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

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How did my heart beat as I approached the habitation of Madam de Warrens!
my legs trembled under me, my eyes were clouded with a mist, I neither
saw, heard, nor recollected any one, and was obliged frequently to stop
that I might draw breath, and recall my bewildered senses. Was it fear
of not obtaining that succor I stood in need of, which agitated me to
this degree? At the age I then was, does the fear of perishing with
hunger give such alarms? No: I declare with as much truth as pride, that
it was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of my
life, to expand or contract my heart. In the course of a painful life,
memorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum, and
without bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, both
opulence and misery. In want I might have begged or stolen, as others
have done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to such
necessities. Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed so
many tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, make
me heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids. My soul, in despite of fortune,
has only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend on
her; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could make
life pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals.

The first glance of Madam de Warrens banished all my fears--my heart
leaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and in
transports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand.
I am ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me.
I discovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow.
"Poor child!" said she, in an affectionate tone, "art thou here again?
I knew you were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, that
it did not turn out so bad as I apprehended." She then made me recount
my history; it was not long, and I did it faithfully: suppressing only
some trifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing nor
excusing myself.

The question was, where I could lodge: she consulted her maid on this
point--I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when I
heard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy; and saw
the little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined apartment
with much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put up at Madam
de Wolmar's. To complete all, I had the satisfaction to find that this
favor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they thought me
attentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warrens say, "They may talk
as they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I am determined
not to abandon him."

Behold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date the
happiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare me
for them. Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly to
enjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect of
organization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without a
certain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the most
acute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having been
acquainted with his own temperament. This was my case till that time,
and such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam de
Warrens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her long
enough to contract that pleasing habit of affectionate sentiments with
which she inspired me. I dare affirm, that those who only love, do not
feel the most charming sensations we are capable of: I am acquainted with
another sentiment, less impetuous, but a thousand times more delightful;
sometimes joined with love, but frequently separated from it. This
feeling is not simply friendship; it is more enchanting, more tender; nor
do I imagine it can exist between persons of the same sex; at least I
have been truly a friend, if ever a man was, and yet never experienced it
in that kind. This distinction is not sufficiently clear, but will
become so hereafter: sentiments are only distinguishable by their
effects.

Madam de Warrens inhabited an old house, but large enough to have a
handsome spare apartment, which she made her drawing-room. I now
occupied this chamber, which was in the passage I have before mentioned
as the place of our first meeting. Beyond the brook and gardens was a
prospect of the country, which was by no means uninteresting to the young
inhabitant, being the first time, since my residence at Bossey, that I
had seen anything before my windows but walls, roofs, or the dirty
street. How pleasing then was this novelty! it helped to increase the
tenderness of my disposition, for I looked on this charming landscape as
the gift of my dear patroness, who I could almost fancy had placed it
there on purpose for me. Peaceably seated, my eyes pursued her amidst
the flowers and the verdure; her charms seemed to me confounded with
those of the spring; my heart, till now contracted, here found means to
expand itself, and my sighs exhaled freely in this charming retreat.

The magnificence I had been accustomed to at Turin was not to be found at
Madam de Warrens, but in lieu of it there was neatness, regularity, and a
patriarchal abundance, which is seldom attached to pompous ostentation.
She had very little plate, no china, no game in her kitchen, or foreign
wines in her cellar, but both were well furnished, and at every one's
service; and her coffee, though served in earthenware cups, was
excellent. Whoever came to her house was invited to dine there, and
never did laborer, messenger, or traveller, depart without refreshment.
Her family consisted of a pretty chambermaid from Fribourg, named
Merceret; a valet from her own country called Claude Anet (of whom I
shall speak hereafter), a cook, and two hired chairmen when she visited,
which seldom happened. This was a great deal to be done out of two
thousand livres a year; yet, with good management, it might have been
sufficient in a country where land is extremely good, and money very
scarce. Unfortunately, economy was never her favorite virtue; she
contracted debts--paid them--thus her money passed from hand to hand like
a weaver's shuttle, and quickly disappeared.

The arrangement of her housekeeping was exactly what I should have
chosen, and I shared it with satisfaction. I was least pleased with the
necessity of remaining too long at table. Madam de Warrens was so much
incommoded with the first smell of soup or meat, as almost to occasion
fainting; from this she slowly recovered, talking meantime, and never
attempting to eat for the first half hour. I could have dined thrice in
the time, and had ever finished my meal long before she began; I then ate
again for company; and though by this means I usually dined twice, felt
no inconvenience from it. In short, I was perfectly at my ease, and the
happier as my situation required no care. Not being at this time
instructed in the state of her finances, I supposed her means were
adequate to her expense; and though I afterwards found the same
abundance, yet when instructed in her real situation, finding her pension
ever anticipated, prevented me from enjoying the same tranquility.
Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment; in vain I saw the
approach of misfortunes, I was never the more likely to avoid them.

From the first moment of our meeting, the softest familiarity was
established between us: and in the same degree it continued during the
rest of her life. Child was my name, Mamma was hers, and child and mamma
we have ever continued, even after a number of years had almost effaced
the apparent difference of age between us. I think those names convey an
exact idea of our behavior, the simplicity of our manners, and above all,
the similarity of our dispositions. To me she was the tenderest of
mothers, ever preferring my welfare to her own pleasure; and if my own
satisfaction found some interest in my attachment to her, it was not to
change its nature, but only to render it more exquisite, and infatuate me
with the charm of having a mother young and handsome, whom I was
delighted to caress: I say literally, to caress, for never did it enter
into her imagination to deny me the tenderest maternal kisses and
endearments, or into my heart to abuse them. It will be said, at length
our connection was of a different kind: I confess it; but have patience,
that will come in its turn.

The sudden sight of her, on our first interview, was the only truly
passionate moment she ever inspired me with; and even that was
principally the work of surprise. With her I had neither transports nor
desires, but remained in a ravishing calm, sensible of a happiness I
could not define, and thus could I have passed my whole life, or even
eternity, without feeling an instant of uneasiness.

She was the only person with whom I never experienced that want of
conversation, which to me is so painful to endure. Our tete-a-tetes were
rather an inexhaustible chat than conversation, which could only conclude
from interruption. So far from finding discourse difficult, I rather
thought it a hardship to be silent; unless, when contemplating her
projects, she sunk into a reverie; when I silently let her meditate, and
gazing on her, was the happiest of men. I had another singular fancy,
which was that without pretending to the favor of a tete-a-tete, I was
perpetually seeking occasion to form them, enjoying such opportunities
with rapture; and when importunate visitors broke in upon us, no matter
whether it was man or woman, I went out murmuring, not being able to
remain a secondary object in her company; then, counting the minutes in
her antechamber, I used to curse these eternal visitors, thinking it
inconceivable how they could find so much to say, because I had still
more.

If ever I felt the full force of my attachment, it was when I did not see
her. When in her presence, I was only content; when absent, my
uneasiness reached almost to melancholy, and a wish to live with her gave
me emotions of tenderness even to tears. Never shall I forget one great
holiday, while she was at vespers, when I took a walk out of the city,
my heart full of her image, and the ardent wish to pass my life with her.
I could easily enough see that at present this was impossible; that the
happiness I enjoyed would be of short duration, and this idea gave to my
contemplations a tincture of melancholy, which, however, was not gloomy,
but tempered with a flattering hope. The ringing of bells, which ever
particularly affects me, the singing of birds, the fineness of the day,
the beauty of the landscape, the scattered country houses, among which in
idea I placed our future dwelling, altogether struck me with an
impression so lively, tender, melancholy, and powerful, that I saw myself
in ecstasy transported into that happy time and abode, where my heart,
possessing all the felicity it could desire, might taste it with raptures
inexpressible.

I never recollect to have enjoyed the future with such force of illusions
as at that time; and what has particularly struck me in the recollection
of this reverie, is that when realized, I found my situation exactly as I
had imagined it. If ever waking dream had an appearance of a prophetic
vision, it was assuredly this; I was only deceived in its imaginary
duration, for days, years, and life itself, passed ideally in perfect
tranquility, while the reality lasted but a moment. Alas! my most
durable happiness was but as a dream, which I had no sooner had a glimpse
of, than I instantly awoke.

I know not when I should have done, if I was to enter into a detail of
all the follies that affection for my dear Madam de Warrens made me
commit. When absent from her, how often have I kissed the bed on a
supposition that she had slept there; the curtains and all the furniture
of my chamber, on recollecting they were hers, and that her charming
hands had touched them; nay, the floor itself, when I considered she had
walked there. Sometimes even in her presence, extravagancies escaped me,
which only the most violent passions seemed capable of inspiring; in a
word, there was but one essential difference to distinguish me from an
absolute lover, and that particular renders my situation almost
inconceivable.

I had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no one
of my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted with
women. My ardent constitution had found resources in those means by
which youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity at the
expense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself. My local
situation should likewise be considered--living with a pretty woman,
cherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her during the
whole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled her incessantly
to my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I knew she had slept.
What a situation! Who can read this without supposing me on the brink of
the grave? But quite the contrary; that which might have ruined me,
acted as a preservative, at least for a time. Intoxicated with the charm
of living with her, with the ardent desire of passing my life there,
absent or present I saw in her a tender mother, an amiable sister, a
respected friend, but nothing more; meantime, her image filled my heart,
and left room far no other object. The extreme tenderness with which she
inspired me excluded every other woman from my consideration, and
preserved me from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because I
loved her. Let these particulars, which I recount but indifferently, be
considered, and then let any one judge what kind of attachment I had for
her: for my part, all I can say, is, that if it hitherto appears
extraordinary, it will appear much more so in the sequel.

My time passed in the most agreeable manner, though occupied in a way
which was by no means calculated to please me; such as having projects to
digest, bills to write fair, receipts to transcribe, herbs to pick, drugs
to pound, or distillations to attend; and in the midst of all this, came
crowds of travellers, beggars, and visitors of all denominations. Some
times it was necessary to converse at the same time with a soldier, an
apothecary, a prebendary, a fine lady, and a lay brother. I grumbled,
swore, and wished all this troublesome medley at the devil, while she
seemed to enjoy it, laughing at my chagrin till the tears ran down her
cheeks. What excited her mirth still more, was to see that my anger was
increased by not being able myself to refrain from laughter. These
little intervals, in which I enjoyed the pleasure of grumbling, were
charming; and if, during the dispute, another importunate visitor
arrived, she would add to her amusement by maliciously prolonging the
visit, meantime casting glances at me for which I could almost have beat
her; nor could she without difficulty refrain from laughter on seeing my
constrained politeness, though every moment glancing at her the look of
a fury, while, even in spite of myself, I thought the scene truly
diverting.

All this, without being pleasing in itself, contributed to amuse, because
it made up a part of a life which I thought delightful. Nothing that was
performed around me, nothing that I was obliged to do, suited my taste,
but everything suited my heart; and I believe, at length, I should have
liked the study of medicine, had not my natural distaste to it
perpetually engaged us in whimsical scenes, that prevented my thinking of
it in a serious light. It was, perhaps, the first time that this art
produced mirth. I pretended to distinguish a physical book by its smell,
and what was more diverting, was seldom mistaken. Madam de Warrens made
me taste the most nauseous drugs; in vain I ran, or endeavored to defend
myself; spite of resistance or wry faces, spite of my struggles, or even
of my teeth, when I saw her charming fingers approach my lips, I was
obliged to give up the contest.

When shut up in an apartment with all her medical apparatus, any one who
had heard us running and shouting amidst peals of laughter would rather
have imagined we had been acting a farce than preparing opiates or
elixirs.

My time, however, was not entirely passed in these fooleries; in the
apartment which I occupied I found a few books: there was the Spectator,
Puffendorf, St. Everemond, and the Henriade. Though I had not my old
passion for books, yet I amused myself with reading a part of them. The
Spectator was particularly pleasing and serviceable to me. The Abbe de
Gauvon had taught me to read less eagerly, and with a greater degree of
attention, which rendered my studies more serviceable. I accustomed
myself to reflect on elocution and the elegance of composition;
exercising myself in discerning pure French from my provincial idiom.
For example, I corrected an orthographical fault (which I had in common
with all Genevese) by these two lines of the Henriade:

Soit qu' un ancient respect pour le sang de leurs maitres,
Parlat encore pour lui dans le coeur de ces traitres

I was struck with the word 'parlat', and found a 't' was necessary to
form the third person of the subjunctive, whereas I had always written
and pronounced it parla, as in the present of the indicative.

Sometimes my studies were the subject of conversation with Madam de
Warrens; sometimes I read to her, in which I found great satisfaction;
and as I endeavored to read well, it was extremely serviceable to me.
I have already observed that her mind was cultivated; her understanding
was at this time in its meridian. Several people of learning having been
assiduous to ingratiate themselves, had taught her to distinguish works
of merit; but her taste (if I may so express myself) was rather
Protestant; ever speaking warmly of Bayle, and highly esteeming St.
Evremond, though long since almost forgotten in France: but this did not
prevent her having a taste for literature, or expressing her thoughts
with elegance. She had been brought up with polite company, and coming
young to Savoy, by associating with people of the best fashion, had lost
the affected manners of her own country, where the ladies mistake wit for
sense, and only speak in epigram.

Though she had seen the court but superficially, that glance was
sufficient to give her a competent idea of it; and notwithstanding secret
jealousies and the murmurs excited by her conduct and running in debt,
she ever preserved friends there, and never lost her pension. She knew
the world, and was useful. This was her favorite theme in our
conversations, and was directly opposite to my chimerical ideas, though
the kind of instruction I particularly had occasion for. We read Bruyere
together; he pleased her more than Rochefoucault, who is a dull,
melancholy author, particularly to youth, who are not fond of
contemplating man as he really is. In moralizing she sometimes
bewildered herself by the length of her discourse; but by kissing her
lips or hand from time to time I was easily consoled, and never found
them wearisome.

This life was too delightful to be lasting; I felt this, and the
uneasiness that thought gave me was the only thing that disturbed my
enjoyment. Even in playfulness she studied my disposition, observed and
interrogated me, forming projects for my future fortune, which I could
readily have dispensed with. Happily it was not sufficient to know my
disposition, inclinations and talents; it was likewise necessary to find
a situation in which they would be useful, and this was not the work of a
day. Even the prejudices this good woman had conceived in favor of my
merit put off the time of calling it into action, by rendering her more
difficult in the choice of means; thus (thanks to the good opinion she
entertained of me), everything answered to my wish; but a change soon
happened which put a period to my tranquility.

A relation of Madam de Warrens, named M. d'Aubonne, came to see her; a
man of great understanding and intrigue, being, like her, fond of
projects, though careful not to ruin himself by them. He had offered
Cardinal Fleury a very compact plan for a lottery, which, however, had
not been approved of, and he was now going to propose it to the court of
Turin, where it was accepted and put into execution. He remained some
time at Annecy, where he fell in love with the Intendant's lady, who was
very amiable, much to my taste and the only person I saw with pleasure at
the house of Madam de Warrens. M. d'Aubonne saw me, I was strongly
recommended by his relation; he promised, therefore, to question and see
what I was fit for, and, if he found me capable to seek me a situation.
Madam de Warrens sent me to him two or three mornings, under pretense of
messages, without acquainting me with her real intention. He spoke to me
gayly, on various subjects, without any appearance of observation; his
familiarity presently set me talking, which by his cheerful and jesting
manner he encouraged without restraint--I was absolutely charmed with
him. The result of his observations was, that notwithstanding the
animation of my countenance, and promising exterior, if not absolutely
silly, I was a lad of very little sense, and without ideas of learning;
in fine, very ignorant in all respects, and if I could arrive at being
curate of some village, it was the utmost honor I ought ever to aspire
to. Such was the account he gave of me to Madam de Warrens. This was
not the first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was it
the last; the judgment of M. Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed.

The cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character not
to need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I can
in conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality,
whatever M. Masseron, M. d'Aubonne and many others may have said, I
cannot help thinking them mistaken.

Two things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannot
myself conceive. My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions lively
and impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great embarrassment
and after much afterthought. It might be said my heart and understanding
do not belong to the same individual. A sentiment takes possession of my
soul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, it
dazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, but
stupid; to think I must be cool. What is astonishing, my conception is
clear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus at
leisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice.
I could hold a tolerable conversation by the post, as they say the
Spaniards play at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke of
Savoy, who turned himself round, while on a journey, to cry out 'a votre
gorge, marchand de Paris!' I said, "Here is a trait of my character!"

This slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not only
sensible of in conversation, but even alone. When I write, my ideas are
arranged with the utmost difficulty. They glance on my imagination and
ferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation; during
this state of agitation, I see nothing properly, cannot write a single
word, and must wait till it is over. Insensibly the agitation subsides,
the chaos acquires form, and each circumstance takes its proper place.
Have you never seen an opera in Italy? where during the change of scene
everything is in confusion, the decorations are intermingled, and any one
would suppose that all would be overthrown; yet by little and little,
everything is arranged, nothing appears wanting, and we feel surprised to
see the tumult succeeded by the most delightful spectacle. This is a
resemblance of what passes in my brain when I attempt to write; had I
always waited till that confusion was past, and then pointed, in their
natural beauties, the objects that had presented themselves, few authors
would have surpassed me.

Thence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing; my manuscripts,
blotted, scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they cost
me; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe four
or five times before it went to press. Never could I do anything when
placed at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or in
the woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that I
compose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has not
the advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain by
heart six verses. Some of my periods I have turned and returned in my
head five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus it
is that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, than
those that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could never
succeed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;
nor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without it
costing me hours of fatigue. If I write immediately what strikes me, my
letter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which,
when read, can hardly be understood.

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