Book: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book I.
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Jean Jacques Rousseau >> The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book I.
Thus I learned to covet, dissemble, lie, and, at length, to steal, a
propensity I never felt the least idea of before, though since that time
I have never been able entirely to divest myself of it. Desire and
inability united naturally led to this vice, which is the reason
pilfering is so common among footmen and apprentices, though the latter,
as they grow up, and find themselves in a situation where everything is
at their command, lose this shameful propensity. As I never experienced
the advantage, I never enjoyed the benefit.
Good sentiments, ill-directed, frequently lead children into vice.
Notwithstanding my continual wants and temptations, it was more than a
year before I could resolve to take even eatables. My first theft was
occasioned by complaisance, but it was productive of others which had not
so plausible an excuse.
My master had a journeyman named Verrat, whose mother lived in the
neighborhood, and had a garden at a considerable distance from the house,
which produced excellent asparagus. This Verrat, who had no great plenty
of money, took it in his head to rob her of the most early production of
her garden, and by the sale of it procure those indulgences he could not
otherwise afford himself; but not being very nimble, he did not care to
run the hazard of a surprise. After some preliminary flattery, which I
did not comprehend the meaning of, he proposed this expedition to me, as
an idea which had that moment struck him. At first I would not listen to
the proposal; but he persisted in his solicitation, and as I could never
resist the attacks of flattery, at length prevailed. In pursuance of
this virtuous resolution, I every morning repaired to the garden,
gathered the best of the asparagus, and took it to the Holard where some
good old women, who guessed how I came by it, wishing to diminish the
price, made no secret of their suspicions; this produced the desired
effect, for, being alarmed, I took whatever they offered, which being
taken to Mr. Verrat, was presently metamorphosed into a breakfast, and
divided with a companion of his; for, though I procured it, I never
partook of their good cheer, being fully satisfied with an inconsiderable
bribe.
I executed my roguery with the greatest fidelity, seeking only to please
my employer; and several days passed before it came into my head, to rob
the robber, and tithe Mr. Verrat's harvest. I never considered the
hazard I run in these expeditions, not only of a torrent of abuse, but
what I should have been still more sensible of, a hearty beating; for the
miscreant, who received the whole benefit, would certainly have denied
all knowledge of the fact, and I should only have received a double
portion of punishment for daring to accuse him, since being only an
apprentice, I stood no chance of being believed in opposition to a
journeyman. Thus, in every situation, powerful rogues know how to save
themselves at the expense of the feeble.
This practice taught me it was not so terrible to thieve as I had
imagined: I took care to make this discovery turn to some account,
helping myself to everything within my reach, that I conceived an
inclination for. I was not absolutely ill-fed at my master's, and
temperance was only painful to me by comparing it with the luxury he
enjoyed. The custom of sending young people from table precisely when
those things are served up which seem most tempting, is calculated to
increase their longing, and induces them to steal what they conceive to
be so delicious. It may be supposed I was not backward in this
particular: in general my knavery succeeded pretty well, though quite the
reverse when I happened to be detected.
I recollect an attempt to procure some apples, which was attended with
circumstances that make me smile and shudder even at this instant. The
fruit was standing in the pantry, which by a lattice at a considerable
height received light from the kitchen. One day, being alone in the
house, I climbed up to see these precious apples, which being out of my
reach, made this pantry appear the garden of Hesperides. I fetched the
spit--tried if it would reach them--it was too short--I lengthened it
with a small one which was used for game,--my master being very fond of
hunting, darted at them several times without success; at length was more
fortunate; being transported to find I was bringing up an apple, I drew
it gently to the lattice--was going to seize it when (who can express my
grief and astonishment!) I found it would not pass through--it was too
large. I tried every expedient to accomplish my design, sought
supporters to keep the spits in the same position, a knife to divide the
apple, and a lath to hold it with; at length, I so far succeeded as to
effect the division, and made no doubt of drawing the pieces through; but
it was scarcely separated, (compassionate reader, sympathize with my
affliction) when both pieces fell into the pantry.
Though I lost time by this experiment, I did not lose courage, but,
dreading a surprise, I put off the attempt till next day, when I hoped to
be more successful, and returned to my work as if nothing had happened,
without once thinking of what the two obvious witnesses I had left in the
pantry deposed against me.
The next day (a fine opportunity offering) I renew the trial. I fasten
the spits together; get on the stool; take aim; am just going to dart at
my prey--unfortunately the dragon did not sleep; the pantry door opens,
my master makes his appearance, and, looking up, exclaims, "Bravo!"
--The horror of that moment returns--the pen drops from my hand.
A continual repetition of ill treatment rendered me callous; it seemed a
kind of composition for my crimes, which authorized me to continue them,
and, instead of looking back at the punishment, I looked forward to
revenge. Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all the
vices of one. I was convinced that to rob and be punished were
inseparable, and constituted, if I may so express myself, a kind of
traffic, in which, if I perform my part of the bargain, my master would
take care not to be deficient in his; that preliminary settled, I applied
myself to thieving with great tranquility, and whenever this
interrogatory occurred to my mind, "What will be the consequence?" the
reply was ready, "I know the worst, I shall be beat; no matter, I was
made for it."
I love good eating; am sensual, but not greedy; I have such a variety of
inclinations to gratify, that this can never predominate; and unless my
heart is unoccupied, which very rarely happens, I pay but little
attention to my appetite; to purloining eatables, but extended this
propensity to everything I wished to possess, and if I did not become a
robber in form, it was only because money never tempted me.
My master had a closet in the workshop, which he kept locked; this I
contrived to open and shut as often as I pleased, and laid his best
tools, fine drawings, impressions, in a word, everything he wished to
keep from me, under contribution.
These thefts were so far innocent, that they were always employed in his
service, but I was transported at having the trifles in my possession,
and imagined I stole the art with its productions. Besides what I have
mentioned, his boxes contained threads of gold and silver, a number of
small jewels, valuable medals, and money; yet, though I seldom had five
sous in my pocket, I do not recollect ever having cast a wishful look at
them; on the contrary, I beheld these valuables rather with terror than
with delight.
I am convinced the dread of taking money was, in a great measure, the
effect of education. There was mingled with the idea of it the fear of
infamy, a prison, punishment, and death: had I even felt the temptation,
these objects would have made me tremble; whereas my failings appeared a
species of waggery, and, in truth, they were little else; they could but
occasion a good trimming, and this I was already prepared for. A sheet
of fine drawing paper was a greater temptation than money sufficient to
have purchased a ream. This unreasonable caprice is connected with one
of the most striking singularities of my character, and has so far
influenced my conduct, that it requires a particular explanation.
My passions are extremely violent; while under their influence, nothing
can equal my impetuosity; I am an absolute stranger to discretion,
respect, fear, or decorum; rude, saucy, violent, and intrepid: no shame
can stop, no danger intimidate me. My mind is frequently so engrossed by
a single object, that beyond it the whole world is not worth a thought;
this is the enthusiasm of a moment, the next, perhaps, I am plunged in a
state of annihilation. Take me in my moments of tranquility, I am
indolence and timidity itself; a word to speak, the least trifle to
perform, appear an intolerable labor; everything alarms and terrifies me;
the very buzzing of a fly will make me shudder; I am so subdued by fear
and shame, that I would gladly shield myself from mortal view.
When obliged to exert myself, I am ignorant what to do! when forced to
speak, I am at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me, I am
instantly out of countenance. If animated with my subject, I express my
thoughts with ease, but, in ordinary conversations, I can say nothing
--absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders them
insupportable.
I may add, that none of my predominant inclinations centre in those
pleasures which are to be purchased: money empoisons my delight; I must
have them unadulterated; I love those of the table, for instance, but
cannot endure the restraints of good company, or the intemperance of
taverns; I can enjoy them only with a friend, for alone it is equally
impossible; my imagination is then so occupied with other things, that I
find no pleasure in eating. Women who are to be purchased have no charms
for me; my beating heart cannot be satisfied without affection; it is the
same with every other enjoyment, if not truly disinterested, they are
absolutely insipid; in a word, I am fond of those things which are only
estimable to minds formed for the peculiar enjoyment of them.
I never thought money so desirable as it is usually imagined; if you
would enjoy you must transform it; and this transformation is frequently
attended with inconvenience; you must bargain, purchase, pay dear, be
badly served, and often duped. I buy an egg, am assured it is new-laid
--I find it stale; fruit in its utmost perfection--'tis absolutely green.
I love good wine, but where shall I get it? Not at my wine merchant's
--he will poison me to a certainty. I wish to be universally respected;
how shall I compass my design? I must make friends, send messages, write
letters, come, go, wait, and be frequently deceived. Money is the
perpetual source of uneasiness; I fear it more than I love good wine.
A thousand times, both during and since my apprenticeship, have I gone
out to purchase some nicety, I approach the pastry-cook's, perceive some
women at the counter, and imagine they are laughing at me. I pass a
fruit shop, see some fine pears, their appearance tempts me; but then two
or three young people are near, or a man I am acquainted with is standing
at the door; I take all that pass for persons I have some knowledge of,
and my near sight contributes to deceive me. I am everywhere
intimidated, restrained by some obstacle, and with money in my pocket
return as I went, for want of resolution to purchase what I long for.
I should enter into the most insipid details was I to relate the trouble,
shame, repugnance, and inconvenience of all kinds which I have
experienced in parting with my money, whether in my own person, or by the
agency of others; as I proceed, the reader will get acquainted with my
disposition, and perceive all this without my troubling him with the
recital.
This once comprehended, one of my apparent contradictions will be easily
accounted for, and the most sordid avarice reconciled with the greatest
contempt of money. It is a movable which I consider of so little value,
that, when destitute of it, I never wish to acquire any; and when I have
a sum I keep it by me, for want of knowing how to dispose of it to my
satisfaction; but let an agreeable and convenient opportunity present
itself, and I empty my purse with the utmost freedom; not that I would
have the reader imagine I am extravagant from a motive of ostentation,
quite the reverse; it was ever in subservience to my pleasures, and,
instead of glorying in expense, I endeavor to conceal it. I so well
perceive that money is not made to answer my purposes, that I am almost
ashamed to have any, and, still more, to make use of it.
Had I ever possessed a moderate independence, I am convinced I should
have had no propensity to become avaricious. I should have required no
more, and cheerfully lived up to my income; but my precarious situation
has constantly and necessarily kept me in fear. I love liberty, and I
loathe constraint, dependence, and all their kindred annoyances. As long
as my purse contains money it secures my independence, and exempts me
from the trouble of seeking other money, a trouble of which I have always
had a perfect horror; and the dread of seeing the end of my independence,
makes me proportionately unwilling to part with my money. The money that
we possess is the instrument of liberty, that which we lack and strive to
obtain is the instrument of slavery. Thence it is that I hold fast to
aught that I have, and yet covet nothing more.
My disinterestedness, then, is in reality only idleness, the pleasure of
possessing is not in my estimation worth the trouble of acquiring: and my
dissipation is only another form of idleness; when we have an opportunity
of disbursing pleasantly we should make the best possible use of it.
I am less tempted by money than by other objects, because between the
moment of possessing the money and that of using it to obtain the desired
object there is always an interval, however short; whereas to possess the
thing is to enjoy it. I see a thing and it tempts me; but if I see not
the thing itself but only the means of acquiring it, I am not tempted.
Therefore it is that I have been a pilferer, and am so even now, in the
way of mere trifles to which I take a fancy, and which I find it easier
to take than to ask for; but I never in my life recollect having taken a
farthing from any one, except about fifteen years ago, when I stole seven
francs and ten sous. The story is worth recounting, as it exhibits a
concurrence of ignorance and stupidity I should scarcely credit, did it
relate to any but myself.
It was in Paris: I was walking with M. de Franceul at the Palais Royal;
he pulled out his watch, he looked at it, and said to me, "Suppose we go
to the opera?"--"With all my heart." We go: he takes two box tickets,
gives me one, and enters himself with the other; I follow, find the door
crowded; and, looking in, see every one standing; judging, therefore,
that M. de Franceul might suppose me concealed by the company, I go out,
ask for my ticket, and, getting the money returned, leave the house,
without considering, that by then I had reached the door every one would
be seated, and M. de Franceul might readily perceive I was not there.
As nothing could be more opposite to my natural inclination than this
abominable meanness, I note it, to show there are moments of delirium
when men ought not to be judged by their actions: this was not stealing
the money, it was only stealing the use of it, and was the more infamous
for wanting the excuse of a temptation.
I should never end these accounts, was I to describe all the gradations
through which I passed, during my apprenticeship, from the sublimity of a
hero to the baseness of a villain. Though I entered into most of the
vices of my situation, I had no relish for its pleasures; the amusements
of my companions were displeasing, and when too much restraint had made
my business wearisome, I had nothing to amuse me. This renewed my taste
for reading which had long been neglected. I thus committed a fresh
offence, books made me neglect my work, and brought on additional
punishment, while inclination, strengthened by constraint, became an
unconquerable passion. La Tribu, a well-known librarian, furnished me
with all kinds; good or bad, I perused them with avidity, and without
discrimination.
It will be said; "at length, then, money became necessary"--true; but
this happened at a time when a taste for study had deprived me both of
resolution and activity; totally occupied by this new inclination, I only
wished to read, I robbed no longer. This is another of my peculiarities;
a mere nothing frequently calls me off from what I appear the most
attached to; I give in to the new idea; it becomes a passion, and
immediately every former desire is forgotten.
Reading was my new hobby; my heart beat with impatience to run over the
new book I carried in my pocket; the first moment I was alone, I seized
the opportunity to draw it out, and thought no longer of rummaging my
master's closet. I was even ashamed to think that I had been guilty of
such meanness; and had my amusements been more expensive, I no longer
felt an inclination to continue it. La Tribu gave me credit, and when
once I had the book in my possession, I thought no more of the trifle I
was to pay for it; as money came it naturally passed to this woman; and
when she chanced to be pressing, nothing was so conveniently at hand as
my own effects; to steal in advance required foresight, and robbing to
pay was no temptation.
The frequent blows I received from my master, with my private and
ill-chosen studies, rendered me reserved, unsociable, and almost
deranged my reason. Though my taste had not preserved me from silly
unmeaning books, by good fortune I was a stranger to licentious or
obscene ones; not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating) had any
scruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth she
spoke of them with an air of mystery; this produced an effect she had
not foreseen, for both shame and disgust made me constantly refuse them.
Chance so well seconded my bashful disposition, that I was past the age
of thirty before I saw any of those dangerous compositions.
In less than a year I had exhausted La Tribu's scanty library, and was
unhappy for want of further amusement. My reading, though frequently
bad, had worn off my childish follies, and brought back my heart to
nobler sentiments than my condition had inspired; meantime disgusted with
all within my reach, and thinking everything charming that was out of it,
my present situation appeared extremely miserable. My passions began to
acquire strength, I felt their influence, without knowing whither they
would conduct me. I sometimes, indeed, thought of my former follies, but
sought no further.
At this time my imagination took a turn which helped to calm my
increasing emotions; it was, to contemplate those situations in the books
I had read, which produced the most striking effect on my mind; to
recall, combine, and apply them to myself in such a manner, as to become
one of the personages my recollection presented, and be continually in
those fancied circumstances which were most agreeable to my inclinations;
in a word, by contriving to place myself in these fictitious situations,
the idea of my real one was in a great measure obliterated.
This fondness for imaginary objects, and the facility with which I could
gain possession of them, completed my disgust for everything around me,
and fixed that inclination for solitude which has ever since been
predominant. We shall have more than once occasion to remark the effects
of a disposition, misanthropic and melancholy in appearance, but which
proceed, in fact, from a heart too affectionate, too ardent, which, for
want of similar dispositions, is constrained to content itself with
nonentities, and be satisfied with fiction. It is sufficient, at
present, to have traced the origin of a propensity which has modified my
passions, set bounds to each, and by giving too much ardor to my wishes,
has ever rendered me too indolent to obtain them.
Thus I attained my sixteenth year, uneasy, discontented with myself and
everything that surrounded me; displeased with my occupation; without
enjoying the pleasures common to my age, weeping without a cause, sighing
I knew not why, and fond of my chimerical ideas for want of more valuable
realities.
Every Sunday, after sermon-time, my companions came to fetch me out,
wishing me to partake of their diversions. I would willingly have been
excused, but when once engaged in amusement, I was more animated and
enterprising than any of them; it was equally difficult to engage or
restrain me; indeed, this was ever a leading trait in my character.
In our country walks I was ever foremost, and never thought of returning
till reminded by some of my companions. I was twice obliged to be from
my master's the whole night, the city gates having been shut before I
could reach them. The reader may imagine what treatment this procured me
the following mornings; but I was promised such a reception for the
third, that I made a firm resolution never to expose myself to the danger
of it. Notwithstanding my determination, I repeated this dreaded
transgression, my vigilance having been rendered useless by a cursed
captain, named M. Minutoli, who, when on guard, always shut the gate he
had charge of an hour before the usual time. I was returning home with
my two companions, and had got within half a league of the city, when I
heard them beat the tattoo; I redouble my pace, I run with my utmost
speed, I approach the bridge, see the soldiers already at their posts, I
call out to them in a suffocated voice--it is too late; I am twenty paces
from the guard, the first bridge is already drawn up, and I tremble to
see those terrible horns advanced in the air which announce the fatal and
inevitable destiny, which from this moment began to pursue me.
I threw myself on the glacis in a transport of despair, while my
companions, who only laughed at the accident, immediately determined what
to do. My resolution, though different from theirs, was equally sudden;
on the spot, I swore never to return to my master's, and the next
morning, when my companions entered the city, I bade them an eternal
adieu, conjuring them at the same time to inform my cousin Bernard of my
resolution, and the place where he might see me for the last time.
From the commencement of my apprenticeship I had seldom seen him; at
first, indeed, we saw each other on Sundays, but each acquiring different
habits, our meetings were less frequent. I am persuaded his mother
contributed greatly towards this change; he was to consider himself as a
person of consequence, I was a pitiful apprentice; notwithstanding our
relationship, equality no longer subsisted between us, and it was
degrading himself to frequent my company. As he had a natural good heart
his mother's lessons did not take an immediate effect, and for some time
he continued to visit me.
Having learned my resolution, he hastened to the spot I had appointed,
not, however, to dissuade me from it, but to render my flight agreeable,
by some trifling presents, as my own resources would not have carried me
far. He gave me among other things, a small sword, which I was very
proud of, and took with me as far as Turin, where absolute want
constrained me to dispose of it. The more I reflect on his behavior at
this critical moment, the more I am persuaded he followed the
instructions of his mother, and perhaps his father likewise: for, had he
been left to his own feelings, he would have endeavored to retain, or
have been tempted to accompany me; on the contrary, he encouraged the
design, and when he saw me resolutely determined to pursue it, without
seeming much affected, left me to my fate. We never saw or wrote to each
other from that time; I cannot but regret this loss, for his heart was
essentially good, and we seemed formed for a more lasting friendship.
Before I abandon myself to the fatality of my destiny, let me contemplate
for a moment the prospect that awaited me had I fallen into the hands of
a better master. Nothing could have been more agreeable to my
disposition, or more likely to confer happiness, than the peaceful
condition of a good artificer, in so respectable a line as engravers are
considered at Geneva. I could have obtained an easy subsistence, if not
a fortune; this would have bounded my ambition; I should have had means
to indulge in moderate pleasures, and should have continued in my natural
sphere, without meeting with any temptation to go beyond it. Having an
imagination sufficiently fertile to embellish with its chimeras every
situation, and powerful enough to transport me from one to another, it
was immaterial in which I was fixed: that was best adapted to me, which,
requiring the least care or exertion, left the mind most at liberty; and
this happiness I should have enjoyed. In my native country, in the bosom
of my religion, family and friends, I should have passed a calm and
peaceful life, in the uniformity of a pleasing occupation, and among
connections dear to my heart. I should have been a good Christian, a
good citizen, a good friend, a good man. I should have relished my
condition, perhaps have been an honor to it, and after having passed a
life of happy obscurity, surrounded by my family, I should have died at
peace. Soon it may be forgotten, but while remembered it would have been
with tenderness and regret.