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

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




In the evening we conducted her to her apartments. As we conversed
together, I perceived a couple of pistols upon her toilette. "Ah! Ah!"
said I, taking one of them up, "this is a patchbox of a new construction:
may I ask what is its use? I know you have other arms which give more
fire than those upon your table." After a few pleasantries of the same
kind, she said to us, with an ingenuousness which rendered her still more
charming, "When I am complaisant to persons whom I do not love, I make
them pay for the weariness they cause me; nothing can be more just; but
if I suffer their caresses, I will not bear their insults; nor miss the
first who shall be wanting to me in respect."

At taking leave of her, I made another appointment for the next day. I
did not make her wait. I found her in 'vestito di conidenza', in an
undress more than wanton, unknown to northern countries, and which I will
not amuse myself in describing, although I recollect it perfectly well.
I shall only remark that her ruffles and collar were edged with silk
network ornamented with rose--colored pompons. This, in my eyes, much
enlivened a beautiful complexion. I afterwards found it to be the mode
at Venice, and the effect is so charming that I am surprised it has never
been introduced in France. I had no idea of the transports which awaited
me. I have spoken of Madam de Larnage with the transport which the
remembrance of her still sometimes gives me; but how old, ugly and cold
she appeared, compared with my Zulietta! Do not attempt to form to
yourself an idea of the charms and graces of this enchanting girl, you
will be far too short of truth. Young virgins in cloisters are not so
fresh: the beauties of the seraglio are less animated: the houris of
paradise less engaging. Never was so sweet an enjoyment offered to the
heart and senses of a mortal. Ah! had I at least been capable of fully
tasting of it for a single moment! I had tasted of it, but without a
charm. I enfeebled all its delights: I destroyed them as at will. No;
Nature has not made me capable of enjoyment. She has infused into my
wretched head the poison of that ineffable happiness, the desire of which
she first placed in my heart.

If there be a circumstance in my life, which describes my nature, it is
that which I am going to relate. The forcible manner in which I at this
moment recollect the object of my book, will here make me hold in
contempt the false delicacy which would prevent me from fulfilling it.
Whoever you may be who are desirous of knowing a man, have the courage to
read the two or three following pages, and you will become fully
acquainted with J. J. Rousseau.

I entered the chamber of a woman of easy virtue, as the sanctuary of love
and beauty: and in her person, I thought I saw the divinity. I should
have been inclined to think that without respect and esteem it was
impossible to feel anything like that which she made me experience.
Scarcely had I, in her first familiarities, discovered the force of her
charms and caresses, before I wished, for fear of losing the fruit of
them, to gather it beforehand. Suddenly, instead of the flame which
consumed me, I felt a mortal cold run through all my veins; my legs
failed me; and ready to faint away, I sat down and wept like a child.

Who would guess the cause of my tears, and what, at this moment, passed
within me? I said to myself: the object in my power is the masterpiece
of love; her wit and person equally approach perfection; she is as good
and generous as she is amiable and beautiful. Yet she is a miserable
prostitute, abandoned to the public. The captain of a merchantship
disposed of her at will; she has thrown herself into my arms, although
she knows I have nothing; and my merit with which she cannot be
acquainted, can be to her no inducement. In this there is something
inconceivable. Either my heart deceives me, fascinates my senses, and
makes me the dupe of an unworthy slut, or some secret defect, of which I
am ignorant, destroys the effect of her charms, and renders her odious in
the eyes of those by whom her charms would otherwise be disputed. I
endeavored, by an extraordinary effort of mind, to discover this defect,
but it did not so much as strike me that even the consequences to be
apprehended, might possibly have some influence. The clearness of her
skin, the brilliancy of her complexion, her white teeth, sweet breath,
and the appearance of neatness about her person, so far removed from me
this idea, that, still in doubt relative to my situation after the affair
of the 'padoana', I rather apprehended I was not sufficiently in health
for her: and I am firmly persuaded I was not deceived in my opinion.
These reflections, so apropos, agitated me to such a degree as to make me
shed tears. Zuliette, to whom the scene was quite novel, was struck
speechless for a moment. But having made a turn in her chamber, and
passing before her glass, she comprehended, and my eyes confirmed her
opinion, that disgust had no part in what had happened. It was not
difficult for her to recover me and dispel this shamefacedness.

But, at the moment in which I was ready to faint upon a bosom, which for
the first time seemed to suffer the impression of the hand and lips of a
man, I perceived she had a withered 'teton'. I struck my forehead: I
examined, and thought I perceived this teton was not formed like the
other. I immediately began to consider how it was possible to have such
a defect, and persuaded of its proceeding from some great natural vice, I
was clearly convinced, that, instead of the most charming person of whom
I could form to myself an idea, I had in my arms a species of a monster,
the refuse of nature, of men and of love. I carried my stupidity so far
as to speak to her of the discovery I had made. She, at first, took what
I said jocosely; and in her frolicsome humor, did and said things which
made me die of love. But perceiving an inquietude I could not conceal,
she at length reddened, adjusted her dress, raised herself up, and
without saying a word, went and placed herself at a window. I attempted
to place myself by her side: she withdrew to a sofa, rose from it the
next moment, and fanning herself as she walked about the chamber, said to
me in a reserved and disdainful tone of voice, "Zanetto, 'lascia le
donne, a studia la matematica."--[Leave women and study mathematics.]

Before I took leave I requested her to appoint another rendezvous for the
next day, which she postponed for three days, adding, with a satirical
smile, that I must needs be in want of repose. I was very ill at ease
during the interval; my heart was full of her charms and graces; I felt
my extravagance, and reproached myself with it, regretting the loss of
the moments I had so ill employed, and which, had I chosen, I might have
rendered more agreeable than any in my whole life; waiting with the most
burning impatience for the moment in which I might repair the loss, and
yet, notwithstanding all my reasoning upon what I had discovered, anxious
to reconcile the perfections of this adorable girl with the indignity of
her situation. I ran, I flew to her apartment at the hour appointed. I
know not whether or not her ardor would have been more satisfied with
this visit, her pride at least would have been flattered by it, and I
already rejoiced at the idea of my convincing her, in every respect, that
I knew how to repair the wrongs I had done. She spared me this
justification. The gondolier whom I had sent to her apartment brought me
for answer that she had set off, the evening before, for Florence. If I
had not felt all the love I had for her person when this was in my
possession, I felt it in the most cruel manner on losing her. Amiable
and charming as she was in my eyes, I could not console myself for the
loss of her; but this I have never been able to do relative to the
contemptuous idea which at her departure she must have had of me.

These are my two narratives. The eighteen months I passed at Venice
furnished me with no other of the same kind, except a simple prospect at
most. Carrio was a gallant. Tired of visiting girls engaged to others,
he took a fancy to have one to himself, and, as we were inseparable, he
proposed to mean arrangement common enough at Venice, which was to keep
one girl for us both. To this I consented. The question was, to find
one who was safe. He was so industrious in his researches that he found
out a little girl from eleven to twelve years of age, whom her infamous
mother was endeavoring to sell, and I went with Carrio to see her. The
sight of the child moved me to the most lively compassion. She was fair
and as gentle as a lamb. Nobody would have taken her for an Italian.
Living is very cheap in Venice; we gave a little money to the mother, and
provided for the subsistence of her daughter. She had a voice, and to
procure her some resource we gave her a spinnet, and a singing--master.
All these expenses did not cost each of us more than two sequins a month,
and we contrived to save a much greater sum in other matters; but as we
were obliged to wait until she became of a riper age, this was sowing a
long time before we could possibly reap. However, satisfied with passing
our evenings, chatting and innocently playing with the child, we perhaps
enjoyed greater pleasure than if we had received the last favors. So
true is it that men are more attached to women by a certain pleasure they
have in living with them, than by any kind of libertinism. My heart
became insensibly attached to the little Anzoletta, but my attachment was
paternal, in which the senses had so little share, that in proportion as
the former increased, to have connected it with the latter would have
been less possible; and I felt I should have experienced, at approaching
this little creature when become nubile, the same horror with which the
abominable crime of incest would have inspired me. I perceived the
sentiments of Carrio take, unobserved by himself, exactly the same turn.
We thus prepared for ourselves, without intending it, pleasure not less
delicious, but very different from that of which we first had an idea;
and I am fully persuaded that however beautiful the poor child might have
become, far from being the corrupters of her innocence we should have
been the protectors of it. The circumstance which shortly afterwards
befell me deprived me, of the happiness of taking a part in this good
work, and my only merit in the affair was the inclination of my heart.

I will now return to my journey.

My first intentions after leaving M. de Montaigu, was to retire to
Geneva, until time and more favorable circumstances should have removed
the obstacles which prevented my union with my poor mamma; but the
quarrel between me and M. de Montaigu being become public, and he having
had the folly to write about it to the court, I resolved to go there to
give an account of my conduct and complain of that of a madman. I
communicated my intention, from Venice, to M. du Theil, charged per
interim with foreign affairs after the death of M. Amelot. I set off as
soon as my letter, and took my route through Bergamo, Como, and Domo
D'Oscela, and crossing Saint Plomb. At Sion, M. de Chaignon, charge des
affaires from France, showed me great civility; at Geneva M. de la
Closure treated me with the same polite attention. I there renewed my
acquaintance with M. de Gauffecourt, from whom I had some money to
receive. I had passed through Nion without going to see my father: not
that this was a matter of indifference to me, but because I was unwilling
to appear before my mother-in-law, after the disaster which had befallen
me, certain of being condemned by her without being heard. The
bookseller, Du Villard, an old friend of my father's, reproached me
severely with this neglect. I gave him my reasons for it, and to repair
my fault, without exposing myself to meet my mother-in-law, I took a
chaise and we went together to Nion and stopped at a public house. Du
Villard went to fetch my father, who came running to embrace me. We
supped together, and, after passing an evening very agreeable to the
wishes of my heart, I returned the next morning to Geneva with Du
Villard, for whom I have ever since retained a sentiment of gratitude in
return for the service he did me on this occasion.

Lyons was a little out of my direct road, but I was determined to pass
through that city in order to convince myself of a knavish trick played
me by M. de Montaigu. I had sent me from Paris a little box containing a
waistcoat, embroidered with gold, a few pairs of ruffles, and six pairs
of white silk stockings; nothing more. Upon a proposition made me by M.
de Montaigu, I ordered this box to be added to his baggage. In the
apothecary's bill he offered me in payment of my salary, and which he
wrote out himself, he stated the weight of this box, which he called a
bale, at eleven hundred pounds, and charged me with the carriage of it at
an enormous rate. By the cares of M. Boy de la Tour, to whom I was
recommended by M. Roquin, his uncle, it was proved from the registers of
the customs of Lyons and Marseilles, that the said bale weighed no more
than forty-five pounds, and had paid carriage according to that weight.
I joined this authentic extract to the memoir of M, de Montaigu, and
provided with these papers and others containing stronger facts, I
returned to Paris, very impatient to make use of them. During the whole
of this long journey I had little adventures; at Como, in Valais, and
elsewhere. I there saw many curious things, amongst others the Boroma
islands, which are worthy of being described. But I am pressed by time,
and surrounded by spies. I am obliged to write in haste, and very
imperfectly, a work which requires the leisure and tranquility I do not
enjoy. If ever providence in its goodness grants me days more calm, I
shall destine them to new modelling this work, should I be able to do it,
or at least to giving a supplement, of which I perceive it stands in the
greatest need.--[I have given up this project.]

The news of my quarrel had reached Paris before me and on my arrival I
found the people in all the offices, and the public in general,
scandalized at the follies of the ambassador.

Notwithstanding this, the public talk at Venice, and the unanswerable
proof I exhibited, I could not obtain even the shadow of justice. Far
from obtaining satisfaction or reparation, I was left at the discretion
of the ambassador for my salary, and this for no other reason than
because, not being a Frenchman, I had no right to national protection,
and that it was a private affair between him and myself. Everybody
agreed I was insulted, injured, and unfortunate; that the ambassador was
mad, cruel, and iniquitous, and that the whole of the affair dishonored
him forever. But what of this! He was the ambassador, and I was nothing
more than the secretary.

Order, or that which is so called, was in opposition to my obtaining
justice, and of this the least shadow was not granted me. I supposed
that, by loudly complaining, and by publicly treating this madman in the
manner he deserved, I should at length be told to hold my tongue; this
was what I wished for, and I was fully determined not to obey until I had
obtained redress. But at that time there was no minister for foreign
affairs. I was suffered to exclaim, nay, even encouraged to do it, and
joined with; but the affair still remained in the same state, until,
tired of being in the right without obtaining justice, my courage at
length failed me, and let the whole drop.

The only person by whom I was ill received, and from whom I should have
least expected such an injustice, was Madam de Beuzenval. Full of the
prerogatives of rank and nobility, she could not conceive it was possible
an ambassador could ever be in the wrong with respect to his secretary.
The reception she gave me was conformable to this prejudice. I was so
piqued at it that, immediately after leaving her, I wrote her perhaps one
of the strongest and most violent letters that ever came from my pen, and
since that time I never once returned to her house. I was better
received by Father Castel; but, in the midst of his Jesuitical wheedling
I perceived him faithfully to follow one of the great maxims of his
society, which is to sacrifice the weak to the powerful. The strong
conviction I felt of the justice of my cause, and my natural greatness of
mind did not suffer me patiently to endure this partiality. I ceased
visiting Father Castel, and on that account, going to the college of the
Jesuits, where I knew nobody but himself. Besides the intriguing and
tyrannical spirit of his brethren, so different from the cordiality of
the good Father Hemet, gave me such a disgust for their conversation that
I have never since been acquainted with, nor seen anyone of them except
Father Berthier, whom I saw twice or thrice at M. Dupin's, in conjunction
with whom he labored with all his might at the refutation of Montesquieu.

That I may not return to the subject, I will conclude what I have to say
of M. de Montaigu. I had told him in our quarrels that a secretary was
not what he wanted, but an attorney's clerk. He took the hint, and the
person whom he procured to succeed me was a real attorney, who in less
than a year robbed him of twenty or thirty thousand livres. He
discharged him, and sent him to prison, dismissed his gentleman with
disgrace, and, in wretchedness, got himself everywhere into quarrels,
received affronts which a footman would not have put up with, and, after
numerous follies, was recalled, and sent from the capital. It is very
probable that among the reprimands he received at court, his affair with
me was not forgotten. At least, a little time after his return he sent
his maitre d' hotel, to settle my account, and give me some money. I was
in want of it at that moment; my debts at Venice, debts of honor, if ever
there were any, lay heavy upon my mind. I made use of the means which
offered to discharge them, as well as the note of Zanetto Nani. I
received what was offered me, paid all my debts, and remained as before,
without a farthing in my pocket, but relieved from a weight which had
become insupportable. From that time I never heard speak of M. de
Montaigu until his death, with which I became acquainted by means of the
Gazette. The peace of God be with that poor man! He was as fit for the
functions of an ambassador as in my infancy I had been for those of
Grapignan.--[I have not been able to find this word in any dictionary,
nor does any Frenchman of letters of my acquaintance know what it means.
--T.]--However, it was in his power to have honorably supported himself
by my services, and rapidly to have advanced me in a career to which the
Comte de Gauvon had destined me in my youth, and of the functions of
which I had in a more advanced age rendered myself capable.

The justice and inutility of my complaints, left in my mind seeds of
indignation against our foolish civil institutions, by which the welfare
of the public and real justice are always sacrificed to I know not what
appearance of order, and which does nothing more than add the sanction of
public authority to the oppression of the weak, and the iniquity of the
powerful. Two things prevented these seeds from putting forth at that
time as they afterwards did: one was, myself being in question in the
affair, and private interest, whence nothing great or noble ever
proceeded, could not draw from my heart the divine soarings, which the
most pure love, only of that which is just and sublime, can produce. The
other was the charm of friendship which tempered and calmed my wrath by
the ascendancy of a more pleasing sentiment. I had become acquainted at
Venice with a Biscayan, a friend of my friend Carrio's, and worthy of
being that of every honest man. This amiable young man, born with every
talent and virtue, had just made the tour of Italy to gain a taste for
the fine arts, and, imagining he had nothing more to acquire, intended to
return by the most direct road to his own country. I told him the arts
were nothing more than a relaxation to a genius like his, fit to
cultivate the sciences; and to give him a taste for these, I advised him
to make a journey to Paris and reside there for six months. He took my
advice, and went to Paris. He was there and expected me when I arrived.
His lodging was too considerable for him, and he offered me the half of
it, which I instantly accepted. I found him absorbed in the study of the
sublimest sciences. Nothing was above his reach. He digested everything
with a prodigious rapidity. How cordially did he thank me for having
procured him this food for his mind, which was tormented by a thirst
after knowledge, without his being aware of it! What a treasure of light
and virtue I found in the vigorous mind of this young man! I felt he was
the friend I wanted. We soon became intimate. Our tastes were not the
same, and we constantly disputed. Both opinionated, we never could agree
about anything. Nevertheless we could not separate; and, notwithstanding
our reciprocal and incessant contradiction, we neither of us wished the
other to be different from what he was.

Ignacio Emanuel de Altuna was one of those rare beings whom only Spain
produces, and of whom she produces too few for her glory. He had not the
violent national passions common in his own country. The idea of
vengeance could no more enter his head, than the desire of it could
proceed from his heart. His mind was too great to be vindictive, and I
have frequently heard him say, with the greatest coolness, that no mortal
could offend him. He was gallant, without being tender. He played with
women as with so many pretty children. He amused himself with the
mistresses of his friends, but I never knew him to have one of his own,
nor the least desire for it. The emanations from the virtue with which
his heart was stored, never permitted the fire of the passions to excite
sensual desires.

After his travels he married, died young, and left children; and, I am as
convinced as of my existence, that his wife was the first and only woman
with whom he ever tasted of the pleasures of love.

Externally he was devout, like a Spaniard, but in his heart he had the
piety of an angel. Except myself, he is the only man I ever saw whose
principles were not intolerant. He never in his life asked any person
his opinion in matters of religion. It was not of the least consequence
to him whether his friend was a Jew, a Protestant, a Turk, a Bigot, or an
Atheist, provided he was an honest man. Obstinate and headstrong in
matters of indifference, but the moment religion was in question, even
the moral part, he collected himself, was silent, or simply said: "I am
charged with the care of myself, only." It is astonishing so much
elevation of mind should be compatible with a spirit of detail carried to
minuteness. He previously divided the employment of the day by hours,
quarters and minutes; and so scrupulously adhered to this distribution,
that had the clock struck while he was reading a phrase, he would have
shut his book without finishing it. His portions of time thus laid out,
were some of them set apart to studies of one kind, and others to those
of another: he had some for reflection, conversation, divine service, the
reading of Locke, for his rosary, for visits, music and painting; and
neither pleasure, temptation, nor complaisance, could interrupt this
order: a duty he might have had to discharge was the only thing that
could have done it. When he gave me a list of his distribution, that I
might conform myself thereto, I first laughed, and then shed tears of
admiration. He never constrained anybody nor suffered constraint: he was
rather rough with people, who from politeness, attempted to put it upon
him. He was passionate without being sullen. I have often seen him
warm, but never saw him really angry with any person. Nothing could be
more cheerful than his temper: he knew how to pass and receive a joke;
raillery was one of his distinguished talents, and with which he
possessed that of pointed wit and repartee. When he was animated, he was
noisy and heard at a great distance; but whilst he loudly inveighed, a
smile was spread over his countenance, and in the midst of his warmth he
used some diverting expression which made all his hearers break out into
a loud laugh. He had no more of the Spanish complexion than of the
phlegm of that country. His skin was white, his cheeks finely colored,
and his hair of a light chestnut. He was tall and well made; his body
was well formed for the residence of his mind.

This wise--hearted as well as wise--headed man, knew mankind, and was my
friend; this was my only answer to such as are not so. We were so
intimately united, that our intention was to pass our days together. In
a few years I was to go to Ascoytia to live with him at his estate; every
part of the project was arranged the eve of his departure; nothing was
left undetermined, except that which depends not upon men in the best
concerted plans, posterior events. My disasters, his marriage, and
finally, his death, separated us forever. Some men would be tempted to
say, that nothing succeeds except the dark conspiracies of the wicked,
and that the innocent intentions of the good are seldom or never
accomplished. I had felt the inconvenience of dependence, and took a
resolution never again to expose myself to it; having seen the projects
of ambition, which circumstances had induced me to form, overturned in
their birth. Discouraged in the career I had so well begun, from which,
however, I had just been expelled, I resolved never more to attach myself
to any person, but to remain in an independent state, turning my talents
to the best advantage: of these I at length began to feel the extent, and
that I had hitherto had too modest an opinion of them. I again took up
my opera, which I had laid aside to go to Venice; and that I might be
less interrupted after the departure of Altuna, I returned to my old
hotel St. Quentin; which, in a solitary part of the town, and not far
from the Luxembourg, was more proper for my purpose than noisy Rue St.
Honor.

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