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

J >> Jean Jacques Rousseau >> The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Complete




After dinner, we were economical; instead of drinking the coffee we had
reserved at breakfast, we kept it for an afternoon collation, with cream,
and some cake they had brought with them. To keep our appetites in play,
we went into the orchard, meaning to finish our dessert with cherries.
I got into a tree, throwing them down bunches, from which they returned
the stones through the branches. One time, Mademoiselle Galley, holding
out her apron, and drawing back her head, stood so fair, and I took such
good aim, that I dropped a bunch into her bosom. On her laughing, I said
to myself, "Why are not my lips cherries? How gladly would I throw them
there likewise."

Thus the day passed with the greatest freedom, yet with the utmost
decency; not a single equivocal word, not one attempt at double-meaning
pleasantry; yet this delicacy was not affected, we only performed the
parts our hearts dictated; in short, my modesty, some will say my folly,
was such that the greatest familiarity that escaped me was once kissing
the hand of Mademoiselle Galley; it is true, the attending circumstances
helped to stamp a value on this trifling favor; we were alone, I was
embarrassed, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and my lips, instead of
uttering words, were pressed on her hand, which she drew gently back
after the salute, without any appearance of displeasure. I know not what
I should have said to her; but her friend entered, and at that moment I
thought her ugly.

At length, they bethought themselves, that they must return to town
before night; even now we had but just time to reach it by daylight;
and we hastened our departure in the same order we came. Had I pleased
myself, I should certainly have reversed this order, for the glance of
Mademoiselle Galley had reached my heart, but I dared not mention it,
and the proposal could not reasonably come from her. On the way, we
expressed our sorrow that the day was over, but far from complaining of
the shortness of its duration, we were conscious of having prolonged it
by every possible amusement.

I quitted them in nearly the same spot where I had taken them up. With
what regret did we part! With what pleasure did we form projects to
renew our meeting! Delightful hours, which we passed innocently
together, yet were worth ages of familiarity! The sweet remembrance of
those days cost those amiable girls nothing; the tender union which
reigned among us equalled more lively pleasures, with which it could not
have existed. We loved each other without shame or mystery, and wished
to continue our reciprocal affection. There is a species of enjoyment
connected with innocence of manners which is superior to any other,
because it has no interval; for myself, the remembrance of such a day
touches me nearer, delights me more, and returns with greater rapture to
my heart than any other pleasure I ever tasted. I hardly knew what I
wished with those charming girls. I do not say: that had the arrangement
been in my power, I should have divided my heart between them;
I certainly felt some degree of preference: though I should have been
happy to have had Mademoiselle de G----, for a mistress, I think,
by choice, I should have liked her, better as a confidante; be that as it
may, I felt on leaving them as though I could not live without either.
Who would have thought that I should never see them more; and that here
our ephemeral amours must end?

Those who read this will not fail to laugh at my gallantries, and remark,
that after very promising preliminaries, my most forward adventures
concluded by a kiss of the hand: yet be not mistaken, reader, in your
estimate of my enjoyments; I have, perhaps, tasted more real pleasure in
my amours, which concluded by a kiss of the hand, than you will ever have
in yours, which, at least, begin there.

Venture, who had gone to bed late the night before, came in soon after
me. I did not now see him with my usual satisfaction, and took care not
to inform him how I had passed the day. The ladies had spoken of him
slightingly, and appeared discontented at finding me in such bad hands;
this hurt him in my esteem; besides, whatever diverted my ideas from them
was at this time disagreeable. However, he soon brought me back to him
and myself, by speaking of the situation of my affairs, which was too
critical to last; for, though I spent very little, my slender finances
were almost exhausted. I was without resource; no news of Madam de
Warrens; not knowing what would become of me, and feeling a cruel pang at
heart to see the friend of Mademoiselle Galley reduced to beggary.

I now learned from Venture that he had spoken of me to the Judge Major,
and would take me next day to dine with him; that he was a man who by
means of his friends might render me essential service. In other
respects he was a desirable acquaintance, being a man of wit and letters,
of agreeable conversation, one who possessed talents and loved them in
others. After this discourse (mingling the most serious concerns with
the most trifling frivolity) he showed me a pretty couplet, which came
from Paris, on an air in one of Mouret's operas, which was then playing.
Monsieur Simon (the judge major) was so pleased with this couplet, that
he determined to make another in answer to it, on the same air. He had
desired Venture to write one, and he wished me to make a third, that, as
he expressed it, they might see couplets start up next day like incidents
in a comic romance.

In the night (not being able to sleep) I composed a couplet, as my first
essay in poetry. It was passable; better, or at least composed with more
taste than it would have been the preceding night, the subject being
tenderness, to which my heart was now entirely disposed. In the morning
I showed my performance to Venture, who, being pleased with the couplet,
put it in his pocket, without informing me whether he had made his. We
dined with M. Simon, who treated us very politely. The conversation was
agreeable; indeed it could not be otherwise between two men of natural
good sense, improved by reading. For me, I acted my proper part, which
was to listen without attempting to join in the conversation. Neither of
them mentioned the couplet nor do I know that it ever passed for mine.
M. Simon appeared satisfied with my behavior; indeed, it was almost all
he saw of me at this interview. We had often met at Madam de Warrens,
but he had never paid much attention to me; it is from this dinner,
therefore, that I date our acquaintance, which, though of no use in
regard to the object I then had in view, was afterwards productive of
advantages which make me recollect it with pleasure. I should be wrong
not to give some account of this person, since from his office of
magistrate, and the reputation of wit on which he piqued himself, no idea
could be formed of it. The judge major, Simon, certainly was not two feet
high; his legs spare, straight, and tolerably long, would have added
something to his stature had they been vertical, but they stood in the
direction of an open pair of compasses. His body was not only short, but
thin, being in every respect of most inconceivable smallness--when naked
he must have appeared like a grasshopper. His head was of the common
size, to which appertained a well-formed face, a noble look, and
tolerably fine eyes; in short, it appeared a borrowed head, stuck on a
miserable stump. He might very well have dispensed with dress, for his
large wig alone covered him from head to foot.

He had two voices, perfectly different, which intermingled perpetually in
his conversation, forming at first a diverting, but afterwards a very
disagreeable contrast. One grave and sonorous, was, if I may hazard the
expression, the voice of his head: the other, clear, sharp, and piercing,
the voice of his body. When he paid particular attention, and spoke
leisurely, so as to preserve his breath, he could continue his deep tone;
but if he was the least animated, or attempted a lively accent, his voice
sounded like the whistling of a key, and it was with the utmost
difficulty that he could return to the bass.

With the figure I have just described, and which is by no means
overcharged, M. Simon was gallant, ever entertaining the ladies with
soft tales, and carrying the decoration of his person even to foppery.
Willing to make use of every advantage he, during the morning, gave
audience in bed, for when a handsome head was discovered on the pillow no
one could have imagined what belonged to it. This circumstance gave
birth to scenes, which I am certain are yet remembered by all Annecy.

One morning, when he expected to give audience in bed, or rather on the
bed, having on a handsome night-cap ornamented with rose-colored ribbon,
a countryman arriving knocked at the door; the maid happened to be out;
the judge, therefore, hearing the knock repeated, cried "Come in," and,
as he spoke rather loud, it was in his shrill tone. The man entered,
looked about, endeavoring to discover whence the female voice proceeded
and at length seeing a handsome head-dress set off with ribbons, was
about to leave the room, making the supposed lady a hundred apologies.
M. Simon, in a rage, screamed the more; and the countryman, yet more
confirmed in his opinion, conceiving himself to be insulted, began
railing in his turn, saying that, "Apparently, she was nothing better
than a common streetwalker, and that the judge major should be ashamed of
setting such ill examples." The enraged magistrate, having no other
weapon than the jordan under his bed, was just going to throw it at the
poor fellow's head as his servant returned.

This dwarf, ill-used by nature as to his person, was recompensed by
possessing an understanding naturally agreeable, and which he had been
careful to cultivate. Though he was esteemed a good lawyer, he did not
like his profession, delighting more in the finer parts of literature,
which he studied with success: above all, he possessed that superficial
brilliancy, the art of pleasing in conversation, even with the ladies.
He knew by heart a number of little stories, which he perfectly well knew
how to make the most of; relating with an air of secrecy, and as an
anecdote of yesterday, what happened sixty years before. He understood
music, and could sing agreeably; in short, for a magistrate, he had many
pleasing talents. By flattering the ladies of Annecy, he became
fashionable among them, appearing continually in their train. He even
pretended to favors, at which they were much amused. A Madam D'Epigny
used to say "The greatest favor he could aspire to, was to kiss a lady on
her knees."

As he was well read, and spoke fluently, his conversation was both
amusing and instructive. When I afterwards took a taste for study,
I cultivated his acquaintance, and found my account in it: when at
Chambery, I frequently went from thence to see him. His praises
increased my emulation, to which he added some good advice respecting the
prosecution of my studies, which I found useful. Unhappily, this weakly
body contained a very feeling soul. Some years after, he was chagrined
by I know not what unlucky affair, but it cost him his life. This was
really unfortunate, for he was a good little man, whom at a first
acquaintance one laughed at, but afterwards loved. Though our situations
in life were very little connected with each other, as I received some
useful lessons from him, I thought gratitude demanded that I should
dedicate a few sentences to his memory.

As soon as I found myself at liberty, I ran into the street where
Mademoiselle Galley lived, flattering myself that I should see someone go
in or out, or at least open a window, but I was mistaken, not even a cat
appeared, the house remaining as close all the time as if it had been
uninhabited. The street was small and lonely, any one loitering about
was, consequently, more likely to be noticed; from time to time people
passed in and out of the neighborhood; I was much embarrassed, thinking
my person might be known, and the cause that brought me there
conjectured; this idea tortured me, for I have ever preferred the honor
and happiness of those I love to my own pleasures.

At length, weary of playing the Spanish lover, and having no guitar,
I determined to write to Mademoiselle de G----. I should have preferred
writing to her friend, but did not dare take that liberty, as it appeared
more proper to begin with her to whom I owed the acquaintance, and with
whom I was most familiar. Having written my letter, I took it to
Mademoiselle Giraud, as the young ladies had agreed at parting, they
having furnished me with this expedient. Mademoiselle Giraud was a
quilter, and sometimes worked at Madam Galley's, which procured her free
admission to the house. I must confess, I was not thoroughly satisfied
with this messenger, but was cautious of starting difficulties, fearing
that if I objected to her no other might be named, and it was impossible
to intimate that she had an inclination to me herself. I even felt
humiliated that she should think I could imagine her of the same sex as
those young ladies: in a word, I accepted her agency rather than none,
and availed myself of it at all events.

At the very first word, Giraud discovered me. I must own this was not a
difficult matter, for if sending a letter to young girls had not spoken
sufficiently plain, my foolish embarrassed air would have betrayed me.
It will easily be supposed that the employment gave her little
satisfaction, she undertook it, however, and performed it faithfully.
The next morning I ran to her house and found an answer ready for me.
How did I hurry away that I might have an opportunity to read and kiss it
alone! though this need not been told, but the plan adopted by
Mademoiselle Giraud (and in which I found more delicacy and moderation
than I had expected) should. She had sense enough to conclude that her
thirty--seven years, hare's eyes, daubed nose, shrill voice, and black
skin, stood no chance against two elegant young girls, in all the height
and bloom of beauty; she resolved, therefore, nether to betray nor assist
them, choosing rather to lose me entirely than entertain me for them.

As Merceret had not heard from her mistress for some time, she thought of
returning to Fribourg, and the persuasions of Giraud determined her; nay
more, she intimated it was proper someone should conduct her to her
father's and proposed me. As I happened to be agreeable to little
Merceret, she approved the idea, and the same day they mentioned it to me
as a fixed point. Finding nothing displeasing in the manner they had
disposed of me, I consented, thinking it could not be above a week's
journey at most; but Giraud, who had arranged the whole affair, thought
otherwise. It was necessary to avow the state of my finances, and the
conclusion was, that Merceret should defray my expenses; but to retrench
on one hand what was expended on the other, I advised that her little
baggage should be sent on before, and that we should proceed by easy
journeys on foot.

I am sorry to have so many girls in love with me, but as there is nothing
to be very vain of in the success of these amours, I think I may tell the
truth without scruple. Merceret, younger and less artful than Giraud,
never made me so many advances, but she imitated my manners, my actions,
repeated my words, and showed me all those little attentions I ought to
have had for her. Being very timorous, she took great care that we
should both sleep in the same chamber; a circumstance that usually
produces some consequences between a lad of twenty and a girl of twenty
--five.

For once, however, it went no further; my simplicity being such, that
though Merceret was by no means a disagreeable girl, an idea of gallantry
never entered my head, and even if it had, I was too great a novice to
have profited by it. I could not imagine how two young persons could
bring themselves to sleep together, thinking that such familiarity must
require an age of preparation. If poor Merceret paid my expenses in
hopes of any return, she was terribly cheated, for we arrived at Fribourg
exactly as we had quitted Annecy.

I passed through Geneva without visiting any one. While going over the
bridges, I found myself so affected that I could scarcely proceed. Never
could I see the walls of that city, never could I enter it, without
feeling my heart sink from excess of tenderness, at the same time that
the image of liberty elevated my soul. The ideas of equality, union, and
gentleness of manners, touched me even to tears, and inspired me with a
lively regret at having forfeited all these advantages. What an error
was I in! but yet how natural! I imagined I saw all this in my native
country, because I bore it in my heart.

It was necessary to pass through Nion: could I do this without seeing my
good father? Had I resolved on doing so, I must afterwards have died
with regret. I left Merceret at the inn, and ventured to his house.
How wrong was I to fear him! On seeing me, his soul gave way to the
parental tenderness with which it was filled. What tears were mingled
with our embraces! He thought I was returned to him: I related my
history, and informed him of my resolution. He opposed it feebly,
mentioning the dangers to which I exposed myself, and telling me the
shortest follies were best, but did not attempt to keep me by force,
in which particular I think he acted right; but it is certain he did not
do everything in his power to detain me, even by fair means. Whether
after the step I had taken, he thought I ought not to return, or was
puzzled at my age to know what to do with me--I have since found that he
conceived a very unjust opinion of my travelling companion. My step
--mother, a good woman, a little coaxingly put on an appearance of wishing
me to stay to supper; I did not, however, comply, but told them I
proposed remaining longer with them on my return; leaving as a deposit
my little packet, that had come by water, and would have been an
incumbrance, had I taken it with me. I continued my journey the next
morning, well satisfied that I had seen my father, and had taken courage
to do my duty.

We arrived without any accident at Fribourg. Towards the conclusion of
the journey, the politeness of Mademoiselle Merceret rather diminished,
and, after our arrival, she treated me even with coldness. Her father,
who was not in the best circumstances, did not show me much attention,
and I was obliged to lodge at an alehouse. I went to see them the next
morning, and received an invitation to dine there, which I accepted. We
separated without tears at night; I returned to my paltry lodging, and
departed the second day after my arrival, almost without knowing whither
to go to.

This was a circumstance of my life in which Providence offered me
precisely what was necessary to make my days pass happily. Merceret was
a good girl, neither witty, handsome, nor ugly; not very lively, but
tolerably rational, except while under the influence of some little
humors, which usually evaporated in tears, without any violent outbreak
of temper. She had a real inclination for me; I might have married her
without difficulty, and followed her father's business. My taste for
music would have made me love her; I should have settled at Fribourg, a
small town, not pretty, but inhabited by very worthy people--I should
certainly have missed great pleasures, but should have lived in peace to
my last hour, and I must know best what I should have gained by such a
step.

I did not return to Nion, but to Lausanne, wishing to gratify myself with
a view of that beautiful lake which is seen there in its utmost extent.
The greater part of my secret motives have not been so reasonable.
Distant expectation has rarely strength enough to influence my actions;
the uncertainty of the future ever making me regard projects whose
execution requires a length of time as deceitful lures. I give in to
visionary scenes of hope as well as others, provided they cost nothing,
but if attended with any trouble, I have done with them. The smallest,
the most trifling pleasure that is conveniently within my reach, tempts
me more than all the joys of paradise. I must except, however, those
pleasures which are necessarily followed by pain; I only love those
enjoyments which are unadulterated, which can never be the case where we
are conscious they must be followed by repentance.

It was necessary I should arrive at some place, and the nearest was best;
for having lost my way on the road, I found myself in the evening at
Moudon, where I spent all that remained of my little stock except ten
creuzers, which served to purchase my next day's dinner. Arriving in the
evening at Lausanne, I went into an ale-house, without a penny in my
pocket to pay for my lodging, or knowing what would become of me. I
found myself extremely hungry--setting, therefore, a good face on the
matter, I ordered supper, made my meal, went to bed without thought and
slept with great composure. In the morning, having breakfasted and
reckoned with my host, I offered to leave my waistcoat in pledge for
seven batz, which was the amount of my expenses. The honest man refused
this, saying, thank Heaven, he had never stripped any one, and would not
now begin for seven batz, adding I should keep my waistcoat and pay him
when I could. I was affected with this unexpected kindness, but felt it
less than I ought to have done, or have since experienced on the
remembrance of it. I did not fail sending him his money, with thanks, by
one I could depend on. Fifteen years after, passing Lausanne, on my
return from Italy, I felt a sensible regret at having forgotten the name
of the landlord and house. I wished to see him, and should have felt
real pleasure in recalling to his memory that worthy action.
Services which doubtless have been much more important, but rendered with
ostentation, have not appeared to me so worthy of gratitude as the simple
unaffected humanity of this honest man.

As I approached Lausanne, I thought of my distress, and the means of
extricating myself, without appearing in want to my step-mother.
I compared myself, in this walking pilgrimage, to my friend Venture,
on his arrival at Annecy, and was so warmed with the idea, that without
recollecting that I had neither his gentility nor his talents, I
determined to act the part of little Venture at Lausanne, to teach music,
which I did not understand, and say I came from Paris, where I had never
been.

In consequence of this noble project (as there was no company where I
could introduce myself without expense, and not choosing to venture among
professional people), I inquired for some little inn, where I could lodge
cheap, and was directed to one named Perrotet, who took in boarders.
This Perrotet, who was one of the best men in the world, received me very
kindly, and after having heard my feigned story and profession, promised
to speak of me, and endeavored to procure me scholars, saying he should
not expect any money till I had earned it. His price for board, though
moderate in itself, was a great deal to me; he advised me, therefore, to
begin with half board, which consisted of good soup only for dinner, but
a plentiful supper at night. I closed with this proposition, and the
poor Perrotet trusted me with great cheerfulness, sparing, meantime, no
trouble to be useful to me.

Having found so many good people in my youth, why do I find so few in my
age? Is their race extinct? No; but I do not seek them in the same
situation I did formerly, among the commonality, where violent passions
predominate only at intervals, and where nature speaks her genuine
sentiments. In more elevated stations they are entirely smothered, and
under the mask of sentiment, only interest or vanity is heard.

Having written to my father from Lausanne, he sent my packet and some
excellent advice, of which I should have profited better. I have already
observed that I have moments of inconceivable delirium, in which I am
entirely out of myself. The adventure I am about to relate is an
instance of this: to comprehend how completely my brain was turned, and
to what degree I had 'Venturised' (if I may be allowed the expression),
the many extravagances I ran into at the same time should be considered.
Behold me, then, a singing master, without knowing how to note a common
song; for if the five or six months passed with Le Maitre had improved
me, they could not be supposed sufficient to qualify me for such an
undertaking; besides, being taught by a master was enough (as I have
before observed) to make me learn ill. Being a Parisian from Geneva,
and a Catholic in a Protestant country, I thought I should change my name
with my religion and country, still approaching as near as possible to
the great model I had in view. He called himself Venture de Villeneuve.
I changed, by anagram, the name Rousseau into that of Vaussore, calling
myself Monsieur Vaussore de Villeneuve. Venture was a good composer,
though he had not said so; without knowing anything of the art, I boasted
of my skill to every one. This was not all: being presented to Monsieur
de Freytorens, professor of law, who loved music, and who gave concerts
at his house, nothing would do but I must give him a proof of my talents,
and accordingly I set about composing a piece for his concerts, as boldly
as if I had really understood the science. I had the constancy to labor
a fortnight at this curious business, to copy it fair, write out the
different parts, and distribute them with as much assurance as if they
had been masterpieces of harmony; in short (what will hardly be believed,
though strictly true), I tacked a very pretty minuet to the end of it,
that was commonly played about the streets, and which many may remember
from these words, so well known at that time:

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