Book: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VI.
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Jean Jacques Rousseau >> The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VI.
I accustomed myself so much to this mode of life, and it accorded so
entirely with my humor, that I should have been very well content with a
continuance of it. Several of my fellow-boarders were Irish, from whom I
endeavored to learn some English words, as a precaution for Saint-Andiol.
The time now drew near for my departure; every letter Madam de Larnage
wrote, she entreated me not to delay it, and at length I prepared to obey
her.
I was convinced that the physicians (who understood nothing of my
disorder) looked on my complaint as imaginary, and treated me
accordingly, with their waters and whey. In this respect physicians and
philosophers differ widely from theologians; admitting the truth only of
what they can explain, and making their knowledge the measure of
possibilities. These gentlemen understood nothing of my illness,
therefore concluded I could not be ill; and who would presume to doubt
the profound skill of a physician? I plainly saw they only meant to
amuse, and make me swallow my money; and judging their substitute at
Saint-Andiol would do me quite as much service, and be infinitely more
agreeable, I resolved to give her the preference; full, therefore, of
this wise resolution, I quitted Montpelier.
I set off towards the end of November, after a stay of six weeks or two
months in that city, where I left a dozen louis, without either my health
or understanding being the better for it, except from a short course of
anatomy begun under M. Fitz-Morris, which I was soon obliged to abandon,
from the horrid stench of the bodies he dissected, which I found it
impossible to endure.
Not thoroughly satisfied in my own mind on the rectitude of this
expedition, as I advanced towards the Bridge of St. Esprit (which was
equally the road to Saint-Andiol and to Chambery) I began to reflect on
Madam de Warrens, the remembrance of whose letters, though less frequent
than those from Madam de Larnage, awakened in my heart a remorse that
passion had stifled in the first part of my journey, but which became so
lively on my return, that, setting just estimate on the love of pleasure,
I found myself in such a situation of mind that I could listen wholly to
the voice of reason. Besides, in continuing to act the part of an
adventurer, I might be less fortunate than I had been in the beginning;
for it was only necessary that in all Saint-Andiol there should be one
person who had been in England, or who knew the English or anything of
their language, to prove me an impostor. The family of Madam de Larnage
might not be pleased with me, and would, perhaps, treat me unpolitely;
her daughter too made me uneasy, for, spite of myself, I thought more of
her than was necessary. I trembled lest I should fall in love with this
girl, and that very fear had already half done the business. Was I
going, in return for the mother's kindness, to seek the ruin of the
daughter? To sow dissension, dishonor, scandal, and hell itself, in her
family? The very idea struck me with horror, and I took the firmest
resolution to combat and vanquish this unhappy attachment, should I be so
unfortunate as to experience it. But why expose myself to this danger?
How miserable must the situation be to live with the mother, whom I
should be weary of, and sigh for the daughter, without daring to make
known my affection! What necessity was there to seek this situation, and
expose myself to misfortunes, affronts and remorse, for the sake of
pleasures whose greatest charm was already exhausted? For I was sensible
this attachment had lost its first vivacity. With these thoughts were
mingled reflections relative to my situation and duty to that good and
generous friend, who already loaded with debts, would become more so from
the foolish expenses I was running into, and whom I was deceiving so
unworthily. This reproach at length became so keen that it triumphed
over every temptation, and on approaching the bridge of St. Esprit I
formed the resolution to burn my whole magazine of letters from
Saint-Andiol, and continue my journey right forward to Chambery.
I executed this resolution courageously, with some sighs I confess, but
with the heart-felt satisfaction, which I enjoyed for the first time in
my life, of saying, "I merit my own esteem, and know how to prefer duty
to pleasure." This was the first real obligation I owed my books, since
these had taught me to reflect and compare. After the virtuous
principles I had so lately adopted, after all the rules of wisdom and
honor I had proposed to myself, and felt so proud to follow, the shame of
possessing so little stability, and contradicting so egregiously my own
maxims, triumphed over the allurements of pleasure. Perhaps, after all,
pride had as much share in my resolution as virtue; but if this pride is
not virtue itself, its effects are so similar that we are pardonable in
deceiving ourselves.
One advantage resulting from good actions is that they elevate the soul
to a disposition of attempting still better; for such is human weakness,
that we must place among our good deeds an abstinence from those crimes
we are tempted to commit. No sooner was my resolution confirmed than I
became another man, or rather, I became what I was before I had erred,
and saw in its true colors what the intoxication of the moment had either
concealed or disguised. Full of worthy sentiments and wise resolutions,
I continued my journey, intending to regulate my future conduct by the
laws of virtue, and dedicate myself without reserve to that best of
friends, to whom I vowed as much fidelity in future as I felt real
attachment. The sincerity of this return to virtue appeared to promise a
better destiny; but mine, alas! was fixed, and already begun: even at
the very moment when my heart, full of good and virtuous sentiments, was
contemplating only innocence and happiness through life, I touched on the
fatal period that was to draw after it the long chain of my misfortunes!
My impatience to arrive at Chambery had made me use more diligence than I
meant to do. I had sent a letter from Valence, mentioning the day and
hour I should arrive, but I had gained half a day on this calculation,
which time I passed at Chaparillan, that I might arrive exactly at the
time I mentioned. I wished to enjoy to its full extent the pleasure of
seeing her, and preferred deferring this happiness a little, that
expectancy might increase the value of it. This precaution had always
succeeded; hitherto my arrival had caused a little holiday; I expected no
less this time, and these preparations, so dear to me, would have been
well worth the trouble of contriving them.
I arrived then exactly at the hour, and while at a considerable distance,
looked forward with an expectancy of seeing her on the road to meet me.
The beating of my heart increased as I drew near the house; at length I
arrived, quite out of breath; for I had left my chaise in the town. I
see no one in the garden, at the door, or at the windows; I am seized
with terror, fearful that some accident has happened. I enter; all is
quiet; the laborers are eating their luncheon in the kitchen, and far
from observing any preparation, the servants seem surprised to see me,
not knowing I was expected. I go up--stairs, at length see her!--that
dear friend! so tenderly, truly, and entirely beloved. I instantly ran
towards her, and threw myself at her feet. "Ah! child!" said she, "art
thou returned then!" embracing me at the same time. "Have you had a
good journey? How do you do?" This reception amused me for some
moments. I then asked, whether she had received my letter? she answered
"Yes."--"I should have thought not," replied I; and the information
concluded there. A young man was with her at this time. I recollected
having seen him in the house before my departure, but at present he
seemed established there; in short, he was so; I found my place already
supplied!
This young man came from the country of Vaud; his father, named
Vintzenried, was keeper of the prison, or, as he expressed himself,
Captain of the Castle of Chillon. This son of the captain was a
journeyman peruke-maker, and gained his living in that capacity when he
first presented himself to Madam de Warrens, who received him kindly, as
she did all comers, particularly those from her own country. He was a
tall, fair, silly youth; well enough made, with an unmeaning face, and a
mind of the same description, speaking always like the beau in a comedy,
and mingling the manners and customs of his former situation with a long
history of his gallantry and success; naming, according to his account,
not above half the marchionesses who had favored him and pretending never
to have dressed the head of a pretty woman, without having likewise
decorated her husband's; vain, foolish, ignorant and insolent; such was
the worthy substitute taken in my absence, and the companion offered me
on my return!
O! if souls disengaged from their terrestrial bonds, yet view from the
bosom of eternal light what passes here below, pardon, dear and
respectable shade, that I show no more favor to your failings than my
own, but equally unveil both. I ought and will be just to you as to
myself; but how much less will you lose by this resolution than I shall!
How much do your amiable and gentle disposition, your inexhaustible
goodness of heart, your frankness and other amiable virtues, compensate
for your foibles, if a subversion of reason alone can be called such.
You had errors, but not vices; your conduct was reprehensible, but your
heart was ever pure.
The new-comer had shown himself zealous and exact in all her little
commissions, which were ever numerous, and he diligently overlooked the
laborers. As noisy and insolent as I was quiet and forbearing, he was
seen or rather heard at the plough, in the hay-loft, wood-house, stable,
farm-yard, at the same instant. He neglected the gardening, this labor
being too peaceful and moderate; his chief pleasure was to load or drive
the cart, to saw or cleave wood; he was never seen without a hatchet or
pick-axe in his hand, running, knocking and hallooing with all his might.
I know not how many men's labor he performed, but he certainly made noise
enough for ten or a dozen at least. All this bustle imposed on poor
Madam de Warrens; she thought this young man a treasure, and, willing to
attach him to herself, employed the means she imagined necessary for that
purpose, not forgetting what she most depended on, the surrender of her
person.
Those who have thus far read this work should be able to form some
judgment of my heart; its sentiments were the most constant and sincere,
particularly those which had brought me back to Chambery; what a sudden
and complete overthrow was this to my whole being! but to judge fully of
this, the reader must place himself for a moment in my situation. I saw
all the future felicity I had promised myself vanish in a moment; all the
charming ideas I had indulged so affectionately, disappear entirely; and
I, who even from childhood had not been able to consider my existence for
a moment as separate from hers, for the first time saw myself utterly
alone. This moment was dreadful, and those that succeeded it were ever
gloomy. I was yet young, but the pleasing sentiments of enjoyment and
hope, which enliven youth, were extinguished. From that hour my
existence seemed half annihilated. I contemplated in advance the
melancholy remains of an insipid life, and if at any time an image of
happiness glanced through my mind, it was not that which appeared natural
to me, and I felt that even should I obtain it I must still be wretched.
I was so dull of apprehension, and my confidence in her was so great,
that, notwithstanding the familiar tone of the new-comer, which I looked
on as an effect of the easy disposition of Madam de Warrens, which
rendered her free with everyone, I never should have suspected his real
situation had not she herself informed me of it; but she hastened to make
this avowal with a freedom calculated to inflame me with resentment,
could my heart have turned to that point. Speaking of this connection as
quite immaterial with respect to herself, she reproached me with
negligence in the care of the family, and mentioned my frequent absence,
as though she had been in haste to supply my place. "Ah!" said I, my
heart bursting with the most poignant grief, "what do you dare to inform
me of? Is this the reward of an attachment like mine? Have you so many
times preserved my life, for the sole purpose of taking from me all that
could render it desirable? Your infidelity will bring me to the grave,
but you will regret my loss!" She answered with a tranquillity
sufficient to distract me, that I talked like a child; that people did
not die from such slight causes; that our friendship need be no less
sincere, nor we any less intimate, for that her tender attachment to me
could neither diminish nor end but with herself; in a word she gave me to
understand that my happiness need not suffer any decrease from the good
fortune of this new favorite.
Never did the purity, truth and force of my attachment to her appear more
evident; never did I feel the sincerity and honesty of my soul more
forcibly, than at that moment. I threw myself at her feet, embracing her
knees with torrents of tears. "No, madam," replied I, with the most
violent agitation, "I love you too much to disgrace you thus far, and too
truly to share you; the regret that accompanied the first acquisition of
your favors has continued to increase with my affection. I cannot
preserve them by so violent an augmentation of it. You shall ever have
my adoration: be worthy of it; to me that is more necessary than all you
can bestow. It is to you, O my dearest friend! that I resign my rights;
it is to the union of our hearts that I sacrifice my pleasure; rather
would I perish a thousand times than thus degrade her I love."
I preserved this resolution with a constancy worthy, I may say, of the
sentiment that gave it birth. From this moment I saw this beloved woman
but with the eyes of a real son. It should be remarked here, that this
resolve did not meet her private approbation, as I too well perceived;
yet she never employed the least art to make me renounce it either by
insinuating proposals, caresses, or any of those means which women so
well know how to employ without exposing themselves to violent censure,
and which seldom fail to succeed. Reduced to seek a fate independent of
hers, and not able to devise one, I passed to the other extreme, placing
my happiness so absolutely in her, that I became almost regardless of
myself. The ardent desire to see her happy, at any rate, absorbed all my
affections; it was in vain she endeavored to separate her felicity from
mine, I felt I had a part in it, spite of every impediment.
Thus those virtues whose seeds in my heart begun to spring up with my
misfortunes: they had been cultivated by study, and only waited the
fermentation of adversity to become prolific. The first-fruit of this
disinterested disposition was to put from my heart every sentiment of
hatred and envy against him who had supplanted me. I even sincerely
wished to attach myself to this young man; to form and educate him; to
make him sensible of his happiness, and, if possible, render him worthy
of it; in a word, to do for him what Anet had formerly done for me. But
the similarity of dispositions was wanting. More insinuating and
enlightened than Anet, I possessed neither his coolness, fortitude, nor
commanding strength of character, which I must have had in order to
succeed. Neither did the young man possess those qualities which Anet
found in me; such as gentleness, gratitude, and above all, the knowledge
of a want of his instructions, and an ardent desire to render them
useful. All these were wanting; the person I wished to improve, saw in
me nothing but an importunate, chattering pedant: while on the contrary
he admired his own importance in the house, measuring the services he
thought he rendered by the noise he made, and looking on his saws,
hatchets, and pick-axes, as infinitely more useful than all my old books:
and, perhaps, in this particular, he might not be altogether blamable;
but he gave himself a number of airs sufficient to make anyone die with
laughter. With the peasants he assumed the airs of a country gentleman;
presently he did as much with me, and at length with Madam de Warrens
herself. His name, Vintzenried, did not appear noble enough, he
therefore changed it to that of Monsieur de Courtilles, and by the latter
appellation he was known at Chambery, and in Maurienne, where he married.
At length this illustrious personage gave himself such airs of
consequence, that he was everything in the house, and myself nothing.
When I had the misfortune to displease him, he scolded Madam de Warrens,
and a fear of exposing her to his brutality rendered me subservient to
all his whims, so that every time he cleaved wood (an office which he
performed with singular pride) it was necessary I should be an idle
spectator and admirer of his prowess. This lad was not, however, of a
bad disposition; he loved Madam de Warrens, indeed it was impossible to
do otherwise; nor had he any aversion even to me, and when he happened to
be out of his airs would listen to our admonitions, and frankly own he
was a fool; yet notwithstanding these acknowledgements his follies
continued in the same proportion. His knowledge was so contracted, and
his inclinations so mean, that it was useless to reason, and almost
impossible to be pleased with him. Not content with a most charming
woman, he amused himself with an old red-haired, toothless waiting-maid,
whose unwelcome service Madam de Warrens had the patience to endure,
though it was absolutely disgusting. I soon perceived this new
inclination, and was exasperated at it; but I saw something else, which
affected me yet more, and made a deeper impression on me than anything
had hitherto done; this was a visible coldness in the behavior of Madam
de Warrens towards me.
The privation I had imposed on myself, and which she affected to approve,
is one of those affronts which women scarcely ever forgive. Take the
most sensible; the most philosophic female, one the least attached to
pleasure, and slighting her favors, if within your reach, will be found
the most unpardonable crime, even though she may care nothing for the
man. This rule is certainly without exception; since a sympathy so
natural and ardent was impaired in her, by an abstinence founded only on
virtue, attachment and esteem, I no longer found with her that union of
hearts which constituted all the happiness of mine; she seldom sought me
but when we had occasion to complain of this new-comer, for when they
were agreed, I enjoyed but little of her confidence, and, at length, was
scarcely ever consulted in her affairs. She seemed pleased, indeed, with
my company, but had I passed whole days without seeing her she would
hardly have missed me.
Insensibly, I found myself desolate and alone in that house where I had
formerly been the very soul; where, if I may so express myself, I had
enjoyed a double life, and by degrees, I accustomed myself to disregard
everything that, passed, and even those who dwelt there. To avoid
continual mortifications, I shut myself up with my books, or else wept
and sighed unnoticed in the woods. This life soon became insupportable;
I felt that the presence of a woman so dear to me, while estranged from
her heart, increased my unhappiness, and was persuaded, that, ceasing to
see her, I should feel myself less cruelly separated.
I resolved, therefore, to quit the house, mentioned it to her, and she,
far from opposing my resolution, approved it. She had an acquaintance at
Grenoble, called Madam de Deybens, whose husband was on terms of
friendship with Monsieur Malby, chief Provost of Lyons. M. Deybens
proposed my educating M. Malby's children; I accepted this offer, and
departed for Lyons without causing, and almost without feeling, the least
regret at a separation, the bare idea of which, a few months before,
would have given us both the most excruciating torments.
I had almost as much knowledge as was necessary for a tutor, and
flattered myself that my method would be unexceptionable; but the year I
passed at M. Malby's was sufficient to undeceive me in that particular.
The natural gentleness of my disposition seemed calculated for the
employment, if hastiness had not been mingled with it. While things went
favorably, and I saw the pains (which I did not spare) succeed, I was an
angel; but a devil when they went contrary. If my pupils did not
understand me, I was hasty, and when they showed any symptoms of an
untoward disposition, I was so provoked that I could have killed them;
which behavior was not likely to render them either good or wise. I had
two under my care, and they were of very different tempers. St. Marie,
who was between eight and nine years old, had a good person and quick
apprehension, was giddy, lively, playful and mischievous; but his
mischief was ever good-humored. The younger one, named Condillac,
appeared stupid and fretful, was headstrong as a mule, and seemed
incapable of instruction. It may be supposed that between both I did not
want employment, yet with patience and temper I might have succeeded;
but wanting both, I did nothing worth mentioning, and my pupils profited
very little. I could only make use of three means, which are very weak,
and often pernicious with children; namely, sentiment, reasoning,
passion. I sometimes exerted myself so much with St. Marie, that I could
not refrain from tears, and wished to excite similar sensations in him;
as if it was reasonable to suppose a child could be susceptible to such
emotions. Sometimes I exhausted myself in reasoning, as if persuaded he
could comprehend me; and as he frequently formed very subtle arguments,
concluded he must be reasonable, because he bid fair to be so good a
logician.
The little Condillac was still more embarrassing; for he neither
understood, answered, nor was concerned at anything; he was of an
obstinacy beyond belief, and was never happier than when he had succeeded
in putting me in a rage; then, indeed, he was the philosopher, and I the
child. I was conscious of all my faults, studied the tempers of my
pupils, and became acquainted with them; but where was the use of seeing
the evil, without being able to apply a remedy? My penetration was
unavailing, since it never prevented any mischief; and everything I
undertook failed, because all I did to effect my designs was precisely
what I ought not to have done.
I was not more fortunate in what had only reference to myself, than in
what concerned my pupils. Madam Deybens, in recommending me to her
friend Madam de Malby, had requested her to form my manners, and endeavor
to give me an air of the world. She took some pains on this account,
wishing to teach me how to do the honors of the house; but I was so
awkward, bashful, and stupid, that she found it necessary to stop there.
This, however, did not prevent me from falling in love with her,
according to my usual custom; I even behaved in such a manner, that she
could not avoid observing it; but I never durst declare my passion; and
as the lady never seemed in a humor to make advances, I soon became weary
of my sighs and ogling, being convinced they answered no manner of
purpose.
I had quite lost my inclination for little thieveries while with Madam de
Warrens; indeed, as everything belonged to me, there was nothing to
steal; besides, the elevated notions I had imbibed ought to have rendered
me in future above such meanness, and generally speaking they certainly
did so; but this rather proceeded from my having learned to conquer
temptations, than having succeeded in rooting out the propensity, and I
should even now greatly dread stealing, as in my infancy, were I yet
subject to the same inclinations. I had a proof of this at M. Malby's,
when, though surrounded by a number of little things that I could easily
have pilfered, and which appeared no temptation, I took it into my head
to covert some white Arbois wine, some glasses of which I had drank at
table, and thought delicious. It happened to be rather thick, and as I
fancied myself an excellent finer of wine, I mentioned my skill, and this
was accordingly trusted to my care, but in attempting to mend, I spoiled
it, though to the sight only, for it remained equally agreeable to the
taste. Profiting by this opportunity, I furnished myself from time to
time with a few bottles to drink in my own apartment; but unluckily,
I could never drink without eating; the difficulty lay therefore,
in procuring bread. It was impossible to make a reserve of this article,
and to have it brought by the footman was discovering myself,
and insulting the master of the house; I could not bear to purchase it
myself; how could a fine gentleman, with a sword at his side, enter a
baker's shop to buy a small loaf of bread? it was utterly impossible.
At length I recollected the thoughtless saying of a great princess, who,
on being informed that the country people had no bread, replied, "Then
let them eat pastry!" Yet even this resource was attended with a
difficulty. I sometimes went out alone for this very purpose, running
over the whole city, and passing thirty pastry cook's shops, without
daring to enter any one of them. In the first place, it was necessary
there should be only one person in the shop, and that person's
physiognomy must be so encouraging as to give me confidence to pass the
threshold; but when once the dear little cake was procured, and I shut up
in my chamber with that and a bottle of wine, taken cautiously from the
bottom of a cupboard, how much did I enjoy drinking my wine, and reading
a few pages of a novel; for when I have no company I always wish to read
while eating; it seems a substitute for society, and I dispatch
alternately a page and a morsel; 'tis indeed, as if my book dined with
me.