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

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




There the only consolation which Heaven suffered me to taste in my
misery, and the only one which rendered it supportable, awaited me. This
was not a trancient acquaintance; I must enter into some detail relative
to the manner in which it was made.

We had a new landlady from Orleans; she took for a needlewoman a girl
from her own country, of between twenty--two and twenty--three years of
age, and who, as well as the hostess, ate at our table. This girl, named
Theresa le Vasseur, was of a good family; her father was an officer in
the mint of Orleans, and her mother a shopkeeper; they had many children.
The function of the mint of Orleans being suppressed, the father found
himself without employment; and the mother having suffered losses, was
reduced to narrow circumstances. She quitted her business and came to
Paris with her husband and daughter, who, by her industry, maintained all
the three.

The first time I saw this girl at table, I was struck with her modesty;
and still more so with her lively yet charming look, which, with respect
to the impression it made upon me, was never equalled. Beside M. de
Bonnefond, the company was composed of several Irish priests, Gascons and
others of much the same description. Our hostess herself had not made
the best possible use of her time, and I was the only person at the table
who spoke and behaved with decency. Allurements were thrown out to the
young girl. I took her part, and the joke was then turned against me.
Had I had no natural inclination to the poor girl, compassion and
contradiction would have produced it in me: I was always a great friend
to decency in manners and conversation, especially in the fair sex. I
openly declared myself her champion, and perceived she was not insensible
of my attention; her looks, animated by the gratitude she dared not
express by words, were for this reason still more penetrating.

She was very timid, and I was as much so as herself. The connection
which this disposition common to both seemed to remove to a distance, was
however rapidly formed. Our landlady perceiving its progress, became
furious, and her brutality forwarded my affair with the young girl, who,
having no person in the house except myself to give her the least
support, was sorry to see me go from home, and sighed for the return of
her protector. The affinity our hearts bore to each other, and the
similarity of our dispositions, had soon their ordinary effect. She
thought she saw in me an honest man, and in this she was not deceived.
I thought I perceived in her a woman of great sensibility, simple in her
manners, and devoid of all coquetry:--I was no more deceived in her than
she in me. I began by declaring to her that I would never either abandon
or marry her. Love, esteem, artless sincerity were the ministers of my
triumph, and it was because her heart was tender and virtuous, that I was
happy without being presuming.

The apprehensions she was under of my not finding in her that for which I
sought, retarded my happiness more than every other circumstance. I
perceived her disconcerted and confused before she yielded her consent,
wishing to be understood and not daring to explain herself. Far from
suspecting the real cause of her embarrassment, I falsely imagined it to
proceed from another motive, a supposition highly insulting to her
morals, and thinking she gave me to understand my health might be exposed
to danger, I fell into so perplexed a state that, although it was no
restraint upon me, it poisoned my happiness during several days. As we
did not understand each other, our conversations upon this subject were
so many enigmas more than ridiculous. She was upon the point of
believing I was absolutely mad; and I on my part was as near not knowing
what else to think of her. At last we came to an explanation; she
confessed to me with tears the only fault of the kind of her whole life,
immediately after she became nubile; the fruit of her ignorance and the
address of her seducer. The moment I comprehended what she meant, I gave
a shout of joy. "A Hymen!" exclaimed I; "sought for at Paris, and at
twenty years of age! Ah my Theresa! I am happy in possessing thee,
virtuous and healthy as thou art, and in not finding that for which I
never sought."

At first amusement was my only object; I perceived I had gone further and
had given myself a companion. A little intimate connection with this
excellent girl, and a few reflections upon my situation, made me discover
that, while thinking of nothing more than my pleasures, I had done a
great deal towards my happiness. In the place of extinguished ambition,
a life of sentiment, which had entire possession of my heart, was
necessary to me. In a word, I wanted a successor to mamma: since I was
never again to live with her, it was necessary some person should live
with her pupil, and a person, too, in whom I might find that simplicity
and docility of mind and heart which she had found in me. It was,
moreover, necessary that the happiness of domestic life should indemnify
me for the splendid career I had just renounced. When I was quite alone
there was a void in my heart, which wanted nothing more than another
heart to fill it up. Fate had deprived me of this, or at least in part
alienated me from that for which by nature I was formed. From that
moment I was alone, for there never was for me the least thing
intermediate between everything and nothing. I found in Theresa the
supplement of which I stood in need; by means of her I lived as happily
as I possibly could do, according to the course of events.

I at first attempted to improve her mind. In this my pains were useless.
Her mind is as nature formed it: it was not susceptible of cultivation.
I do not blush in acknowledging she never knew how to read well, although
she writes tolerably. When I went to lodge in the Rue Neuve des Petits
Champs, opposite to my windows at the Hotel de Ponchartrain, there was a
sun-dial, on which for a whole month I used all my efforts to teach her
to know the hours; yet, she scarcely knows them at present. She never
could enumerate the twelve months of the year in order, and cannot
distinguish one numeral from another, notwithstanding all the trouble I
took endeavoring to teach them to her. She neither knows how to count
money, nor to reckon the price of anything. The word which when she
speaks, presents itself to her mind, is frequently opposite to that of
which she means to make use. I formerly made a dictionary of her
phrases, to amuse M. de Luxembourg, and her 'qui pro quos' often became
celebrated among those with whom I was most intimate. But this person,
so confined in her intellects, and, if the world pleases, so stupid, can
give excellent advice in cases of difficulty. In Switzerland, in England
and in France, she frequently saw what I had not myself perceived; she
has often given me the best advice I could possibly follow; she has
rescued me from dangers into which I had blindly precipitated myself, and
in the presence of princes and the great, her sentiments, good sense,
answers, and conduct have acquired her universal esteem, and myself the
most sincere congratulations on her merit. With persons whom we love,
sentiment fortifies the mind as well as the heart; and they who are thus
attached, have little need of searching for ideas elsewhere.

I lived with my Theresa as agreeably as with the finest genius in the
world. Her mother, proud of having been brought up under the Marchioness
of Monpipeau, attempted to be witty, wished to direct the judgment of her
daughter, and by her knavish cunning destroyed the simplicity of our
intercourse.

The fatigue of this opportunity made me in some degree surmount the
foolish shame which prevented me from appearing with Theresa in public;
and we took short country walks, tete-a-tete, and partook of little
collations, which, to me, were delicious. I perceived she loved me
sincerely, and this increased my tenderness. This charming intimacy left
me nothing to wish; futurity no longer gave me the least concern, or at
most appeared only as the present moment prolonged: I had no other desire
than that of insuring its duration.

This attachment rendered all other dissipation superfluous and insipid to
me. As I only went out for the purpose of going to the apartment of
Theresa, her place of residence almost became my own. My retirement was
so favorable to the work I had undertaken, that, in less than three
months, my opera was entirely finished, both words and music, except a
few accompaniments, and fillings up which still remained to be added.
This maneuvering business was very fatiguing to me. I proposed it to
Philidor, offering him at the same time a part of the profits. He came
twice, and did something to the middle parts in the act of Ovid; but he
could not confine himself to an assiduous application by the allurement
of advantages which were distant and uncertain. He did not come a third
time, and I finished the work myself.

My opera completed, the next thing was to make something of it: this was
by much the more difficult task of the two. A man living in solitude in
Paris will never succeed in anything. I was on the point of making my
way by means of M. de la Popliniere, to whom Gauffecourt, at my return to
Geneva had introduced me. M. de la Popliniere was the Mecaenas of
Rameau; Madam de la Popliniere his very humble scholar. Rameau was said
to govern in that house. Judging that he would with pleasure protect the
work of one of his disciples, I wished to show him what I had done. He
refused to examine it; saying he could not read score, it was too
fatiguing to him. M. de la Popliniere, to obviate this difficulty, said
he might hear it; and offered me to send for musicians to execute certain
detached pieces. I wished for nothing better. Rameau consented with an
ill grace, incessantly repeating that the composition of a man not
regularly bred to the science, and who had learned music without a
master, must certainly be very fine! I hastened to copy into parts five
or six select passages. Ten symphonies were procured, and Albert,
Berard, and Mademoiselle Bourbonois undertook the vocal part. Remeau,
the moment he heard the overture, was purposely extravagant in his
eulogium, by which he intended it should be understood it could not be my
composition. He showed signs of impatience at every passage: but after a
counter tenor song, the air of which was noble and harmonious, with a
brilliant accompaniment, he could no longer contain himself; he
apostrophised me with a brutality at which everybody was shocked,
maintaining that a part of what he had heard was by a man experienced in
the art, and the rest by some ignorant person who did not so much as
understand music. It is true my composition, unequal and without rule,
was sometimes sublime, and at others insipid, as that of a person who
forms himself in an art by the soarings of his own genius, unsupported by
science, must necessarily be. Rameau pretended to see nothing in me but
a contemptible pilferer, without talents or taste. The rest of the
company, among whom I must distinguish the master of the house, were of a
different opinion. M. de Richelieu, who at that time frequently visited
M. and Madam de la Popliniere, heard them speak of my work, and wished to
hear the whole of it, with an intention, if it pleased him, to have it
performed at court. The opera was executed with full choruses, and by a
great orchestra, at the expense of the king, at M. de Bonneval's
intendant of the Menus; Francoeur directed the band. The effect was
surprising: the duke never ceased to exclaim and applaud; and, at the end
of one of the choruses, in the act of Tasso, he arose and came to me,
and, pressing my hand, said: "M. Rousseau, this is transporting harmony.
I never heard anything finer. I will get this performed at Versailles."

Madam de la Poliniere, who was present, said not a word. Rameau,
although invited, refused to come. The next day, Madam de la Popliniere
received me at her toilette very ungraciously, affected to undervalue my
piece, and told me, that although a little false glitter had at first
dazzled M. de Richelieu, he had recovered from his error, and she advised
me not to place the least dependence upon my opera. The duke arrived
soon after, and spoke to me in quite a different language. He said very
flattering things of my talents, and seemed as much disposed as ever to
have my composition performed before the king. "There is nothing," said
he, "but the act of Tasso which cannot pass at court: you must write
another." Upon this single word I shut myself up in my apartment; and in
three weeks produced, in the place of Tasso, another act, the subject of
which was Hesiod inspired by the muses. In this I found the secret of
introducing a part of the history of my talents, and of the jealousy with
which Rameau had been pleased to honor me. There was in the new act an
elevation less gigantic and better supported than in the act of Tasso.
The music was as noble and the composition better; and had the other two
acts been equal to this, the whole piece would have supported a
representation to advantage. But whilst I was endeavoring to give it the
last finishing, another undertaking suspended the completion of that I
had in my hand. In the winter which succeeded the battle of Fontenoi,
there were many galas at Versailles, and several operas performed at the
theater of the little stables. Among the number of the latter was the
dramatic piece of Voltaire, entitled 'La Princesse de Navarre', the music
by Rameau, the name of which has just been changed to that of 'Fetes de
Ramire'. This new subject required several changes to be made in the
divertissements, as well in the poetry as in the music.

A person capable of both was now sought after. Voltaire was in Lorraine,
and Rameau also; both of whom were employed on the opera of the Temple of
Glory, and could not give their attention to this. M. de Richelieu
thought of me, and sent to desire I would undertake the alterations;
and, that I might the better examine what there was to do, he gave me
separately the poem and the music. In the first place, I would not touch
the words without the consent of the author, to whom I wrote upon the
subject a very polite and respectful letter, such a one as was proper;
and received from him the following answer:

"SIR: In you two talents, which hitherto have always been separated, are
united. These are two good reasons for me to esteem and to endeavor to
love you. I am sorry, on your account, you should employ these talents in
a work which is so little worthy of them. A few months ago the Duke de
Richelieu commanded me to make, absolutely in the twinkling of an eye,
a little and bad sketch of a few insipid and imperfect scenes to be
adapted to divertissements which are not of a nature to be joined with
them. I obeyed with the greatest exactness. I wrote very fast, and very
ill. I sent this wretched production to M. de Richelieu, imagining he
would make no use of it, or that I should have it again to make the
necessary corrections. Happily it is in your hands, and you are at full
liberty to do with it whatever you please: I have entirely lost sight of
the thing. I doubt not but you will have corrected all the faults which
cannot but abound in so hasty a composition of such a very simple sketch,
and am persuaded you will have supplied whatever was wanting.

"I remember that, among other stupid inattentions, no account is given in
the scenes which connect the divertissements of the manner in which the
Grenadian prince immediately passes from a prison to a garden or palace.
As it is not a magician but a Spanish nobleman who gives her the gala, I
am of opinion nothing should be effected by enchantment.

"I beg, sir, you will examine this part, of which I have but a confused
idea.

"You will likewise consider, whether or not it be necessary the prison
should be opened, and the princess conveyed from it to a fine palace,
gilt and varnished, and prepared for her. I know all this is wretched,
and that it is beneath a thinking being to make a serious affair of such
trifles; but, since we must displease as little as possible, it is
necessary we should conform to reason, even in a bad divertissement of an
opera.

"I depend wholly upon you and M. Ballot, and soon expect to have the
honor of returning you my thanks, and assuring you how much I am, etc."

There is nothing surprising in the great politeness of this letter,
compared with the almost crude ones which he has since written to me.
He thought I was in great favor with Madam Richelieu; and the courtly
suppleness, which everyone knows to be the character of this author,
obliged him to be extremely polite to a new comer, until he become better
acquainted with the measure of the favor and patronage he enjoyed.

Authorized by M. de Voltaire, and not under the necessity of giving
myself the least concern about M. Rameau, who endeavored to injure me,
I set to work, and in two months my undertaking was finished. With
respect to the poetry, it was confined to a mere trifle; I aimed at
nothing more than to prevent the difference of style from being
perceived, and had the vanity to think I had succeeded. The musical part
was longer and more laborious. Besides my having to compose several
preparatory pieces, and, amongst others, the overture, all the
recitative, with which I was charged, was extremely difficult on account
of the necessity there was of connecting, in a few verses, and by very
rapid modulations, symphonies and choruses, in keys very different from
each other; for I was determined neither to change nor transpose any of
the airs, that Rameau might not accuse me of having disfigured them.
I succeeded in the recitative; it was well accented, full of energy and
excellent modulation. The idea of two men of superior talents, with whom
I was associated, had elevated my genius, and I can assert, that in this
barren and inglorious task, of which the public could have no knowledge,
I was for the most part equal to my models.

The piece, in the state to which I had brought it, was rehearsed in the
great theatre of the opera. Of the three authors who had contributed to
the production, I was the only one present. Voltaire was not in Paris,
and Rameau either did not come, or concealed himself. The words of the
first monologue were very mournful; they began with:

O Mort! viens terminer les malheurs de ma vie.

[O Death! hasten to terminate the misfortunes of my life.]

To these, suitable music was necessary. It was, however, upon this that
Madam de la Popliniere founded her censure; accusing me, with much
bitterness, of having composed a funeral anthem. M. de Richelieu very
judiciously began by informing himself who was the author of the poetry
of this monologue; I presented him the manuscript he had sent me, which
proved it was by Voltaire. "In that case," said the duke, "Voltaire
alone is to blame." During the rehearsal, everything I had done was
disapproved by Madam de la Popliniere, and approved of by M. de
Richelieu; but I had afterwards to do with too powerful an adversary.
It was signified to me that several parts of my composition wanted
revising, and that on this it was necessary I should consult M. Rameau;
my heart was wounded by such a conclusion, instead of the eulogium I
expected, and which certainly I merited, and I returned to my apartment
overwhelmed with grief, exhausted with fatigue, and consumed by chagrin.
I was immediately taken ill, and confined to my chamber for upwards of
six weeks.

Rameau, who was charged with the alterations indicated by Madam de la
Popliniere, sent to ask me for the overture of my great opera, to
substitute it to that I had just composed. Happily I perceived the trick
he intended to play me, and refused him the overture. As the performance
was to be in five or six days, he had not time to make one, and was
obliged to leave that I had prepared. It was in the Italian taste, and
in a style at that time quite new in France. It gave satisfaction, and I
learned from M. de Valmalette, maitre d'hotel to the king, and son-in-law
to M. Mussard, my relation and friend, that the connoisseurs were highly
satisfied with my work, and that the public had not distinguished it from
that of Rameau. However, he and Madam de la Popliniere took measures to
prevent any person from knowing I had any concern in the matter. In the
books distributed to the audience, and in which the authors are always
named, Voltaire was the only person mentioned, and Rameau preferred the
suppression of his own name to seeing it associated with mine.

As soon as I was in a situation to leave my room, I wished to wait upon
M. de Richelieu, but it was too late; he had just set off for Dunkirk,
where he was to command the expedition destined to Scotland. At his
return, said I to myself, to authorize my idleness, it will be too late
for my purpose, not having seen him since that time. I lost the honor of
mywork and the emoluments it should have produced me, besides considering
my time, trouble, grief, and vexation, my illness, and the money this cost
me, without ever receiving the least benefit, or rather, recompense.
However, I always thought M. de Richelieu was disposed to serve me, and
that he had a favorable opinion of my talents; but my misfortune, and
Madam de la Popliniere, prevented the effect of his good wishes.

I could not divine the reason of the aversion this lady had to me. I had
always endeavored to make myself agreeable to her, and regularly paid her
my court. Gauffecourt explained to me the causes of her dislike: "The
first," said he, "is her friendship for Rameau, of whom she is the
declared panegyrist, and who will not suffer a competitor; the next is an
original sin, which ruins you in her estimation, and which she will never
forgive; you are a Genevese." Upon this he told me the Abbe Hubert, who
was from the same city, and the sincere friend of M. de la Popliniere,
had used all his efforts to prevent him from marrying this lady, with
whose character and temper he was very well acquainted; and that after
the marriage she had vowed him an implacable hatred, as well as all the
Genevese. "Although La Popliniere has a friendship for you, do not,"
said he, "depend upon his protection: he is still in love with his wife:
she hates you, and is vindictive and artful; you will never do anything
in that house." All this I took for granted.

The same Gauffecourt rendered me much about this time, a service of which
I stood in the greatest need. I had just lost my virtuous father, who
was about sixty years of age. I felt this loss less severely than I
should have done at any other time, when the embarrassments of my
situation had less engaged my attention. During his life-time I had
never claimed what remained of the property of my mother, and of which he
received the little interest. His death removed all my scruples upon
this subject. But the want of a legal proof of the death of my brother
created a difficulty which Gauffecourt undertook to remove, and this he
effected by means of the good offices of the advocate De Lolme. As I
stood in need of the little resource, and the event being doubtful, I
waited for a definitive account with the greatest anxiety.

One evening on entering my apartment I found a letter, which I knew to
contain the information I wanted, and I took it up with an impatient
trembling, of which I was inwardly ashamed. What? said I to myself,
with disdain, shall Jean Jacques thus suffer himself to be subdued by
interest and curiosity? I immediately laid the letter again upon the
chimney-piece. I undressed myself, went to bed with great composure,
slept better than ordinary, and rose in the morning at a late hour,
without thinking more of my letter. As I dressed myself, it caught my
eye; I broke the seal very leisurely, and found under the envelope a bill
of exchange. I felt a variety of pleasing sensations at the same time:
but I can assert, upon my honor, that the most lively of them all was
that proceeding from having known how to be master of myself.

I could mention twenty such circumstances in my life, but I am too much
pressed for time to say everything. I sent a small part of this money to
my poor mamma; regretting, with my eyes suffused with tears, the happy
time when I should have laid it all at her feet. All her letters
contained evident marks of her distress. She sent me piles of recipes,
and numerous secrets, with which she pretended I might make my fortune
and her own. The idea of her wretchedness already affected her heart and
contracted her mind. The little I sent her fell a prey to the knaves by
whom she was surrounded; she received not the least advantage from
anything. The idea of dividing what was necessary to my own subsistence
with these wretches disgusted me, especially after the vain attempt I had
made to deliver her from them, and of which I shall have occasion to
speak. Time slipped away, and with it the little money I had; we were
two, or indeed, four persons; or, to speak still more correctly, seven or
eight. Although Theresa was disinterested to a degree of which there are
but few examples, her mother was not so. She was no sooner a little
relieved from her necessities by my cares, than she sent for her whole
family to partake of the fruits of them. Her sisters, sons, daughters,
all except her eldest daughter, married to the director of the coaches of
Augers, came to Paris. Everything I did for Theresa, her mother diverted
from its original destination in favor of these people who were starving.
I had not to do with an avaricious person; and, not being under the
influence of an unruly passion, I was not guilty of follies. Satisfied
with genteelly supporting Theresa without luxury, and unexposed to
pressing wants, I readily consented to let all the earnings of her
industry go to the profit of her mother; and to this even I did not
confine myself; but, by a fatality by which I was pursued, whilst mamma
was a prey to the rascals about her Theresa was the same to her family;
and I could not do anything on either side for the benefit of her to whom
the succor I gave was destined. It was odd enough the youngest child of
M. de la Vasseur, the only one who had not received a marriage portion
from her parents, should provide for their subsistence; and that, after
having along time been beaten by her brothers, sisters, and even her
nieces, the poor girl should be plundered by them all, without being more
able to defend herself from their thefts than from their blows. One of
her nieces, named Gorton le Duc, was of a mild and amiable character;
although spoiled by the lessons and examples of the others. As I
frequently saw them together, I gave them names, which they afterwards
gave to each other; I called the niece my niece, and the aunt my aunt;
they both called me uncle. Hence the name of aunt, by which I continued
to call Theresa, and which my friends sometimes jocosely repeated. It
will be judged that in such a situation I had not a moment to lose,
before I attempted to extricate myself. Imagining M. de Richelieu had
forgotten me, and having no more hopes from the court, I made some
attempts to get my opera brought out at Paris; but I met with
difficulties which could not immediately be removed, and my situation
became daily more painful. I presented my little comedy of Narcisse to
the Italians; it was received, and I had the freedom of the theatre,
which gave much pleasure. But this was all; I could never get my piece
performed, and, tired of paying my court to players, I gave myself no
more trouble about them. At length I had recourse to the last expedient
which remained to me, and the only one of which I ought to have made use.
While frequenting the house of M. de la Popliniere, I had neglected the
family of Dupin. The two ladies, although related, were not on good
terms, and never saw each other. There was not the least intercourse
between the two families, and Thieriot was the only person who visited
both. He was desired to endeavor to bring me again to M. Dupin's. M. de
Francueil was then studying natural history and chemistry, and collecting
a cabinet. I believe he aspired to become a member of the Academy of
Sciences; to this effect he intended to write a book, and judged I might
be of use to him in the undertaking. Madam de Dupin, who, on her part,
had another work in contemplation, had much the same views in respect to
me. They wished to have me in common as a kind of secretary, and this
was the reason of the invitations of Thieriot.

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