these pure delights are as serene as those of paradise.\nDinners on the grass at Montagnole, suppers in our arbor, gathering in\nthe fruits, the vintage, a social meeting with our neighbors; all these\nwere so many holidays, in which Madam de Warrens took as much pleasure as\nmyself.  Solitary walks afforded yet purer pleasure, because in them our\nhearts expanded with greater freedom: one particularly remains in my\nmemory; it was on a St. Louis' day, whose name Madam de Warrens bore: we\nset out together early and unattended, after having heard a mass at break\nof day in a chapel adjoining our house, from a Carmelite, who attended\nfor that purpose.  As I proposed walking over the hills opposite our\ndwelling, which we had not yet visited, we sent our provisions on before;\nthe excursion being to last the whole day.  Madam de Warrens, though\nrather corpulent, did not walk ill, and we rambled from hill to hill and\nwood to wood, sometimes in the sun, but oftener in the shade, resting\nfrom time to time, and regardless how the hours stole away; speaking of\nourselves, of our union, of the gentleness of our fate, and offering up\nprayers for its duration, which were never heard.  Everything conspired\nto augment our happiness: it had rained for several days previous to\nthis, there was no dust, the brooks were full and rapid, a gentle breeze\nagitated the leaves, the air was pure, the horizon free from clouds,\nserenity reigned in the sky as in our hearts.  Our dinner was prepared at\na peasant's house, and shared with him and his family, whose benedictions\nwe received.  These poor Savoyards are the worthiest of people!  After\ndinner we regained the shade, and while I was picking up bits of dried\nsticks, to boil our coffee, Madam de Warrens amused herself with\nherbalizing among the bushes, and with the flowers I had gathered for her\nin my way.  She made me remark in their construction a thousand natural\nbeauties, which greatly amused me, and which ought to have given me a\ntaste for botany; but the time was not yet come, and my attention was\narrested by too many other studies.  Besides this, an idea struck me,\nwhich diverted my thoughts from flowers and plants: the situation of my\nmind at that moment, all that we had said or done that day, every object\nthat had struck me, brought to my remembrance the kind of waking dream I\nhad at Annecy seven or eight years before, and which I have given an\naccount of in its place.  The similarity was so striking that it affected\nme even to tears: in a transport of tenderness I embraced Madam de\nWarrens.  \"My dearest friend,\" said I, \"this day has long since been\npromised me: I can see nothing beyond it: my happiness, by your means,\nis at its height; may it never decrease; may it continue as long as I am\nsensible of its value-then it can only finish with my life.\"\n\nThus happily passed my days, and the more happily as I perceived nothing\nthat could disturb or bring them to a conclusion; not that the cause of\nmy former uneasiness had absolutely ceased, but I saw it take another\ncourse, which I directed with my utmost care to useful objects, that the\nremedy might accompany the evil.  Madam de Warrens naturally loved the\ncountry, and this taste did not cool while with me.  By little and little\nshe contracted a fondness for rustic employments, wished to make the most\nof her land, and had in that particular a knowledge which she practised\nwith pleasure.\n\nNot satisfied with what belonged to the house, she hired first a field,\nthen a meadow, transferring her enterprising humor to the objects of\nagriculture, and instead of remaining unemployed in the house, was in the\nway of becoming a complete farmer.  I was not greatly pleased to see this\npassion increase, and endeavored all I could to oppose it; for I was\ncertain she would be deceived, and that her liberal extravagant\ndisposition would infallibly carry her expenses beyond her profits;\nhowever, I consoled myself by thinking the produce could not be useless,\nand would at least help her to live.  Of all the projects she could form,\nthis appeared the least ruinous: without regarding it, therefore, in the\nlight she did, as a profitable scheme, I considered it as a perpetual\nemployment, which would keep her from more ruinous enterprises, and out\nof the reach of impostors.  With this idea, I ardently wished to recover\nmy health and strength, that I might superintend her affairs, overlook\nher laborers, or, rather, be the principal one myself.  The exercise this\nnaturally obliged me to take, with the relaxation it procured me from\nbooks and study, was serviceable to my health.\n\nThe winter following, Barillot returning from Italy, brought me some\nbooks; and among others, the 'Bontempi' and 'la Cartella per Musica', of\nFather Banchieri; these gave me a taste for the history of music and for\nthe theoretical researches of that pleasing art.  Barillot remained some\ntime with us, and as I had been of age some months, I determined to go to\nGeneva the following spring, and demand my mother's inheritance, or at\nleast that part which belonged to me, till it could be ascertained what\nhad become of my brother.  This plan was executed as it had been\nresolved: I went to Geneva; my father met me there, for he had\noccasionally visited Geneva a long time since, without its being\nparticularly noticed, though the decree that had been pronounced against\nhim had never been reversed; but being esteemed for his courage, and\nrespected for his probity, the situation of his affairs was pretended to\nbe forgotten; or perhaps, the magistrates, employed with the great\nproject that broke out some little time after, were not willing to alarm\nthe citizens by recalling to their memory, at an improper time, this\ninstance of their former partiality.\n\nI apprehended that I should meet with difficulties, on account of having\nchanged my religion, but none occurred; the laws of Geneva being less\nharsh in that particular than those of Berne, where, whoever changes his\nreligion, not only loses his freedom, but his property.  My rights,\nhowever, were not disputed: but I found my patrimony, I know not how,\nreduced to very little, and though it was known almost to a certainty\nthat my brother was dead, yet, as there was no legal proof, I could not\nlay claim to his share, which I left without regret to my father, who\nenjoyed it as long as he lived.  No sooner were the necessary formalities\nadjusted, and I had received my money, some of which I expended in books,\nthan I flew with the remainder to Madam de Warrens; my heart beat with\njoy during the journey, and the moment in which I gave the money into her\nhands, was to me a thousand times more delightful than that which gave it\ninto mine.  She received this with a simplicity common to great souls,\nwho, doing similar actions without effort, see them without admiration;\nindeed it was almost all expended for my use, for it would have been\nemployed in the same manner had it come from any other quarter.\n\nMy health was not yet re-established; I decayed visibly, was pale as\ndeath, and reduced to an absolute skeleton; the beating of my arteries\nwas extreme, my palpitations were frequent: I was sensible of a continual\noppression, and my weakness became at length so great, that I could\nscarcely move or step without danger of suffocation, stoop without\nvertigoes, or lift even the smallest weight, which reduced me to the most\ntormenting inaction for a man so naturally stirring as myself.  It is\ncertain my disorder was in a great measure hypochondriacal.  The vapors\nis a malady common to people in fortunate situations: the tears I\nfrequently shed, without reason; the lively alarms I felt on the falling\nof a leaf, or the fluttering of a bird; inequality of humor in the calm\nof a most pleasing life; lassitude which made me weary even of happiness,\nand carried sensibility to extravagance, were an instance of this.  We\nare so little formed for felicity, that when the soul and body do not\nsuffer together, they must necessarily endure separate inconveniences,\nthe good state of the one being almost always injurious to the happiness\nof the other.  Had all the pleasure of life courted me, my weakened frame\nwould not have permitted the enjoyment of them, without my being able to\nparticularize the real seat of my complaint; yet in the decline of life;\nafter having encountered very serious and real evils, my body seemed to\nregain its strength, as if on purpose to encounter additional\nmisfortunes; and, at the moment I write this, though infirm, near sixty,\nand overwhelmed with every kind of sorrow, I feel more ability to suffer\nthan I ever possessed for enjoyment when in the very flower of my age,\nand in the bosom of real happiness.\n\nTo complete me, I had mingled a little physiology among my other\nreadings: I set about studying anatomy, and considering the multitude,\nmovement, and wonderful construction of the various parts that composed\nthe human machine; my apprehensions were instantly increased, I expected\nto feel mine deranged twenty times a day, and far from being surprised to\nfind myself dying, was astonished that I yet existed!  I could not read\nthe description of any malady without thinking it mine, and, had I not\nbeen already indisposed, I am certain I should have become so from this\nstudy.  Finding in every disease symptoms similar to mine, I fancied I\nhad them all, and, at length, gained one more troublesome than any I yet\nsuffered, which I had thought myself delivered from; this was, a violent\ninclination to seek a cure; which it is very difficult to suppress, when\nonce a person begins reading physical books.  By searching, reflecting,\nand comparing, I became persuaded that the foundation of my complaint was\na polypus at the heart, and Doctor Salomon appeared to coincide with the\nidea.  Reasonably this opinion should have confirmed my former resolution\nof considering myself past cure; this, however, was not the case; on the\ncontrary; I exerted every power of my understanding in search of a remedy\nfor a polypus, resolving to undertake this marvellous cure.\n\nIn a journey which Anet had made to Montpelier, to see the physical\ngarden there, and visit Monsieur Sauvages, the demonstrator, he had been\ninformed that Monsieur Fizes had cured a polypus similar to that I\nfancied myself afflicted with: Madam de Warrens, recollecting this\ncircumstance, mentioned it to me, and nothing more was necessary to\ninspire me with a desire to consult Monsieur Fizes.  The hope of recovery\ngave me courage and strength to undertake the journey; the money from\nGeneva furnished the means; Madam de Warrens, far from dissuading,\nentreated me to go: behold me, therefore, without further ceremony, set\nout for Montpelier!--but it was not necessary to go so far to find the\ncure I was in search of.\n\nFinding the motion of the horse too fatiguing, I had hired a chaise at\nGrenoble, and on entering Moirans, five or six other chaises arrived in a\nrank after mine.  The greater part of these were in the train of a new\nmarried lady called Madam du Colombier; with her was a Madam de Larnage,\nnot so young or handsome as the former, yet not less amiable.  The bride\nwas to stop at Romans, but the other lady was to pursue her route as far\nas Saint-Andiol, near the bridge du St. Esprit.  With my natural timidity\nit will not be conjectured that I was very ready at forming an\nacquaintance with these fine ladies, and the company that attended them;\nbut travelling the same road, lodging at the same inns, and being obliged\nto eat at the same table, the acquaintance seemed unavoidable, as any\nbackwardness on my part would have got me the character of a very\nunsociable being: it was formed then, and even sooner than I desired,\nfor all this bustle was by no means convenient to a person in ill health,\nparticularly to one of my humor.  Curiosity renders these vixens\nextremely insinuating; they accomplish their design of becoming\nacquainted with a man by endeavoring to turn his brain, and this was\nprecisely what happened to me.  Madam du Colombier was too much\nsurrounded by her young gallants to have any opportunity of paying much\nattention to me; besides, it was not worthwhile, as we were to separate\nin so short a time; but Madam de Larnage (less attended to than her young\nfriend) had to provide herself for the remainder of the journey; behold\nme, then, attacked by Madam de Larnage, and adieu to poor Jean Jacques,\nor rather farewell to fever, vapors, and polypus; all completely vanished\nwhen in her presence.  The ill state of my health was the first subject\nof our conversation; they saw I was indisposed, knew I was going to\nMontpelier, but my air and manner certainly did not exhibit the\nappearance of a libertine, since it was clear by what followed they did\nnot suspect I was going there for a reason that carries many that road.\n\nIn the morning they sent to inquire after my health and invite me to take\nchocolate with them, and when I made my appearance asked how I had passed\nthe night.  Once, according to my praiseworthy custom of speaking without\nthought, I replied, \"I did not know,\" which answer naturally made them\nconclude I was a fool: but, on questioning me further; the examination\nturned out so far to my advantage, that I rather rose in their opinion,\nand I once heard Madam du Colombier say to her friend, \"He is amiable,\nbut not sufficiently acquainted with the world.\"  These words were a\ngreat encouragement, and assisted me in rendering myself agreeable.\n\nAs we became more familiar, it was natural to give each other some little\naccount of whence we came and who we were: this embarrassed me greatly,\nfor I was sensible that in good company and among women of spirit, the\nvery name of a new convert would utterly undo me.  I know not by what\nwhimsicallity I resolved to pass for an Englishman; however, in\nconsequence of that determination I gave myself out for a Jacobite, and\nwas readily believed.  They called me Monsieur Dudding, which was the\nname I assumed with my new character, and a cursed Marquis Torignan, who\nwas one of the company, an invalid like myself, and both old and ill\n--tempered, took it in his head to begin a long conversation with me.  He\nspoke of King James, of the Pretender, and the old court of\nSt. Germain's; I sat on thorns the whole time, for I was totally\nunacquainted with all these except what little I had picked up in the\naccount of Earl Hamilton, and from the gazettes; however, I made such\nfortunate use of the little I did know as to extricate myself from this\ndilemma, happy in not being questioned on the English language, which I\ndid not know a single word of.\n\nThe company were all very agreeable; we looked forward to the moment of\nseparation with regret, and therefore made snails' journeys.  We arrived\none Sunday at St. Marcelein's; Madam de Larnage would go to mass; I\naccompanied her, and had nearly ruined all my affairs, for by my modest\nreserved countenance during the service, she concluded me a bigot, and\nconceived a very indifferent opinion of me, as I learned from her own\naccount two days after.  It required a great deal of gallantry on my part\nto efface this ill impression, or rather Madam de Larnage (who was not\neasily disheartened) determined to risk the first advances, and see how I\nshould behave.  She made several, but far from being presuming on my\nfigure, I thought she was making sport of me: full of this ridiculous\nidea there was no folly I was not guilty of.\n\nMadam de Larnage persisted in such caressing behavior, that a much wiser\nman than myself could hardly have taken it seriously.  The more obvious\nher advances were, the more I was confirmed in my mistake, and what\nincreased my torment, I found I was really in love with her.\nI frequently said to myself, and sometimes to her, sighing, \"Ah! why is\nnot all this real?  then should I be the most fortunate of men.\"  I am\ninclined to think my stupidity did but increase her resolution, and make\nher determined to get the better of it.\n\nWe left Madam du Colombier at Romans; after which Madam de Larnage, the\nMarquis de Torignan, and myself continued our route slowly, and in the\nmost agreeable manner.  The marquis, though indisposed, and rather\nill-humored, was an agreeable companion, but was not best pleased at\nseeing the lady bestow all her attentions on me, while he passed\nunregarded; for Madam de Larnage took so little care to conceal her\ninclination, that he perceived it sooner than I did, and his sarcasms\nmust have given me that confidence I could not presume to take from the\nkindness of the lady, if by a surmise, which no one but myself could\nhave blundered on, I had not imagined they perfectly understood each\nother, and were agreed to turn my passion into ridicule.  This foolish\nidea completed my stupidity, making me act the most ridiculous part,\nwhile, had I listened to the feelings of my heart, I might have been\nperforming one far more brilliant.  I am astonished that Madam de\nLarnage was not disgusted at my folly, and did not discard me with\ndisdain; but she plainly perceived there was more bashfulness than\nindifference in my composition.\n\nWe arrived at Valence to dinner, and according to our usual custom passed\nthe remainder of the day there.  We lodged out of the city, at the St.\nJames, an inn I shall never forget.  After dinner, Madam de Larnage\nproposed a walk; she knew the marquis was no walker, consequently, this\nwas an excellent plan for a tete-a-tete, which she was predetermined to\nmake the most of.  While we were walking round the city by the side of\nthe moats, I entered on a long history of my complaint, to which she\nanswered in so tender an accent, frequently pressing my arm, which she\nheld to her heart, that it required all my stupidity not to be convinced\nof the sincerity of her attachment.  I have already observed that she was\namiable; love rendered her charming, adding all the loveliness of youth:\nand she managed her advances with so much art, that they were sufficient\nto have seduced the most insensible: I was, therefore, in very uneasy\ncircumstances, and frequently on the point of making a declaration; but\nthe dread of offending her, and the still greater of being laughed at,\nridiculed, made table-talk, and complimented on my enterprise by the\nsatirical marquis, had such unconquerable power over me, that, though\nashamed of my ridiculous bashfulness, I could not take courage to\nsurmount it.  I had ended the history of my complaints, which I felt the\nridiculousness of at this time; and not knowing how to look, or what to\nsay, continued silent, giving the finest opportunity in the world for\nthat ridicule I so much dreaded.  Happily, Madam de Larnage took a more\nfavorable resolution, and suddenly interrupted this silence by throwing\nher arms round my neck, while, at the same instant, her lips spoke too\nplainly on mine to be any longer misunderstood.  This was reposing that\nconfidence in me the want of which has almost always prevented me from\nappearing myself: for once I was at ease, my heart, eyes and tongue,\nspoke freely what I felt; never did I make better reparation for my\nmistakes, and if this little conquest had cost Madam de Larnage some\ndifficulties, I have reason to believe she did not regret them.\n\nWas I to live a hundred years, I should never forget this charming woman.\nI say charming, for though neither young nor beautiful, she was neither\nold nor ugly, having nothing in her appearance that could prevent her wit\nand accomplishments from producing all their effects.  It was possible to\nsee her without falling in love, but those she favored could not fail to\nadore her; which proves, in my opinion, that she was not generally so\nprodigal of her favors.  It is true, her inclination for me was so sudden\nand lively, that it scarce appears excusable; though from the short, but\ncharming interval I passed with her, I have reason to think her heart was\nmore influenced than her passions.\n\nOur good intelligence did not escape the penetration of the marquis; not\nthat he discontinued his usual raillery; on the contrary, he treated me\nas a sighing, hopeless swain, languishing under the rigors of his\nmistress; not a word, smile, or look escaped him by which I could imagine\nhe suspected my happiness; and I should have thought him completely\ndeceived, had not Madam de Larnage, who was more clear-sighted than\nmyself, assured me of the contrary; but he was a well-bred man, and it\nwas impossible to behave with more attention or greater civility, than he\nconstantly paid me (notwithstanding his satirical sallies), especially\nafter my success, which, as he was unacquainted with my stupidity, he\nperhaps gave me the honor of achieving.  It has already been seen that he\nwas mistaken in this particular; but no matter, I profited by his error,\nfor being conscious that the laugh was on my side, I took all his sallies\nin good part, and sometimes parried them with tolerable success; for,\nproud of the reputation of wit which Madam de Larnage had thought fit to\ndiscover in me, I no longer appeared the same man.\n\nWe were both in a country and season of plenty, and had everywhere\nexcellent cheer, thanks to the good cares of the marquis; though I would\nwillingly have relinquished this advantage to have been more satisfied\nwith the situation of our chambers; but he always sent his footman on to\nprovide them; and whether of his own accord, or by the order of his\nmaster, the rogue always took care that the marquis' chamber should be\nclose by Madam de Larnage's, while mine was at the further end of the\nhouse: but that made no great difference, or perhaps it rendered our\nrendezvous the more charming; this happiness lasted four or five days,\nduring which time I was intoxicated with delight, which I tasted pure and\nserene without any alloy; an advantage I could never boast before; and,\nI may add, it is owing to Madam de Larnage that I did not go out of the\nworld without having tasted real pleasure.\n\nIf the sentiment I felt for her was not precisely love, it was at least a\nvery tender return of what she testified for me; our meetings were so\ndelightful, that they possessed all the sweets of love; without that kind\nof delirium which affects the brain, and even tends to diminish our\nhappiness.  I never experienced true love but once in my life, and that\nwas not with Madam de Larnage, neither did I feel that affection for her\nwhich I had been sensible of, and yet continued to possess, for Madam de\nWarrens; but for this very reason, our tete-a-tetes were a hundred times\nmore delightful.  When with Madam de Warrens, my felicity was always\ndisturbed by a secret sadness, a compunction of heart, which I found it\nimpossible to surmount.  Instead of being delighted at the acquisition of\nso much happiness, I could not help reproaching myself for contributing\nto render her I loved unworthy: on the contrary, with Madam de Lamage,\nI was proud of my happiness, and gave in to it without repugnance, while\nmy triumph redoubled every other charm.\n\nI do not recollect exactly where we quitted the marquis, who resided in\nthis country, but I know we were alone on our arrival at Montelimar,\nwhere Madam de Larnage made her chambermaid get into my chaise, and\naccommodate me with a seat in hers.  It will easily be believed, that\ntravelling in this manner was by no means displeasing to me, and that I\nshould be very much puzzled to give any account of the country we passed\nthrough.  She had some business at Montelimar, which detained her there\ntwo or three days; during this time she quitted me but one quarter of an\nhour, for a visit she could not avoid, which embarrassed her with a\nnumber of invitations she had no inclination to accept, and therefore\nexcused herself by pleading some indisposition; though she took care this\nshould not prevent our walking together every day, in the most charming\ncountry, and under the finest sky imaginable.  Oh!  these three days!\nwhat reason have I to regret them!  Never did such happiness return\nagain.\n\nThe amours of a journey cannot be very durable: it was necessary we\nshould part, and I must confess it was almost time; not that I was weary\nof my happiness, but I might as well have been.  We endeavored to comfort\neach other for the pain of parting, by forming plans for our reunion; and\nit was concluded, that after staying five or six weeks at Montpelier\n(which would give Madam de Larnage time to prepare for my reception in\nsuch a manner as to prevent scandal) I should return to Saint-Andiol, and\nspend the winter under her direction.  She gave me ample instruction on\nwhat it was necessary I should know, on what it would be proper to say;\nand how I should conduct myself.  She spoke much and earnestly on the\ncare of my health, conjured me to consult skilful physicians, and be\nattentive and exact in following their prescriptions whatever they might\nhappen to be.  I believe her concern was sincere, for she loved me, and\ngave proofs of her affection less equivocal than the prodigality of her\nfavors; for judging by my mode of travelling, that I was not in very\naffluent circumstances (though not rich herself), on our parting, she\nwould have had me share the contents of her purse, which she had brought\npretty well furnished from Grenoble, and it was with great difficulty I\ncould make her put up with a denial.  In a word, we parted; my heart full\nof her idea, and leaving in hers (if I am not mistaken) a firm attachment\nto me.\n\nWhile pursuing the remainder of my journey, remembrance ran over\neverything that had passed from the commencement of it, and I was well\nsatisfied at finding myself alone in a comfortable chaise, where I could\nruminate at ease on the pleasures I had enjoyed, and those which awaited\nmy return.  I only thought of Saint-Andiol; of the life I was to lead\nthere; I saw nothing but Madam de Larnage, or what related to her; the\nwhole universe besides was nothing to me--even Madam de Warrens was\nforgotten!--I set about combining all the details by which Madam de\nLarnage had endeavored to give me in advance an idea of her house, of the\nneighborhood, of her connections, and manner of life, finding everything\ncharming.\n\nShe had a daughter, whom she had often described in the warmest terms of\nmaternal affection: this daughter was fifteen lively, charming, and of an\namiable disposition.  Madam de Larnage promised me her friendship; I had\nnot forgotten that promise, and was curious to know how Mademoiselle de\nLarnage would treat her mother's 'bon ami'.  These were the subjects of\nmy reveries from the bridge of St. Esprit to Remoulin: I had been advised\nto visit the Pont-du-Gard; hitherto I had seen none of the remaining\nmonuments of Roman magnificence, and I expected to find this worthy the\nhands by which it was constructed; for once, the reality surpassed my\nexpectation; this was the only time in my life it ever did so, and the\nRomans alone could have produced that effect.  The view of this noble and\nsublime work, struck me the more forcibly, from being in the midst of a\ndesert, where silence and solitude render the majestic edifice more\nstriking, and admiration more lively, for though called a bridge it is\nnothing more than an aqueduct.  One cannot help exclaiming, what strength\ncould have transported these enormous stones so far from any quarry?  And\nwhat motive could have united the labors of so many millions of men, in a\nplace that no one inhabited?  I remained here whole hours, in the most\nravishing contemplation, and returned pensive and thoughtful to my inn.\nThis reverie was by no means favorable to Madam de Larnage; she had taken\ncare to forewarn me against the girls of Montpelier, but not against the\nPont-du-Gard--it is impossible to provide for every contingency.\n\nOn my arrival at Nismes, I went to see the amphitheatre, which is a far\nmore magnificent work than even the Pont-du-Gard, yet it made a much less\nimpression on me, perhaps, because my admiration had been already\nexhausted on the former object; or that the situation of the latter, in\nthe midst of a city, was less proper to excite it.  This vast and superb\ncircus is surrounded by small dirty houses, while yet smaller and dirtier\nfill up the area, in such a manner that the whole produces an unequal and\nconfused effect, in which regret and indignation stifle pleasure and\nsurprise.  The amphitheatre at Verona is a vast deal smaller, and less\nbeautiful than that at Nismes, but preserved with all possible care and\nneatness, by which means alone it made a much stronger and more agreeable\nimpression on me.  The French pay no regard to these things, respect no\nmonument of antiquity; ever eager to undertake, they never finish, nor\npreserve anything that is already finished to their hands.\n\nI was so much better, and had gained such an appetite by exercise, that I\nstopped a whole day at Pont-du-Lunel, for the sake of good entertainment\nand company, this being deservedly esteemed at that time the best inn in\nEurope; for those who kept it, knowing how to make its fortunate\nsituation turn to advantage, took care to provide both abundance and\nvariety.  It was really curious to find in a lonely country-house, a\ntable every day furnished with sea and fresh-water fish, excellent game,\nand choice wines, served up with all the attention and care, which are\nonly to be expected among the great or opulent, and all this for thirty\nfive sous each person: but the Pont-du-Lunel did not long remain on this\nfooting, for the proprietor, presuming too much on its reputation, at\nlength lost it entirely.\n\nDuring this journey, I really forgot my complaints, but recollected them\nagain on my arrival at Montpelier.  My vapors were absolutely gone, but\nevery other complaint remained, and though custom had rendered them less\ntroublesome, they were still sufficient to make any one who had been\nsuddenly seized with them, suppose himself attacked by some mortal\ndisease.  In effect they were rather alarming than painful, and made the\nmind suffer more than the body, though it apparently threatened the\nlatter with destruction.  While my attention was called off by the\nvivacity of my passions, I paid no attention to my health; but as my\ncomplaints were not altogether imaginary, I thought of them seriously\nwhen the tumult had subsided.  Recollecting the salutary advice of Madam\nde Larnage, and the cause of my journey, I consulted the most famous\npractitioners, particularly Monsieur Fizes; and through superabundance of\nprecaution boarded at a doctor's who was an Irishman, and named\nFitz-Morris.\n\nThis person boarded a number of young gentlemen who were studying physic;\nand what rendered his house very commodious for an invalid, he contented\nhimself with a moderate pension for provisions, lodging, etc., and took\nnothing of his boarders for attendance as a physician.  He even undertook\nto execute the orders of M. Fizes, and endeavored to re-establish my\nhealth.  He certainly acquitted himself very well in this employment; as\nto regimen, indigestions were not to be gained at his table; and though I\nam not much hurt at privations of that kind, the objects of comparison\nwere so near, that I could not help thinking with myself sometimes, that\nM. de Torignan was a much better provider than M. Fitz-Morris;\nnotwithstanding, as there was no danger of, dying with hunger, and all\nthe youths were gay and good-humored, I believe this manner of living was\nreally serviceable, and prevented my falling into those languors I had\nlatterly been so subject to.  I passed the morning in taking medicines,\nparticularly, I know not what kind of waters, but believe they were those\nof Vals, and in writing to Madam de Larnage: for the correspondence was\nregularly kept up, and Rousseau kindly undertook to receive these letters\nfor his good friend Dudding.  At noon I took a walk to the Canourgue,\nwith some of our young boarders, who were all very good lads; after this\nwe assembled for dinner; when this was over, an affair of importance\nemployed the greater part of us till night; this was going a little way\nout of town to take our afternoon's collation, and make up two or three\nparties at mall, or mallet.  As I had neither strength nor skill, I did\nnot play myself but I betted on the game, and, interested for the success\nof my wager, followed the players and their balls over rough and stony\nroads, procuring by this means both an agreeable and salutary exercise.\nWe took our afternoon's refreshment at an inn out of the city.  I need\nnot observe that these meetings were extremely merry, but should not omit\nthat they were equally innocent, though the girls of the house were very\npretty.  M. Fitz-Morris (who was a great mall player himself) was our\npresident; and I must observe, notwithstanding the imputation of wildness\nthat is generally bestowed on students, that I found more virtuous\ndispositions among these youths than could easily be found among an equal\nnumber of men: they were rather noisy than fond of wine, and more merry\nthan libertine.\n\nI accustomed myself so much to this mode of life, and it accorded so\nentirely with my humor, that I should have been very well content with a\ncontinuance of it.  Several of my fellow-boarders were Irish, from whom I\nendeavored to learn some English words, as a precaution for Saint-Andiol.\nThe time now drew near for my departure; every letter Madam de Larnage\nwrote, she entreated me not to delay it, and at length I prepared to obey\nher.\n\nI was convinced that the physicians (who understood nothing of my\ndisorder) looked on my complaint as imaginary, and treated me\naccordingly, with their waters and whey.  In this respect physicians and\nphilosophers differ widely from theologians; admitting the truth only of\nwhat they can explain, and making their knowledge the measure of\npossibilities.  These gentlemen understood nothing of my illness,\ntherefore concluded I could not be ill; and who would presume to doubt\nthe profound skill of a physician?  I plainly saw they only meant to\namuse, and make me swallow my money; and judging their substitute at\nSaint-Andiol would do me quite as much service, and be infinitely more\nagreeable, I resolved to give her the preference; full, therefore, of\nthis wise resolution, I quitted Montpelier.\n\nI set off towards the end of November, after a stay of six weeks or two\nmonths in that city, where I left a dozen louis, without either my health\nor understanding being the better for it, except from a short course of\nanatomy begun under M. Fitz-Morris, which I was soon obliged to abandon,\nfrom the horrid stench of the bodies he dissected, which I found it\nimpossible to endure.\n\nNot thoroughly satisfied in my own mind on the rectitude of this\nexpedition, as I advanced towards the Bridge of St. Esprit (which was\nequally the road to Saint-Andiol and to Chambery) I began to reflect on\nMadam de Warrens, the remembrance of whose letters, though less frequent\nthan those from Madam de Larnage, awakened in my heart a remorse that\npassion had stifled in the first part of my journey, but which became so\nlively on my return, that, setting just estimate on the love of pleasure,\nI found myself in such a situation of mind that I could listen wholly to\nthe voice of reason.  Besides, in continuing to act the part of an\nadventurer, I might be less fortunate than I had been in the beginning;\nfor it was only necessary that in all Saint-Andiol there should be one\nperson who had been in England, or who knew the English or anything of\ntheir language, to prove me an impostor.  The family of Madam de Larnage\nmight not be pleased with me, and would, perhaps, treat me unpolitely;\nher daughter too made me uneasy, for, spite of myself, I thought more of\nher than was necessary.  I trembled lest I should fall in love with this\ngirl, and that very fear had already half done the business.  Was I\ngoing, in return for the mother's kindness, to seek the ruin of the\ndaughter?  To sow dissension, dishonor, scandal, and hell itself, in her\nfamily?  The very idea struck me with horror, and I took the firmest\nresolution to combat and vanquish this unhappy attachment, should I be so\nunfortunate as to experience it.  But why expose myself to this danger?\nHow miserable must the situation be to live with the mother, whom I\nshould be weary of, and sigh for the daughter, without daring to make\nknown my affection!  What necessity was there to seek this situation, and\nexpose myself to misfortunes, affronts and remorse, for the sake of\npleasures whose greatest charm was already exhausted?  For I was sensible\nthis attachment had lost its first vivacity.  With these thoughts were\nmingled reflections relative to my situation and duty to that good and\ngenerous friend, who already loaded with debts, would become more so from\nthe foolish expenses I was running into, and whom I was deceiving so\nunworthily.  This reproach at length became so keen that it triumphed\nover every temptation, and on approaching the bridge of St. Esprit I\nformed the resolution to burn my whole magazine of letters from\nSaint-Andiol, and continue my journey right forward to Chambery.\n\nI executed this resolution courageously, with some sighs I confess, but\nwith the heart-felt satisfaction, which I enjoyed for the first time in\nmy life, of saying, \"I merit my own esteem, and know how to prefer duty\nto pleasure.\"  This was the first real obligation I owed my books, since\nthese had taught me to reflect and compare.  After the virtuous\nprinciples I had so lately adopted, after all the rules of wisdom and\nhonor I had proposed to myself, and felt so proud to follow, the shame of\npossessing so little stability, and contradicting so egregiously my own\nmaxims, triumphed over the allurements of pleasure.  Perhaps, after all,\npride had as much share in my resolution as virtue; but if this pride is\nnot virtue itself, its effects are so similar that we are pardonable in\ndeceiving ourselves.\n\nOne advantage resulting from good actions is that they elevate the soul\nto a disposition of attempting still better; for such is human weakness,\nthat we must place among our good deeds an abstinence from those crimes\nwe are tempted to commit.  No sooner was my resolution confirmed than I\nbecame another man, or rather, I became what I was before I had erred,\nand saw in its true colors what the intoxication of the moment had either\nconcealed or disguised.  Full of worthy sentiments and wise resolutions,\nI continued my journey, intending to regulate my future conduct by the\nlaws of virtue, and dedicate myself without reserve to that best of\nfriends, to whom I vowed as much fidelity in future as I felt real\nattachment.  The sincerity of this return to virtue appeared to promise a\nbetter destiny; but mine, alas!  was fixed, and already begun: even at\nthe very moment when my heart, full of good and virtuous sentiments, was\ncontemplating only innocence and happiness through life, I touched on the\nfatal period that was to draw after it the long chain of my misfortunes!\n\nMy impatience to arrive at Chambery had made me use more diligence than I\nmeant to do.  I had sent a letter from Valence, mentioning the day and\nhour I should arrive, but I had gained half a day on this calculation,\nwhich time I passed at Chaparillan, that I might arrive exactly at the\ntime I mentioned.  I wished to enjoy to its full extent the pleasure of\nseeing her, and preferred deferring this happiness a little, that\nexpectancy might increase the value of it.  This precaution had always\nsucceeded; hitherto my arrival had caused a little holiday; I expected no\nless this time, and these preparations, so dear to me, would have been\nwell worth the trouble of contriving them.\n\nI arrived then exactly at the hour, and while at a considerable distance,\nlooked forward with an expectancy of seeing her on the road to meet me.\nThe beating of my heart increased as I drew near the house; at length I\narrived, quite out of breath; for I had left my chaise in the town.  I\nsee no one in the garden, at the door, or at the windows; I am seized\nwith terror, fearful that some accident has happened.  I enter; all is\nquiet; the laborers are eating their luncheon in the kitchen, and far\nfrom observing any preparation, the servants seem surprised to see me,\nnot knowing I was expected.  I go up--stairs, at length see her!--that\ndear friend!  so tenderly, truly, and entirely beloved.  I instantly ran\ntowards her, and threw myself at her feet.  \"Ah! child!\"  said she, \"art\nthou returned then!\"  embracing me at the same time.  \"Have you had a\ngood journey?  How do you do?\"  This reception amused me for some\nmoments.  I then asked, whether she had received my letter?  she answered\n\"Yes.\"--\"I should have thought not,\" replied I; and the information\nconcluded there.  A young man was with her at this time.  I recollected\nhaving seen him in the house before my departure, but at present he\nseemed established there; in short, he was so; I found my place already\nsupplied!\n\nThis young man came from the country of Vaud; his father, named\nVintzenried, was keeper of the prison, or, as he expressed himself,\nCaptain of the Castle of Chillon.  This son of the captain was a\njourneyman peruke-maker, and gained his living in that capacity when he\nfirst presented himself to Madam de Warrens, who received him kindly, as\nshe did all comers, particularly those from her own country.  He was a\ntall, fair, silly youth; well enough made, with an unmeaning face, and a\nmind of the same description, speaking always like the beau in a comedy,\nand mingling the manners and customs of his former situation with a long\nhistory of his gallantry and success; naming, according to his account,\nnot above half the marchionesses who had favored him and pretending never\nto have dressed the head of a pretty woman, without having likewise\ndecorated her husband's; vain, foolish, ignorant and insolent; such was\nthe worthy substitute taken in my absence, and the companion offered me\non my return!\n\nO! if souls disengaged from their terrestrial bonds, yet view from the\nbosom of eternal light what passes here below, pardon, dear and\nrespectable shade, that I show no more favor to your failings than my\nown, but equally unveil both.  I ought and will be just to you as to\nmyself; but how much less will you lose by this resolution than I shall!\nHow much do your amiable and gentle disposition, your inexhaustible\ngoodness of heart, your frankness and other amiable virtues, compensate\nfor your foibles, if a subversion of reason alone can be called such.\nYou had errors, but not vices; your conduct was reprehensible, but your\nheart was ever pure.\n\nThe new-comer had shown himself zealous and exact in all her little\ncommissions, which were ever numerous, and he diligently overlooked the\nlaborers.  As noisy and insolent as I was quiet and forbearing, he was\nseen or rather heard at the plough, in the hay-loft, wood-house, stable,\nfarm-yard, at the same instant.  He neglected the gardening, this labor\nbeing too peaceful and moderate; his chief pleasure was to load or drive\nthe cart, to saw or cleave wood; he was never seen without a hatchet or\npick-axe in his hand, running, knocking and hallooing with all his might.\nI know not how many men's labor he performed, but he certainly made noise\nenough for ten or a dozen at least.  All this bustle imposed on poor\nMadam de Warrens; she thought this young man a treasure, and, willing to\nattach him to herself, employed the means she imagined necessary for that\npurpose, not forgetting what she most depended on, the surrender of her\nperson.\n\nThose who have thus far read this work should be able to form some\njudgment of my heart; its sentiments were the most constant and sincere,\nparticularly those which had brought me back to Chambery; what a sudden\nand complete overthrow was this to my whole being! but to judge fully of\nthis, the reader must place himself for a moment in my situation.  I saw\nall the future felicity I had promised myself vanish in a moment; all the\ncharming ideas I had indulged so affectionately, disappear entirely; and\nI, who even from childhood had not been able to consider my existence for\na moment as separate from hers, for the first time saw myself utterly\nalone.  This moment was dreadful, and those that succeeded it were ever\ngloomy.  I was yet young, but the pleasing sentiments of enjoyment and\nhope, which enliven youth, were extinguished.  From that hour my\nexistence seemed half annihilated.  I contemplated in advance the\nmelancholy remains of an insipid life, and if at any time an image of\nhappiness glanced through my mind, it was not that which appeared natural\nto me, and I felt that even should I obtain it I must still be wretched.\n\nI was so dull of apprehension, and my confidence in her was so great,\nthat, notwithstanding the familiar tone of the new-comer, which I looked\non as an effect of the easy disposition of Madam de Warrens, which\nrendered her free with everyone, I never should have suspected his real\nsituation had not she herself informed me of it; but she hastened to make\nthis avowal with a freedom calculated to inflame me with resentment,\ncould my heart have turned to that point.  Speaking of this connection as\nquite immaterial with respect to herself, she reproached me with\nnegligence in the care of the family, and mentioned my frequent absence,\nas though she had been in haste to supply my place.  \"Ah!\"  said I, my\nheart bursting with the most poignant grief, \"what do you dare to inform\nme of?  Is this the reward of an attachment like mine?  Have you so many\ntimes preserved my life, for the sole purpose of taking from me all that\ncould render it desirable?  Your infidelity will bring me to the grave,\nbut you will regret my loss!\"  She answered with a tranquillity\nsufficient to distract me, that I talked like a child; that people did\nnot die from such slight causes; that our friendship need be no less\nsincere, nor we any less intimate, for that her tender attachment to me\ncould neither diminish nor end but with herself; in a word she gave me to\nunderstand that my happiness need not suffer any decrease from the good\nfortune of this new favorite.\n\nNever did the purity, truth and force of my attachment to her appear more\nevident; never did I feel the sincerity and honesty of my soul more\nforcibly, than at that moment.  I threw myself at her feet, embracing her\nknees with torrents of tears.  \"No, madam,\" replied I, with the most\nviolent agitation, \"I love you too much to disgrace you thus far, and too\ntruly to share you; the regret that accompanied the first acquisition of\nyour favors has continued to increase with my affection.  I cannot\npreserve them by so violent an augmentation of it.  You shall ever have\nmy adoration: be worthy of it; to me that is more necessary than all you\ncan bestow.  It is to you, O my dearest friend!  that I resign my rights;\nit is to the union of our hearts that I sacrifice my pleasure; rather\nwould I perish a thousand times than thus degrade her I love.\"\n\nI preserved this resolution with a constancy worthy, I may say, of the\nsentiment that gave it birth.  From this moment I saw this beloved woman\nbut with the eyes of a real son.  It should be remarked here, that this\nresolve did not meet her private approbation, as I too well perceived;\nyet she never employed the least art to make me renounce it either by\ninsinuating proposals, caresses, or any of those means which women so\nwell know how to employ without exposing themselves to violent censure,\nand which seldom fail to succeed.  Reduced to seek a fate independent of\nhers, and not able to devise one, I passed to the other extreme, placing\nmy happiness so absolutely in her, that I became almost regardless of\nmyself.  The ardent desire to see her happy, at any rate, absorbed all my\naffections; it was in vain she endeavored to separate her felicity from\nmine, I felt I had a part in it, spite of every impediment.\n\nThus those virtues whose seeds in my heart begun to spring up with my\nmisfortunes: they had been cultivated by study, and only waited the\nfermentation of adversity to become prolific.  The first-fruit of this\ndisinterested disposition was to put from my heart every sentiment of\nhatred and envy against him who had supplanted me.  I even sincerely\nwished to attach myself to this young man; to form and educate him; to\nmake him sensible of his happiness, and, if possible, render him worthy\nof it; in a word, to do for him what Anet had formerly done for me.  But\nthe similarity of dispositions was wanting.  More insinuating and\nenlightened than Anet, I possessed neither his coolness, fortitude, nor\ncommanding strength of character, which I must have had in order to\nsucceed.  Neither did the young man possess those qualities which Anet\nfound in me; such as gentleness, gratitude, and above all, the knowledge\nof a want of his instructions, and an ardent desire to render them\nuseful.  All these were wanting; the person I wished to improve, saw in\nme nothing but an importunate, chattering pedant: while on the contrary\nhe admired his own importance in the house, measuring the services he\nthought he rendered by the noise he made, and looking on his saws,\nhatchets, and pick-axes, as infinitely more useful than all my old books:\nand, perhaps, in this particular, he might not be altogether blamable;\nbut he gave himself a number of airs sufficient to make anyone die with\nlaughter.  With the peasants he assumed the airs of a country gentleman;\npresently he did as much with me, and at length with Madam de Warrens\nherself.  His name, Vintzenried, did not appear noble enough, he\ntherefore changed it to that of Monsieur de Courtilles, and by the latter\nappellation he was known at Chambery, and in Maurienne, where he married.\n\nAt length this illustrious personage gave himself such airs of\nconsequence, that he was everything in the house, and myself nothing.\nWhen I had the misfortune to displease him, he scolded Madam de Warrens,\nand a fear of exposing her to his brutality rendered me subservient to\nall his whims, so that every time he cleaved wood (an office which he\nperformed with singular pride) it was necessary I should be an idle\nspectator and admirer of his prowess.  This lad was not, however, of a\nbad disposition; he loved Madam de Warrens, indeed it was impossible to\ndo otherwise; nor had he any aversion even to me, and when he happened to\nbe out of his airs would listen to our admonitions, and frankly own he\nwas a fool; yet notwithstanding these acknowledgements his follies\ncontinued in the same proportion.  His knowledge was so contracted, and\nhis inclinations so mean, that it was useless to reason, and almost\nimpossible to be pleased with him.  Not content with a most charming\nwoman, he amused himself with an old red-haired, toothless waiting-maid,\nwhose unwelcome service Madam de Warrens had the patience to endure,\nthough it was absolutely disgusting.  I soon perceived this new\ninclination, and was exasperated at it; but I saw something else, which\naffected me yet more, and made a deeper impression on me than anything\nhad hitherto done; this was a visible coldness in the behavior of Madam\nde Warrens towards me.\n\nThe privation I had imposed on myself, and which she affected to approve,\nis one of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive.  Take the\nmost sensible; the most philosophic female, one the least attached to\npleasure, and slighting her favors, if within your reach, will be found\nthe most unpardonable crime, even though she may care nothing for the\nman.  This rule is certainly without exception; since a sympathy so\nnatural and ardent was impaired in her, by an abstinence founded only on\nvirtue, attachment and esteem, I no longer found with her that union of\nhearts which constituted all the happiness of mine; she seldom sought me\nbut when we had occasion to complain of this new-comer, for when they\nwere agreed, I enjoyed but little of her confidence, and, at length, was\nscarcely ever consulted in her affairs.  She seemed pleased, indeed, with\nmy company, but had I passed whole days without seeing her she would\nhardly have missed me.\n\nInsensibly, I found myself desolate and alone in that house where I had\nformerly been the very soul; where, if I may so express myself, I had\nenjoyed a double life, and by degrees, I accustomed myself to disregard\neverything that, passed, and even those who dwelt there.  To avoid\ncontinual mortifications, I shut myself up with my books, or else wept\nand sighed unnoticed in the woods.  This life soon became insupportable;\nI felt that the presence of a woman so dear to me, while estranged from\nher heart, increased my unhappiness, and was persuaded, that, ceasing to\nsee her, I should feel myself less cruelly separated.\n\nI resolved, therefore, to quit the house, mentioned it to her, and she,\nfar from opposing my resolution, approved it.  She had an acquaintance at\nGrenoble, called Madam de Deybens, whose husband was on terms of\nfriendship with Monsieur Malby, chief Provost of Lyons.  M. Deybens\nproposed my educating M. Malby's children; I accepted this offer, and\ndeparted for Lyons without causing, and almost without feeling, the least\nregret at a separation, the bare idea of which, a few months before,\nwould have given us both the most excruciating torments.\n\nI had almost as much knowledge as was necessary for a tutor, and\nflattered myself that my method would be unexceptionable; but the year I\npassed at M. Malby's was sufficient to undeceive me in that particular.\nThe natural gentleness of my disposition seemed calculated for the\nemployment, if hastiness had not been mingled with it.  While things went\nfavorably, and I saw the pains (which I did not spare) succeed, I was an\nangel; but a devil when they went contrary.  If my pupils did not\nunderstand me, I was hasty, and when they showed any symptoms of an\nuntoward disposition, I was so provoked that I could have killed them;\nwhich behavior was not likely to render them either good or wise.  I had\ntwo under my care, and they were of very different tempers.  St. Marie,\nwho was between eight and nine years old, had a good person and quick\napprehension, was giddy, lively, playful and mischievous; but his\nmischief was ever good-humored.  The younger one, named Condillac,\nappeared stupid and fretful, was headstrong as a mule, and seemed\nincapable of instruction.  It may be supposed that between both I did not\nwant employment, yet with patience and temper I might have succeeded;\nbut wanting both, I did nothing worth mentioning, and my pupils profited\nvery little.  I could only make use of three means, which are very weak,\nand often pernicious with children; namely, sentiment, reasoning,\npassion.  I sometimes exerted myself so much with St. Marie, that I could\nnot refrain from tears, and wished to excite similar sensations in him;\nas if it was reasonable to suppose a child could be susceptible to such\nemotions.  Sometimes I exhausted myself in reasoning, as if persuaded he\ncould comprehend me; and as he frequently formed very subtle arguments,\nconcluded he must be reasonable, because he bid fair to be so good a\nlogician.\n\nThe little Condillac was still more embarrassing; for he neither\nunderstood, answered, nor was concerned at anything; he was of an\nobstinacy beyond belief, and was never happier than when he had succeeded\nin putting me in a rage; then, indeed, he was the philosopher, and I the\nchild.  I was conscious of all my faults, studied the tempers of my\npupils, and became acquainted with them; but where was the use of seeing\nthe evil, without being able to apply a remedy?  My penetration was\nunavailing, since it never prevented any mischief; and everything I\nundertook failed, because all I did to effect my designs was precisely\nwhat I ought not to have done.\n\nI was not more fortunate in what had only reference to myself, than in\nwhat concerned my pupils.  Madam Deybens, in recommending me to her\nfriend Madam de Malby, had requested her to form my manners, and endeavor\nto give me an air of the world.  She took some pains on this account,\nwishing to teach me how to do the honors of the house; but I was so\nawkward, bashful, and stupid, that she found it necessary to stop there.\nThis, however, did not prevent me from falling in love with her,\naccording to my usual custom; I even behaved in such a manner, that she\ncould not avoid observing it; but I never durst declare my passion; and\nas the lady never seemed in a humor to make advances, I soon became weary\nof my sighs and ogling, being convinced they answered no manner of\npurpose.\n\nI had quite lost my inclination for little thieveries while with Madam de\nWarrens; indeed, as everything belonged to me, there was nothing to\nsteal; besides, the elevated notions I had imbibed ought to have rendered\nme in future above such meanness, and generally speaking they certainly\ndid so; but this rather proceeded from my having learned to conquer\ntemptations, than having succeeded in rooting out the propensity, and I\nshould even now greatly dread stealing, as in my infancy, were I yet\nsubject to the same inclinations.  I had a proof of this at M. Malby's,\nwhen, though surrounded by a number of little things that I could easily\nhave pilfered, and which appeared no temptation, I took it into my head\nto covert some white Arbois wine, some glasses of which I had drank at\ntable, and thought delicious.  It happened to be rather thick, and as I\nfancied myself an excellent finer of wine, I mentioned my skill, and this\nwas accordingly trusted to my care, but in attempting to mend, I spoiled\nit, though to the sight only, for it remained equally agreeable to the\ntaste.  Profiting by this opportunity, I furnished myself from time to\ntime with a few bottles to drink in my own apartment; but unluckily,\nI could never drink without eating; the difficulty lay therefore,\nin procuring bread.  It was impossible to make a reserve of this article,\nand to have it brought by the footman was discovering myself,\nand insulting the master of the house; I could not bear to purchase it\nmyself; how could a fine gentleman, with a sword at his side, enter a\nbaker's shop to buy a small loaf of bread?  it was utterly impossible.\nAt length I recollected the thoughtless saying of a great princess, who,\non being informed that the country people had no bread, replied, \"Then\nlet them eat pastry!\"  Yet even this resource was attended with a\ndifficulty.  I sometimes went out alone for this very purpose, running\nover the whole city, and passing thirty pastry cook's shops, without\ndaring to enter any one of them.  In the first place, it was necessary\nthere should be only one person in the shop, and that person's\nphysiognomy must be so encouraging as to give me confidence to pass the\nthreshold; but when once the dear little cake was procured, and I shut up\nin my chamber with that and a bottle of wine, taken cautiously from the\nbottom of a cupboard, how much did I enjoy drinking my wine, and reading\na few pages of a novel; for when I have no company I always wish to read\nwhile eating; it seems a substitute for society, and I dispatch\nalternately a page and a morsel; 'tis indeed, as if my book dined with\nme.\n\nI was neither dissolute nor sottish, never in my whole life having been\nintoxicated with liquor; my little thefts were not very indiscreet, yet\nthey were discovered; the bottles betrayed me, and though no notice was\ntaken of it, I had no longer the management of the cellar.  In all this\nMonsieur Malby conducted himself with prudence and politeness, being\nreally a very deserving man, who, under a manner as harsh as his\nemployment, concealed a real gentleness of disposition and uncommon\ngoodness of heart: he was judicious, equitable, and (what would not be\nexpected from an officer of the Marechausse) very humane.\n\nSensible of his indulgence, I became greatly attached to him, which made\nmy stay at Lyons longer than it would otherwise have been; but at length,\ndisgusted with an employment which I was not calculated for, and a\nsituation of great confinement, consequently disagreeable to me, after a\nyear's trial, during which time I spared no pains to fulfill my\nengagement, I determined to quit my pupils; being convinced I should\nnever succeed in educating them properly.  Monsieur Malby saw this as\nclearly as myself, though I am inclined to think he would never have\ndismissed me had I not spared him the trouble, which was an excess of\ncondescension in this particular, that I certainly cannot justify.\n\nWhat rendered my situation yet more insupportable was the comparison I\nwas continually drawing between the life I now led and that which I had\nquitted; the remembrance of my dear Charmettes, my garden, trees,\nfountain and orchard, but, above all, the company of her who was born to\ngive life and soul to every other enjoyment.  On calling to mind our\npleasures and innocent life, I was seized with such oppressions and\nheaviness of heart, as deprived me of the power of performing anything as\nit should be.  A hundred times was I tempted instantly to set off on foot\nto my dear Madam de Warrens, being persuaded that could I once more see\nher, I should be content to die that moment: in fine, I could no longer\nresist the tender emotions which recalled me back to her, whatever it\nmight cost me.  I accused myself of not having been sufficiently patient,\ncomplaisant and kind; concluding I might yet live happily with her on the\nterms of tender friendship, and by showing more for her than I had\nhitherto done.  I formed the finest projects in the world, burned to\nexecute them, left all, renounced everything, departed, fled, and\narriving in all the transports of my early youth, found myself once more\nat her feet.  Alas!  I should have died there with joy, had I found in\nher reception, in her embrace, or in her heart, one-quarter of what I had\nformerly found there, and which I yet found the undiminished warmth of.\n\nFearful illusions of transitory things, how often dost thou torment us in\nvain!  She received me with that excellence of heart which could only die\nwith her; but I sought the influence there which could never be recalled,\nand had hardly been half an hour with her before I was once more\nconvinced that my former happiness had vanished forever, and that I was\nin the same melancholy situation which I had been obliged to fly from;\nyet without being able to accuse any person with my unhappiness, for\nCourtilles really was not to blame, appearing to see my return with more\npleasure than dissatisfaction.  But how could I bear to be a secondary\nperson with her to whom I had been everything, and who could never cease\nbeing such to me?  How could I live an alien in that house where I had\nbeen the child?  The sight of every object that had been witness to my\nformer happiness, rendered the comparison yet more distressing; I should\nhave suffered less in any other habitation, for this incessantly recalled\nsuch pleasing remembrances, that it was irritating the recollection of my\nloss.\n\nConsumed with vain regrets, given up to the most gloomy melancholy, I\nresumed the custom of remaining alone, except at meals; shut up with my\nbooks, I sought to give some useful diversion to my ideas, and feeling\nthe imminent danger of want, which I had so long dreaded, I sought means\nto prepare for and receive it, when Madam de Warrens should have no other\nresource.  I had placed her household on a footing not to become worse;\nbut since my departure everything had been altered.  He who now managed\nher affairs was a spendthrift, and wished to make a great appearance;\nsuch as keeping a good horse with elegant trappings; loved to appear gay\nin the eyes of the neighbors, and was perpetually undertaking something\nhe did not understand.  Her pension was taken up in advance, her rent was\nin arrears, debts of every kind continued to accumulate; I could plainly\nforesee that her pension would be seized, and perhaps suppressed; in\nshort, I expected nothing but ruin and misfortune, and the moment\nappeared to approach so rapidly that I already felt all its horrors.\n\nMy closet was my only amusement, and after a tedious search for remedies\nfor the sufferings of my mind, I determined to seek some against the evil\nof distressing circumstances, which I daily expected would fall upon us,\nand returning to my old chimeras, behold me once more building castles in\nthe air to relieve this dear friend from the cruel extremities into which\nI saw her ready to fall.  I did not believe myself wise enough to shine\nin the republic of letters, or to stand any chance of making a fortune by\nthat means; a new idea, therefore, inspired me with that confidence,\nwhich the mediocrity of my talents could not impart.\n\nIn ceasing to teach music I had not abandoned the thoughts of it; on the\ncontrary, I had studied the theory sufficiently to consider myself well\ninformed on the subject.  When reflecting on the trouble it had cost me\nto read music, and the great difficulty I yet experienced in singing at\nsight, I began to think the fault might as well arise from the manner of\nnoting as from my own dulness, being sensible it was an art which most\npeople find difficult to understand.  By examining the formation of the\nsigns, I was convinced they were frequently very ill devised.  I had\nbefore thought of marking the gamut by figures, to prevent the trouble of\nhaving lines to draw, on noting the plainest air; but had been stopped by\nthe difficulty of the octaves, and by the distinction of measure and\nquantity: this idea returned again to my mind, and on a careful revision\nof it, I found the difficulties by no means insurmountable.  I pursued it\nsuccessfully, and was at length able to note any music whatever by\nfigures, with the greatest exactitude and simplicity.  From this moment I\nsupposed my fortune made, and in the ardor of sharing it with her to whom\nI owed everything, thought only of going to Paris, not doubting that on\npresenting my project to the Academy, it would be adopted with rapture.\nI had brought some money from Lyons; I augmented this stock by the sale\nof my books, and in the course of a fortnight my resolution was both\nformed and executed: in short, full of the magnificent ideas it had\ninspired, and which were common to me on every occasion, I departed from\nSavoy with my new system of music, as I had formerly done from Turin with\nmy heron-fountain.\n\nSuch have been the errors and faults of my youth; I have related the\nhistory of them with a fidelity which my heart approves; if my riper\nyears were dignified with some virtues, I should have related them with\nthe same frankness; it was my intention to have done this, but I must\nforego this pleasing task and stop here.  Time, which renders justice to\nthe characters of most men, may withdraw the veil; and should my memory\nreach posterity, they may one day discover what I had to say--they will\nthen understand why I am now silent.","title":"The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau \u2014 Volume 06","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":19709}