Book: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VII.

J >> Jean Jacques Rousseau >> The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VII.




It would be impossible to imagine in what manner I employed this short
and precious interval which still remained to me, before circumstances
forced me to beg my bread:--in learning by memory passages from the poets
which I had learned and forgotten a hundred times. Every morning at ten
o'clock, I went to walk in the Luxembourg with a Virgil and a Rousseau in
my pocket, and there, until the hour of dinner, I passed away the time in
restoring to my memory a sacred ode or a bucolic, without being
discouraged by forgetting, by the study of the morning, what I had
learned the evening before. I recollected that after the defeat of
Nicias at Syracuse the captive Athenians obtained a livelihood by
reciting the poems of Homer. The use I made of this erudition to ward
off misery was to exercise my happy memory by learning all the poets by
rote.

I had another expedient, not less solid, in the game of chess, to which I
regularly dedicated, at Maugis, the evenings on which I did not go to the
theatre. I became acquainted with M. de Legal, M. Husson, Philidor, and
all the great chess players of the day, without making the least
improvement in the game. However, I had no doubt but, in the end, I
should become superior to them all, and this, in my own opinion, was a
sufficient resource. The same manner of reasoning served me in every
folly to which I felt myself inclined. I said to myself: whoever excels
in anything is sure to acquire a distinguished reception in society. Let
us therefore excel, no matter in what, I shall certainly be sought after;
opportunities will present themselves, and my own merit will do the rest.
This childishness was not the sophism of my reason; it was that of my
indolence. Dismayed at the great and rapid efforts which would have been
necessary to call forth my endeavors, I strove to flatter my idleness,
and by arguments suitable to the purpose, veiled from my own eyes the
shame of such a state.

I thus calmly waited for the moment when I was to be without money; and
had not Father Castel, whom I sometimes went to see in my way to the
coffee-house, roused me from my lethargy, I believe I should have seen
myself reduced to my last farthing without the least emotion. Father
Castel was a madman, but a good man upon the whole; he was sorry to see
me thus impoverish myself to no purpose. "Since musicians and the
learned," said he, "do not sing by your scale, change the string, and
apply to the women. You will perhaps succeed better with them. I have
spoken of you to Madam de Beuzenval; go to her from me; she is a good
woman who will be glad to see the countryman of her son and husband. You
will find at her house Madam de Broglie, her daughter, who is a woman of
wit. Madam Dupin is another to whom I also have mentioned you; carry her
your work; she is desirous of seeing you, and will receive you well. No
thing is done in Paris without the women. They are the curves, of which
the wise are the asymptotes; they incessantly approach each other, but
never touch."

After having from day to day delayed these very disagreeable steps, I at
length took courage, and called upon Madam de Beuzenval. She received me
with kindness; and Madam de Broglio entering the chamber, she said to
her: "Daughter, this is M. Rousseau, of whom Father Castel has spoken to
us." Madam de Broglie complimented me upon my work, and going to her
harpsichord proved to me she had already given it some attention.
Perceiving it to be about one o'clock, I prepared to take my leave.
Madam de Beuzenval said to me: "You are at a great distance from the
quarter of the town in which you reside; stay and dine here." I did not
want asking a second time. A quarter of an hour afterwards,
I understood, by a word, that the dinner to which she had invited me was
that of her servants' hall. Madam de Beuzenval was a very good kind of
woman, but of a confined understanding, and too full of her illustrious
Polish nobility: she had no idea of the respect due to talents. On this
occasion, likewise, she judged me by my manner rather than by my dress,
which, although very plain, was very neat, and by no means announced a
man to dine with servants. I had too long forgotten the way to the place
where they eat to be inclined to take it again. Without suffering my
anger to appear, I told Madam de Beuzenval that I had an affair of a
trifling nature which I had just recollected obliged me to return home,
and I immediately prepared to depart. Madam de Broglie approached her
mother, and whispered in her ear a few words which had their effect.
Madam de Beuzenval rose to prevent me from going, and said, "I expect
that you will do us the honor to dine with us." In this case I thought
to show pride would be a mark of folly, and I determined to stay. The
goodness of Madam de Broglie had besides made an impression upon me, and
rendered her interesting in my eyes. I was very glad to dine with her,
and hoped, that when she knew me better, she would not regret having
procured me that honor. The President de Lamoignon, very intimate in the
family, dined there also. He, as well as Madam de Broglie, was a master
of all the modish and fashionable small talk jargon of Paris. Poor Jean
Jacques was unable to make a figure in this way. I had sense enough not
to pretend to it, and was silent. Happy would it have been for me, had I
always possessed the same wisdom; I should not be in the abyss into which
I am now fallen. I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being unable to
justify to Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor.

After dinner I thought of my ordinary resource. I had in my pocket an
epistle in verse, written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons. This
fragment was not without some fire, which I increased by my manner of
reading, and made them all three shed tears. Whether it was vanity, or
really the truth, I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say to
her mother: "Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was fitter
to dine with us than with your women?" Until then my heart had been
rather burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied. Madam
de Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too far, thought
I should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become a favorite with
fine ladies. To guide my inexperience she gave me the confessions of the
Count de -----. "This book," said she, "is a Mentor, of which you will
stand in need in the great world. You will do well by sometimes
consulting it." I kept the book upwards of twenty years with a sentiment
of gratitude to her from whose hand I had received it, although I
frequently laughed at the opinion the lady seemed to have of my merit in
gallantry. From the moment I had read the work, I was desirous of
acquiring the friendship of the author. My inclination led me right; he
is the only real friend I ever possessed amongst men of letters.

[I have so long been of the same opinion, and so perfectly convinced
of its being well founded, that since my return to Paris I confided
to him the manuscript of my confessions. The suspicious J. J.
never suspected perfidy and falsehood until he had been their
victim.]

From this time I thought I might depend on the services of Madam the
Baroness of Beuzenval, and the Marchioness of Broglie, and that they
would not long leave me without resource. In this I was not deceived.
But I must now speak of my first visit to Madam Dupin, which produced
more lasting consequences.

Madam Dupin was, as every one in Paris knows, the daughter of Samuel
Bernard and Madam Fontaine. There were three sisters, who might be
called the three graces. Madam de la Touche who played a little prank,
and went to England with the Duke of Kingston. Madam Darby, the eldest
of the three; the friend, the only sincere friend of the Prince of Conti;
an adorable woman, as well by her sweetness and the goodness of her
charming character, as by her agreeable wit and incessant cheerfulness.
Lastly, Madam Dupin, more beautiful than either of her sisters, and the
only one who has not been reproached with some levity of conduct.

She was the reward of the hospitality of M. Dupin, to whom her mother
gave her in marriage with the place of farmer general and an immense
fortune, in return for the good reception he had given her in his
province. When I saw her for the first time, she was still one of the
finest women in Paris. She received me at her toilette, her arms were
uncovered, her hair dishevelled, and her combing-cloth ill-arranged.
This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I became
confused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by Madam
Dupin.

My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. She
kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my
plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner,
and placed me at table by her side. Less than this would have turned my
brain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the
permission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twice
or thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak, but never dared
attempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural timidity.
Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, and
in my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it against
myself.

Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I found
nothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me. Her house,
at that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented by
societies the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composed
were chosen on account of some distinguished merit. She was fond of
seeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men of
letters, and fine women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes,
ambassadors, and blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of
Forcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey,
passed for her intimate friends. The Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint
Pierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, M. de Buffon, and M. de
Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner did
not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe, as
it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had no
reason to flatter himself he should be able to take a distinguished part
in the midst of such superior talents. I therefore had not courage to
speak; but no longer able to contain myself, I took a resolution to
write. For the first two days she said not a word to me upon the
subject. On the third day, she returned me my letter, accompanying it
with a few exhortations which froze my blood. I attempted to speak, but
my words expired upon my lips; my sudden passion was extinguished with my
hopes, and after a declaration in form I continued to live with her upon
the same terms as before, without so much as speaking to her even by the
language of the eyes.

I thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived. M. de Francueil,
son to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much the same with
herself and me. He had wit, a good person, and might have pretensions.
This was said to be the case, and probably proceeded from his
mother-in-law's having given him an ugly wife of a mild disposition,
with whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon the best of
terms. M. de Francueil was fond of talents in others, and cultivated
those he possessed. Music, which he understood very well, was a means
of producing a connection between us. I frequently saw him, and he soon
gained my friendship. He, however, suddenly gave me to understand that
Madam Dupin thought my visits too frequent, and begged me to discontinue
them. Such a compliment would have been proper when she returned my
letter; but eight or ten days afterwards, and without any new cause, it
appeared to me ill-timed. This rendered my situation the more singular,
as M. and Madam de Francueil still continued to give me the same good
reception as before.

I however made the intervals between my visits longer, and I should
entirely have ceased calling on them, had not Madam Dupin, by another
unexpected caprice, sent to desire I would for a few days take care of
her son, who changing his preceptor, remained alone during that interval.
I passed eight days in such torments as nothing but the pleasure of
obeying Madam Dupin could render supportable: I would not have undertaken
to pass eight other days like them had Madam Dupin given me herself for
the recompense.

M. de Francueil conceived a friendship for me, and I studied with him.
We began together a course of chemistry at Rouelles. That I might be
nearer at hand, I left my hotel at Quentin, and went to lodge at the
Tennis Court, Rue Verdelet, which leads into the Rue Platiere, where M.
Dupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I contracted an
inflammation of the lungs that had liked to have carried me off. In my
younger days I frequently suffered from inflammatory disorders,
pleurisies, and especially quinsies, to which I was very subject, and
which frequently brought me near enough to death to familiarize me to its
image.

During my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, and
to lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding the
fire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in an
inactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. The evening
preceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by Royer;
the name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in favor of the
talents of others, which has ever made me distrustful of my own, I still
thought the music feeble, and devoid of animation and invention. I
sometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I could do better
than that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the composition of an
opera, and the importance I heard men of the profession affix to such an
undertaking, instantly discouraged me, and made me blush at having so
much as thought of it. Besides, where was I to find a person to write
the words, and one who would give himself the trouble of turning the
poetry to my liking? These ideas of music and the opera had possession
of my mind during my illness, and in the delirium of my fever I composed
songs, duets, and choruses. I am certain I composed two or three little
pieces, 'di prima infenzione', perhaps worthy of the admiration of
masters, could they have heard them executed. Oh, could an account be
taken of the dreams of a man in a fever, what great and sublime things
would sometimes proceed from his delirium!

These subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention during my
convalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and frequent
meditations, and which were often involuntary, and made such an
impression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both words and music.
This was not the first time I had undertaken so difficult a task. Whilst
I was at Chambery I had composed an opera entitled 'Iphis and Anaxarete',
which I had the good sense to throw into the fire. At Lyons I had
composed another, entitled 'La Decouverte du Nouveau Monde', which, after
having read it to M. Bordes, the Abbes Malby, Trublet, and others, had
met the same fate, notwithstanding I had set the prologue and the first
act to music, and although David, after examining the composition, had
told me there were passages in it worthy of Buononcini.

Before I began the work I took time to consider of my plan. In a heroic
ballet I proposed three different subjects, in three acts, detached from
each other, set to music of a different character, taking for each
subject the amours of a poet. I entitled this opera Les Muses Galantes.
My first act, in music strongly characterized, was Tasso; the second in
tender harmony, Ovid; and the third, entitled Anacreon, was to partake of
the gayety of the dithyrambus. I tried my skill on the first act, and
applied to it with an ardor which, for the first time, made me feel the
delightful sensation produced by the creative power of composition. One
evening, as I entered the opera, feeling myself strongly incited and
overpowered by my ideas, I put my money again into my pocket, returned to
my apartment, locked the door, and, having close drawn all the curtains,
that every ray of light might be excluded, I went to bed, abandoning
myself entirely to this musical and poetical 'oestrum', and in seven or
eight hours rapidly composed the greatest part of an act. I can truly
say my love for the Princess of Ferrara (for I was Tasso for the moment)
and my noble and lofty sentiment with respect to her unjust brother,
procured me a night a hundred times more delicious than one passed in the
arms of the princess would have been. In the morning but a very little
of what I had done remained in my head, but this little, almost effaced
by sleep and lassitude, still sufficiently evinced the energy of the
pieces of which it was the scattered remains.

I this time did, not proceed far with my undertaking, being interrupted
by other affairs. Whilst I attached myself to the family of Dupin, Madam
de Beuzenval and Madam de Broglie, whom I continued to visit, had not
forgotten me. The Count de Montaigu, captain in the guards, had just
been appointed ambassador to Venice. He was an ambassador made by
Barjac, to whom he assiduously paid his court. His brother, the
Chevalier de Montaigu, 'gentilhomme de la manche' to the dauphin, was
acquainted with these ladies, and with the Abbe Alary of the French
academy, whom I sometimes visited. Madam de Broglie having heard the
ambassador was seeking a secretary, proposed me to him. A conference was
opened between us. I asked a salary of fifty guineas, a trifle for an
employment which required me to make some appearance. The ambassador was
unwilling to give more than a thousand livres, leaving me to make the
journey at my own expense. The proposal was ridiculous. We could not
agree, and M. de Francueil, who used all his efforts to prevent my
departure, prevailed.

I stayed, and M. de Montaigu set out on his journey, taking with him
another secretary, one M. Follau, who had been recommended to him by the
office of foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice than they
quarrelled. Bollau perceiving he had to do with a madman, left him
there, and M. de Montaigu having nobody with him, except a young abbe of
the name of Binis, who wrote under the secretary, and was unfit to
succeed him, had recourse to me. The chevalier, his brother, a man of
wit, by giving me to understand there were advantages annexed to the
place of secretary, prevailed upon me to accept the thousand livres.
I was paid twenty louis in advance for my journey, and immediately
departed.

At Lyons I would most willingly have taken the road to Mount Cenis, to
see my poor mamma. But I went down the Rhone, and embarked at Toulon, as
well on account of the war, and from a motive of economy, as to obtain a
passport from M. de Mirepoix, who then commanded in Provence, and to whom
I was recommended. M. de Montaigu not being able to do without me, wrote
letter after letter, desiring I would hasten my journey; this, however,
an accident considerably prolonged.

It was at the time of the plague at Messina, and the English fleet had
anchored there, and visited the Felucca, on board of which I was, and
this circumstance subjected us, on our arrival, after a long and
difficult voyage, to a quarantine of one--and--twenty days.

The passengers had the choice of performing it on board or in the
Lazaretto, which we were told was not yet furnished. They all chose the
Felucca. The insupportable heat, the closeness of the vessel, the
impossibility of walking in it, and the vermin with which it swarmed,
made me at all risks prefer the Lazaretto. I was therefore conducted to
a large building of two stories, quite empty, in which I found neither
window, bed, table, nor chair, not so much as even a joint-stool or
bundle of straw. My night sack and my two trunks being brought me, I was
shut in by great doors with huge locks, and remained at full liberty to
walk at my ease from chamber to chamber and story to story, everywhere
finding the same solitude and nakedness.

This, however, did not induce me to repent that I had preferred the
Lazaretto to the Felucca; and, like another Robinson Crusoe, I began to
arrange myself for my one-and twenty days, just as I should have done for
my whole life. In the first place, I had the amusement of destroying the
vermin I had caught in the Felucca. As soon as I had got clear of these,
by means of changing my clothes and linen, I proceeded to furnish the
chamber I had chosen. I made a good mattress with my waistcoats and
shirts; my napkins I converted, by sewing them together, into sheets; my
robe de chambre into a counterpane; and my cloak into a pillow. I made
myself a seat with one of my trunks laid flat, and a table with the
other. I took out some writing paper and an inkstand, and distributed,
in the manner of a library, a dozen books which I had with me. In a
word, I so well arranged my few movables, that except curtains and
windows, I was almost as commodiously lodged in this Lazeretto,
absolutely empty as it was, as I had been at the Tennis Court in the Rue
Verdelet. My dinners were served with no small degree of pomp; they were
escorted by two grenadiers with bayonets fixed; the staircase was my
dining--room, the landing-place my table, and the steps served me for a
seat; and as soon as my dinner was served up a little bell was rung to
inform me I might sit down to table.

Between my repasts, when I did not either read or write or work at the
furnishing of my apartment, I went to walk in the burying-ground of the
Protestants, which served me as a courtyard. From this place I ascended
to a lanthorn which looked into the harbor, and from which I could see
the ships come in and go out. In this manner I passed fourteen days, and
should have thus passed the whole time of the quarantine without the
least weariness had not M. Joinville, envoy from France, to whom I found
means to send a letter, vinegared, perfumed, and half burnt, procured
eight days of the time to be taken off: these I went and spent at his
house, where I confess I found myself better lodged than in the
Lazaretto. He was extremely civil to me. Dupont, his secretary, was a
good creature: he introduced me, as well at Genoa as in the country, to
several families, the company of which I found very entertaining and
agreeable; and I formed with him an acquaintance and a correspondence
which we kept up for a considerable length of time. I continued my
journey, very agreeably, through Lombardy. I saw Milan, Verona, Brescie,
and Padua, and at length arrived at Venice, where I was impatiently
expected by the ambassador.

I found there piles of despatches, from the court and from other
ambassadors, the ciphered part of which he had not been able to read,
although he had all the ciphers necessary for that purpose, never having
been employed in any office, nor even seen the cipher of a minister. I
was at first apprehensive of meeting with some embarrassment; but I found
nothing could be more easy, and in less than a week I had deciphered the
whole, which certainly was not worth the trouble; for not to mention the
little activity required in the embassy of Venice, it was not to such a
man as M. de Montaigu that government would confide a negotiation of even
the most trifling importance. Until my arrival he had been much
embarrassed, neither knowing how to dictate nor to write legibly. I was
very useful to him, of which he was sensible; and he treated me well. To
this he was also induced by another motive. Since the time of M. de
Froulay, his predecessor, whose head became deranged, the consul from
France, M. le Blond, had been charged with the affairs of the embassy,
and after the arrival of M. de Montaigu, continued to manage them until
he had put him into the track. M. de Montaigu, hurt at this discharge of
his duty by another, although he himself was incapable of it, became
disgusted with the consul, and as soon as I arrived deprived him of the
functions of secretary to the embassy to give them to me. They were
inseparable from the title, and he told me to take it. As long as I
remained with him he never sent any person except myself under this title
to the senate, or to conference, and upon the whole it was natural enough
he should prefer having for secretary to the embassy a man attached to
him, to a consul or a clerk of office named by the court.

This rendered my situation very agreeable, and prevented his gentlemen,
who were Italians, as well as his pages, and most of his suite from
disputing precedence with me in his house. I made an advantageous use of
the authority annexed to the title he had conferred upon me, by
maintaining his right of protection, that is, the freedom of his
neighborhood, against the attempts several times made to infringe it;
a privilege which his Venetian officers took no care to defend.
But I never permitted banditti to take refuge there, although this would
have produced me advantages of which his excellency would not have
disdained to partake. He thought proper, however, to claim a part of
those of the secretaryship, which is called the chancery. It was in time
of war, and there were many passports issued. For each of these
passports a sequin was paid to the secretary who made it out and
countersigned it. All my predecessors had been paid this sequin by
Frenchmen and others without distinction. I thought this unjust, and
although I was not a Frenchman, I abolished it in favor of the French;
but I so rigorously demanded my right from persons of every other nation,
that the Marquis de Scotti, brother to the favorite of the Queen of
Spain, having asked for a passport without taking notice of the sequin: I
sent to demand it; a boldness which the vindictive Italian did not
forget. As soon as the new regulation I had made, relative to passports,
was known, none but pretended Frenchmen, who in a gibberish the most
mispronounced, called themselves Provencals, Picards, or Burgundians,
came to demand them. My ear being very fine, I was not thus made a dupe,
and I am almost persuaded that not a single Italian ever cheated me of my
sequin, and that not one Frenchman ever paid it. I was foolish enough to
tell M. de Montaigu, who was ignorant of everything that passed, what I
had done. The word sequin made him open his ears, and without giving me
his opinion of the abolition of that tax upon the French, he pretended I
ought to account with him for the others, promising me at the same time
equivalent advantages. More filled with indignation at this meanness,
than concern for my own interest, I rejected his proposal. He insisted,
and I grew warm. "No, sir," said I, with some heat, "your excellency may
keep what belongs to you, but do not take from me that which is mine; I
will not suffer you to touch a penny of the perquisites arising from
passports." Perceiving he could gain nothing by these means he had
recourse to others, and blushed not to tell me that since I had
appropriated to myself the profits of the chancery, it was but just I
should pay the expenses. I was unwilling to dispute upon this subject,
and from that time I furnished at my own expense, ink, paper, wax,
wax-candle, tape, and even a new seal, for which he never reimbursed me
to the amount of a farthing. This, however, did not prevent my giving a
small part of the produce of the passports to the Abbe de Binis, a good
creature, and who was far from pretending to have the least right to any
such thing. If he was obliging to me my politeness to him was an
equivalent, and we always lived together on the best of terms.

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