Book: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book II.
J >>
Jean Jacques Rousseau >> The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book II.
My uncle Bernard did the same thing, he arrived at Consignon, received
information that I was gone to Annecy, and immediately returned back to
Geneva; thus my nearest relations seemed to have conspired with my
adverse stars to consign me to misery and ruin. By a similar negligence,
my brother was so entirely lost, that it was never known what was become
of him.
My father was not only a man of honor but of the strictest probity, and
endured with that magnanimity which frequently produces the most shining
virtues: I may add, he was a good father, particularly to me whom he
tenderly loved; but he likewise loved his pleasures, and since we had
been separated other connections had weakened his paternal affections.
He had married again at Nion, and though his second wife was too old to
expect children, she had relations; my father was united to another
family, surrounded by other objects, and a variety of cares prevented my
returning to his remembrance. He was in the decline of life and had
nothing to support the inconveniences of old age; my mother's property
devolved to me and my brother, but, during our absence, the interest of
it was enjoyed by my father: I do not mean to infer that this
consideration had an immediate effect on his conduct, but it had an
imperceptible one, and prevented him making use of that exertion to
regain me which he would otherwise have employed; and this, I think, was
the reason that having traced me as far as Annecy, he stopped short,
without proceeding to Chambery, where he was almost certain I should be
found; and likewise accounts why, on visiting him several times since my
flight, he always received me with great kindness, but never made any
efforts to retain me.
This conduct in a father, whose affection and virtue I was so well
convinced of, has given birth to reflections on the regulation of my own
conduct which have greatly contributed to preserve the integrity of my
heart. It has taught me this great lesson of morality, perhaps the only
one that can have any conspicuous influence on our actions, that we
should ever carefully avoid putting our interests in competition with our
duty, or promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others;
certain that in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtue
may be, sooner or later it will give way and we shall imperceptibly
become unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions.
This maxim, strongly imprinted on my mind, and reduced, though rather too
late, to practice, has given my conduct an appearance of folly and
whimsicality, not only in public, but still more among my acquaintances:
it has been said, I affected originality, and sought to act different
from other people; the truth is, I neither endeavor to conform or be
singular, I desire only to act virtuously and avoid situations, which,
by setting my interest in opposition to that of another person's, might
inspire me with a secret, though involuntary wish to his disadvantage.
Two years ago, My Lord Marshal would have put my name in his will, which
I took every method to prevent, assuring him I would not for the world
know myself in the will of any one, much less in his; he gave up the
idea; but insisted in return, that I should accept an annuity on his
life; this I consented to. It will be said, I find my account in the
alteration; perhaps I may; but oh, my benefactor! my father, I am now
sensible that, should I have the misfortune to survive thee, I should
have everything to lose, nothing to gain.
This, in my idea, in true philosophy, the surest bulwark of human
rectitude; every day do I receive fresh conviction of its profound
solidity. I have endeavored to recommend it in all my latter writings,
but the multitude read too superficially to have made the remark. If I
survive my present undertaking, and am able to begin another, I mean, in
a continuation of Emilius, to give such a lively and marking example of
this maxim as cannot fail to strike attention. But I have made
reflections enough for a traveller, it is time to continue my journey.
It turned out more agreeable than I expected: my clownish conductor was
not so morose as he appeared to be. He was a middle-aged man, wore his
black, grizzly hair, in a queue, had a martial air, a strong voice, was
tolerably cheerful, and to make up for not having been taught any trade,
could turn his hand to every one. Having proposed to establish some kind
of manufactory at Annecy, he had consulted Madam de Warrens, who
immediately gave into the project, and he was now going to Turin to lay
the plan before the minister and get his approbation, for which journey
he took care to be well rewarded.
This drole had the art of ingratiating himself with the priests, whom he
ever appeared eager to serve; he adopted a certain jargon which he had
learned by frequenting their company, and thought himself a notable
preacher; he could even repeat one passage from the Bible in Latin, and
it answered his purpose as well as if he had known a thousand, for he
repeated it a thousand times a day. He was seldom at a loss for money
when he knew what purse contained it; yet, was rather artful than
knavish, and when dealing out in an affected tone his unmeaning
discourses, resembled Peter the Hermit, preaching up the crusade with a
sabre at his side.
Madam Sabran, his wife, was a tolerable, good sort of woman; more
peaceable by day than by night; as I slept in the same chamber I was
frequently disturbed by her wakefulness, and should have been more so had
I comprehended the cause of it; but I was in the chapter of dullness,
which left to nature the whole care of my own instruction.
I went on gayly with my pious guide and his hopeful companion, no
sinister accident impeding our journey. I was in the happiest
circumstances both of mind and body that I ever recollect having
experienced; young, full of health and security, placing unbounded
confidence in myself and others; in that short but charming moment of
human life, whose expansive energy carries, if I may so express myself,
our being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all nature
with an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and rising
enjoyment of our existence.
My pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object on
which imagination could fix. I looked on myself as the work, the pupil,
the friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warrens; the obliging things she
had said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest she
seemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks,
which seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired it,
every consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and furnished
the most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my future
condition arose to embitter. In sending me to Turin, I thought they
engaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of every
care I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes, and
brilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented itself
seemed to insure my approaching felicity. I imagined that every house
was filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with sports and
revelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish wantoned in
these streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along the flowery
banks! The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while their shade
afforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy lovers; the
mountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure, simplicity and
joy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither, and everything I
saw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture. The grandeur,
variety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure rendered the charm
reasonable, in which vanity came in for its share; to go so young to
Italy, view such an extent of country, and pursue the route of Hannibal
over the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add to all this our
frequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and plenty to satisfy
it; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing; at Mr. Sabran's
table what I eat could scarce be missed. In the whole course of my life
I cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt from care, than the
seven or eight days I was passing from Annecy to Turin. As we were
obliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather appeared an agreeable
jaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still remains the most pleasing
impressions of it on my mind, and the idea of a pedestrian excursion,
particularly among the mountains, has from this time seemed delightful.
It was only in my happiest days that I travelled on foot, and ever with
the most unbounded satisfaction; afterwards, occupied with business and
encumbered with baggage, I was forced to act the gentleman and employ a
carriage, where care, embarrassment, and restraint, were sure to be my
companions, and instead of being delighted with the journey, I only
wished to arrive at the place of destination.
I was a long time at Paris, wishing to meet with two companions of
similar dispositions, who would each agree to appropriate fifty guineas
of his property and a year of his time to making the tour of Italy on
foot, with no other attendance than a young fellow to carry our
necessaries; I have met with many who seemed enchanted with the project,
but considered it only as a visionary scheme, which served well enough to
talk of, without any design of putting it in execution. One day,
speaking with enthusiasm of this project to Diderot and Grimm, they gave
into the proposal with such warmth that I thought the matter concluded
on; but it only turned out a journey on paper, in which Grimm thought
nothing so pleasing as making Diderot commit a number of impieties, and
shutting me up in the Inquisition for them, instead of him.
My regret at arriving so soon at Turin was compensated by the pleasure of
viewing a large city, and the hope of figuring there in a conspicuous
character, for my brain already began to be intoxicated with the fumes of
ambition; my present situation appeared infinitely above that of an
apprentice, and I was far from foreseeing how soon I should be much below
it.
Before I proceed, I ought to offer an excuse, or justification to the
reader for the great number of unentertaining particulars I am
necessitated to repeat. In pursuance of the resolution I have formed to
enter on this public exhibition of myself, it is necessary that nothing
should bear the appearance of obscurity or concealment. I should be
continually under the eye of the reader, he should be enabled to follow
me In all the wanderings of my heart, through every intricacy of my
adventures; he must find no void or chasm in my relation, nor lose sight
of me an instant, lest he should find occasion to say, what was he doing
at this time; and suspect me of not having dared to reveal the whole. I
give sufficient scope to malignity in what I say; it is unnecessary I
should furnish still more by my science.
My money was all gone, even that I had secretly received from Madam de
Warrens: I had been so indiscreet as to divulge this secret, and my
conductors had taken care to profit by it. Madam Sabran found means to
deprive me of everything I had, even to a ribbon embroidered with silver,
with which Madam de Warrens had adorned the hilt of my sword; this I
regretted more than all the rest; indeed the sword itself would have gone
the same way, had I been less obstinately bent on retaining it. They
had, it is true, supported me during the journey, but left me nothing at
the end of it, and I arrived at Turin, without money, clothes, or linen,
being precisely in the situation to owe to my merit alone the whole honor
of that fortune I was about to acquire.
I took care in the first place to deliver the letters I was charged with,
and was presently conducted to the hospital of the catechumens, to be
instructed in that religion, for which, in return, I was to receive
subsistence. On entering, I passed an iron-barred gate, which was
immediately double-locked on me; this beginning was by no means
calculated to give me a favorable opinion of my situation. I was then
conducted to a large apartment, whose furniture consisted of a wooden
altar at the farther end, on which was a large crucifix, and round it
several indifferent chairs, of the same materials. In this hall of
audience were assembled four or five ill-looking banditti, my comrades in
instruction, who would rather have been taken for trusty servants of the
devil than candidates for the kingdom of heaven. Two of these fellows
were Sclavonians, but gave out they were African Jews, and (as they
assured me) had run through Spain and Italy, embracing the Christian
faith, and being baptised wherever they thought it worth their labor.
Soon after they opened another iron gate, which divided a large balcony
that overlooked a court yard, and by this avenue entered our sister
catechumens, who, like me, were going to be regenerated, not by baptism
but a solemn abjuration. A viler set of idle, dirty, abandoned harlots,
never disgraced any persuasion; one among them, however, appeared pretty
and interesting; she might be about my own age, perhaps a year or two
older, and had a pair of roguish eyes, which frequently encountered mine;
this was enough to inspire me with the desire of becoming acquainted with
her, but she had been so strongly recommended to the care of the old
governess of this respectable sisterhood, and was so narrowly watched by
the pious missionary, who labored for her conversion with more zeal than
diligence, that during the two months we remained together in this house
(where she had already been three) I found it absolutely impossible to
exchange a word with her. She must have been extremely stupid, though
she had not the appearance of it, for never was a longer course of
instruction; the holy man could never bring her to a state of mind fit
for abjuration; meantime she became weary of her cloister, declaring
that, Christian or not, she would stay there no longer; and they were
obliged to take her at her word, lest she should grow refractory, and
insist on departing as great a sinner as she came.
This hopeful community were assembled in honor of the new-comer; when our
guides made us a short exhortation: I was conjured to be obedient to the
grace that Heaven had bestowed on me; the rest were admonished to assist
me with their prayers, and give me edification by their good example.
Our virgins then retired to another apartment, and I was left to
contemplate, at leisure, that wherein I found myself.
The next morning we were again assembled for instruction: I now began to
reflect, for the first time, on the step I was about to take, and the
circumstances which had led me to it.
I repeat, and shall perhaps repeat again, an assertion I have already
advanced, and of whose truth I every day receive fresh conviction, which
is, that if ever child received a reasonable and virtuous education, it
was myself. Born in a family of unexceptionable morals, every lesson I
received was replete with maxims of prudence and virtue. My father
(though fond of gallantry) not only possessed distinguished probity, but
much religion; in the world he appeared a man of pleasure, in his family
he was a Christian, and implanted early in my mind those sentiments he
felt the force of. My three aunts were women of virtue and piety; the
two eldest were professed devotees, and the third, who united all the
graces of wit and good sense, was, perhaps, more truly religious than
either, though with less ostentation. From the bosom of this amiable
family I was transplanted to M. Lambercier's, a man dedicated to the
ministry, who believed the doctrine he taught, and acted up to its
precepts. He and his sister matured by their instructions those
principles of judicious piety I had already imbibed, and the means
employed by these worthy people were so well adapted to the effect they
meant to produce, that so far from being fatigued, I scarce ever listened
to their admonitions without finding myself sensibly affected, and
forming resolutions to live virtuously, from which, except in moments of
forgetfulness, I seldom swerved. At my uncle's, religion was far more
tiresome, because they made it an employment; with my master I thought no
more of it, though my sentiments continued the same: I had no companions
to vitiate my morals: I became idle, careless, and obstinate, but my
principles were not impaired.
I possessed as much religion, therefore, as a child could be supposed
capable of acquiring. Why should I now disguise my thoughts? I am
persuaded I had more. In my childhood, I was not a child; I felt, I
thought as a man: as I advanced in years, I mingled with the ordinary
class; in my infancy I was distinguished from it. I shall doubtless
incur ridicule by thus modestly holding myself up for a prodigy--I am
content. Let those who find themselves disposed to it, laugh their fill;
afterward, let them find a child that at six years old is delighted,
interested, affected with romances, even to the shedding floods of tears;
I shall then feel my ridiculous vanity, and acknowledge myself in an
error.
Thus when I said we should not converse with children on religion, if we
wished them ever to possess any; when I asserted they were incapable of
communion with the Supreme Being, even in our confined degree, I drew my
conclusions from general observation; I knew they were not applicable to
particular instances: find J. J. Rousseau of six years old, converse with
them on religious subjects at seven, and I will be answerable that the
experiment will be attended with no danger.
It is understood, I believe, that a child, or even a man, is likely to be
most sincere while persevering in that religion in whose belief he was
born and educated; we frequently detract from, seldom make any additions
to it: dogmatical faith is the effect of education. In addition to this
general principle which attached me to the religion of my forefathers, I
had that particular aversion our city entertains for Catholicism, which
is represented there as the most monstrous idolatry, and whose clergy are
painted in the blackest colors. This sentiment was so firmly imprinted
on my mind, that I never dared to look into their churches--I could not
bear to meet a priest in his surplice, and never did I hear the bells of
a procession sound without shuddering with horror; these sensations soon
wore off in great cities, but frequently returned in country parishes,
which bore more similarity to the spot where I first experienced them;
meantime this dislike was singularly contrasted by the remembrance of
those caresses which priests in the neighborhood of Geneva are fond of
bestowing on the children of that city. If the bells of the viaticum
alarmed me, the chiming for mass or vespers called me to a breakfast, a
collation, to the pleasure of regaling on fresh butter, fruits, or milk;
the good cheer of M. de Pontverre had produced a considerable effect on
me; my former abhorrence began to diminish, and looking on popery through
the medium of amusement and good living, I easily reconciled myself to
the idea of enduring, though I never entertained but a very transient and
distant idea of making a solemn profession of it.
At this moment such a transaction appeared in all its horrors; I
shuddered at the engagement I had entered into, and its inevitable
consequences. The future neophytes with which I was surrounded were not
calculated to sustain my courage by their example, and I could not help
considering the holy work I was about to perform as the action of a
villain. Though young, I was sufficiently convinced, that whatever
religion might be the true one, I was about to sell mine; and even should
I chance to chose the best, I lied to the Holy Ghost, and merited the
disdain of every good man. The more I considered, the more I despised
myself, and trembled at the fate which had led me into such a
predicament, as if my present situation had not been of my own seeking.
There were moments when these compunctions were so strong that had I
found the door open but for an instant, I should certainly have made my
escape; but this was impossible, nor was the resolution of any long
duration, being combated by too many secret motives to stand any chance
of gaining the victory.
My fixed determination not to return to Geneva, the shame that would
attend it, the difficulty of repassing the mountains, at a distance from
my country, without friends, and without resources, everything concurred
to make me consider my remorse of conscience, as a too late repentance.
I affected to reproach myself for what I had done, to seek excuses for
that I intended to do, and by aggravating the errors of the past, looked
on the future as an inevitable consequence. I did not say, nothing is
yet done, and you may be innocent if you please; but I said, tremble at
the crime thou hast committed, which hath reduced thee to the necessity
of filling up the measure of thine iniquities.
It required more resolution than was natural to my age to revoke those
expectations which I had given them reason to entertain, break those
chains with which I was enthralled, and resolutely declare I would
continue in the religion of my forefathers, whatever might be the
consequence. The affair was already too far advanced, and spite of all
my efforts they would have made a point of bringing it to a conclusion.
The sophism which ruined me has had a similar affect on the greater part
of mankind, who lament the want of resolution when the opportunity for
exercising it is over. The practice of virtue is only difficult from our
own negligence; were, we always discreet, we should seldom have occasion
for any painful exertion of it; we are captivated by desires we might
readily surmount, give into temptations that might easily be resisted,
and insensibly get into embarrassing, perilous situations, from which we
cannot extricate ourselves but with the utmost difficulty; intimidated by
the effort, we fall into the abyss, saying to the Almighty, why hast thou
made us such weak creatures? But, notwithstanding our vain pretexts, He
replies, by our consciences, I formed ye too weak to get out of the gulf,
because I gave ye sufficient strength not to have fallen into it.
I was not absolutely resolved to become a Catholic, but, as it was not
necessary to declare my intentions immediately, I gradually accustomed
myself to the idea; hoping, meantime, that some unforeseen event would
extricate me from my embarrassment. In order to gain time, I resolved to
make the best defence I possibly could in favor of my own opinion; but my
vanity soon rendered this resolution unnecessary, for on finding I
frequently embarrassed those who had the care of my instruction, I wished
to heighten my triumph by giving them a complete overthrow. I zealously
pursued my plan, not without the ridiculous hope of being able to convert
my convertors; for I was simple enough to believe, that could I convince
them of their errors, they would become Protestants; they did not find,
therefore, that facility in the work which they had expected, as I
differed both in regard to will and knowledge from the opinion they had
entertained of me.
Protestants, in general, are better instructed in the principles of their
religion than Catholics; the reason is obvious; the doctrine of the
former requires discussion, of the latter a blind submission; the
Catholic must content himself with the decisions of others, the
Protestant must learn to decide for himself; they were not ignorant of
this, but neither my age nor appearance promised much difficulty to men
so accustomed to disputation. They knew, likewise, that I had not
received my first communion, nor the instructions which accompany it;
but, on the other hand, they had no idea of the information I received at
M. Lambercier's, or that I had learned the history of the church and
empire almost by heart at my father's; and though (since that time,
nearly forgot, when warmed by the dispute, very unfortunately for these
gentlemen), it again returned to my memory.
A little old priest, but tolerably venerable, held the first conference;
at which we were all convened. On the part of my comrades, it was rather
a catechism than a controversy, and he found more pains in giving them
instruction than answering their objections; but when it came to my turn,
it was a different matter; I stopped him at every article, and did not
spare a single remark that I thought would create a difficulty: this
rendered the conference long and extremely tiresome to the assistants.
My old priest talked a great deal, was very warm, frequently rambled from
the subject, and extricated himself from difficulties by saying he was
not sufficiently versed in the French language.