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

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THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903



BOOK XII.


With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last
eight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible
for me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into
which I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the
hand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and
misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of
my heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a man
who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the
inconceivable art of rendering the public unknown to itself, or without
its perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.
Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the
treatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not
be able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor
assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes are
all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am
interested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible
for me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different causes
are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst my
readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine the
mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully read
over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each fact he
shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain such
information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to
intrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of
all. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I
lose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which
his steps must be directed.

During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my
friend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,
and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed,
I formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle
and his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,
delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition.
I conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.
The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man
already verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of
great esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set
upon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and I
was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great
disproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made
me join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was at
length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,
his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has
made him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has
not yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the
certainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the
most pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,
but in advising for the best.

I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at
Geneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,
and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been
given at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the
republic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second
decree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I
refused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were
well confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every law,
beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest confusion
in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears; everything remained
quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace, it was unfavorable
to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips and pedants like a
scholar threatened with a flogging for not having said his catechism.

These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised
against me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the
gazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French
especially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much pique
themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the
unfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized
themselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while
each seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me.
I was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The
continuator of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of
extravagance in attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means
proof of his own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was
afraid of incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work
of any kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain
the cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe
the world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the
'Perpetual Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the
Savoyard Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the
author of 'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have
been had I published the 'Treatise de l'Esprit', or any similar work?
And yet, in the storm raised against the author of that book, the public,
far from joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by
eulogium. Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with,
and the treatment of the two authors in the different countries of
Europe, be compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to,
a man of sense be found, and I will ask no more.

I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield to
the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous of
keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,
encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The
colonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion
he had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied
with his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything
necessary for my little household establishment.

The banneret Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most assiduous
attention, did not leave me for an instant during the whole day. I was
much flattered by his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The
day on which I was to take possession of my new habitation was already
fixed, and I had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm
was raised against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but
I have never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited
against me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer
me to remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was
informed of the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the
members of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,
and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under
oppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their
states. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had
rather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However
this may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the blow.
Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to me, he
gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its
arrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know
where to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and
foreseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its
neighbor.

Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited
but completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village
of Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had
only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more
opportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally
be sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve as a
pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that moment
to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me hesitate.
The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly subject,
added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me with an
aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct, seemed to
tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of humanity.
Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my alcove at
Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a distich, the
last line of which was as follows:

Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.

[He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king.]


This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,
from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the verse
by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody who
came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de Lorenzy
had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had no doubt
but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to the prince.
I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in 'Emilius', where
under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it was clearly seen
whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped critics, because Madam
de Boufflers had several times mentioned the subject to me. I was,
therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink in the registers of the
King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his majesty to have the
principles I had dared to attribute to him, he, for that reason, could
not but be displeased with my writings and their author; for everybody
knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants have never failed to
conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on reading my works,
without being acquainted with my person.

However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far
from thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves to
the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong minds,
such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of
reigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this
occasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I
thought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance
his love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage
of circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man who
had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.
I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I
imagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean
Jacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below
the General of the Volsci?

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing
me at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam
Girardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very
convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with
a good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I eat with her
until Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a
fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to me
and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I
felt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and
that what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would in
future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my
misfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief
would add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she
would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of
feeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,
she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was
driven by fate.

I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of my poor
mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and whatever
pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to me, I will
not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an error, if an
involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one. I had long
perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no longer for
me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the more
sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the same
inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma, and this
effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for
perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing with
any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,
however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my heart at
ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had neglected
duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse at length
became so strong that it almost forced from me a public confession of my
fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage is so clear, that
it is astonishing any person should, after reading it, have had the
courage to reproach me with my error. My situation was however still the
same, or something worse, by the animosity of my enemies, who sought to
find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and unwilling to run the risk,
I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to a similar mortification.
I had besides remarked that a connection with women was prejudicial to my
health; this double reason made me form resolutions to which I had but
sometimes badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had more
constantly adhered to them. It was in this interval I had remarked
Theresa's coolness; she had the same attachment to me from duty, but not
the least from love. Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable,
and I imagined that, certain of the continuation of my cares wherever she
might be, she would choose to stay at Paris rather than to wander with
me. Yet she had given such signs of grief at our parting, had required
of me such positive promises that we should meet again, and, since my
departure, had expressed to the Prince de Conti and M. de Luxembourg so
strong a desire of it, that, far from having the courage to speak to her
of separation, I scarcely had enough to think of it myself; and after
having felt in my heart how impossible it was for me to do without her,
all I thought of afterwards was to recall her to me as soon as possible.
I wrote to her to this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two months
since I had quitted her; but it was our first separation after a union of
so many years. We had both of us felt it most cruelly. What emotion in
our first embrace! O how delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy!
How does my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to shed them
more frequently?

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of Scotland
and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the states of
his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He answered
me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had expected from
him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet, lord of the
manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his excellency.
The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous Scotchman,
powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began between him and
me the strong attachment, which on my part still remains the same, and
would be so on his, had not the traitors, who have deprived me of all the
consolation of life, taken advantage of my absence to deceive his old age
and depreciate me in his esteem.

George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous
General Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had
quitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account of
his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he soon
became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked in the
ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time in Spain,
the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attached
himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King of Prussia,
who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His majesty
received a great return for this reception, in the services rendered him
by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious, the sincere
friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy man, haughty
and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of friendship, but
to this it was so obedient, that with very different maxims he saw
nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him. The king
charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, to
Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years, let him
retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful employment of
passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the inhabitants
happy.

The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to
distinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.
When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they
mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his
laconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,
wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to
flatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the
minister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having
been unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the
usurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the
part, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur had
not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the prejudices
with which he was inspired by others, and of all the imputations brought
against him it was the most devoid of truth. My first sentiment on
seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender commiseration, on
account of his extreme leanness of body, years having already left him
little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my eyes to his animated,
open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled with confidence, which
absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the very short compliment I
made him when I first came into his presence by speaking of something
else, as if I had already been a week in his house. He did not bid us
sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the manor, remained
standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine and piercing eye
of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling myself entirely
at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side upon the sofa. By
the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived the liberty I took
gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This is not a
Neuchatelois.

Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the
heart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by
his attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to
see me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there
two days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each
other that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,
where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there at
least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and then
returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my host. The
emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage to
Raubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more pleasing than
that with which I approached Columbier.

What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while
thinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming
philosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he
called me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea
of the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the
want we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.
He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and
for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I
lodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my
ease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my
life to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards
spoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father!
How is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous
wretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your
friendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,
who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.
My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is
still a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,
and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to
be deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular
and foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people
he sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect
it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice
and not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes
into his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,
desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal
application to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave
him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On
receiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission to
the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a
language which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of
my lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered
him still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had
proofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did
it affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions, yet in
his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his manners in
general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a matter of no
great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier being too long
for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by setting off after
dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The landlord of the
house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlin a favor
of importance to him, begged I would request his excellency to ask it in
his behalf. "Most willingly," said I, and took him with me. I left him
in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter to his lordship, who
returned me no answer. After passing with him the whole morning, I saw
as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz, who was fatigued to
death with waiting. Thinking the governor had forgotten what I had said
to him, I again spoke of the business before we sat down to table, but
still received no answer. I thought this manner of making me feel I was
importunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man in waiting, held my
tongue. On my return the next day I was much surprised at the thanks he
returned me for the good dinner his excellency had given him after
receiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lordship sent him the
rescript he had solicited, dispatched by the minister, and signed by the
king, and this without having said a word either to myself or Sandoz
concerning the business, about which I thought he did not wish to give
himself the least concern.

I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my
recollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my
life, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of
heart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was
impossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that in
future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving
them a regular arrangement.

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