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

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




The cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself with.
These were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by heart, and
among the rest, 'The Sleeping Cupids', which I have never seen since that
time, though I still retain it almost entirely; as well as 'Cupid Stung
by a Bee', a very pretty cantata by Clerambault, which I learned about
the same time.

To complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdoste, called the
Abbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion, who performed
very well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him, and we soon
became inseparable. He had been brought up by an Italian monk, who was a
capital organist. He explained to me his principles of music, which I
compared with Rameau; my head was filled with accompaniments, concords
and harmony, but as it was necessary to accustom the ear to all this, I
proposed to Madam de Warrens having a little concert once a month, to
which she consented.

Behold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could think
of nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my time to
select the music, assemble the musicians, look to the instruments, and
write out the several parts. Madam de Warrens sang; Father Cato (whom I
have before mentioned, and shall have occasion to speak of again) sang
likewise; a dancing--master named Roche, and his son, played on the
violin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who was employed like myself in
the survey, and has since married at Paris), played on the violoncello;
the Abbe Palais performed on the harpsichord, and I had the honor to
conduct the whole. It may be supposed all this was charming; I cannot
say it equalled my concert at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly it
was not far behind it.

This little concert, given by Madam de Warrens, the new convert, who
lived (it was expressed) on the king's charity, made the whole tribe of
devotees murmur, but was a very agreeable amusement to several worthy
people, at the head of whom it would not be easily surmised that I should
place a monk; yet, though a monk, a man of considerable merit, and even
of a very amiable disposition, whose subsequent misfortunes gave me the
most lively concern, and whose idea, attached to that of my happy days,
is yet dear to my memory. I speak of Father Cato, a Cordelier, who, in
conjunction with the Count d'Ortan, had caused the music of poor Le
Maitre to be seized at Lyons; which action was far from being the
brightest trait in his history. He was a Bachelor of Sorbonne, had lived
long in Paris among the great world, and was particularly caressed by the
Marquis d'Antremont, then Ambassador from Sardinia. He was tall and well
made; full faced, with very fine eyes, and black hair, which formed
natural curls on each side of his forehead. His manner was at once
noble, open, and modest; he presented himself with ease and good manners,
having neither the hypocritical nor impudent behavior of a monk, or the
forward assurance of a fashionable coxcomb, but the manners of a
well-bred man, who, without blushing for his habit, set a value on
himself, and ever felt in his proper situation when in good company.
Though Father Cato was not deeply studied for a doctor, he was much so
for a man of the world, and not being compelled to show his talents, he
brought them forward so advantageously that they appeared greater than
they really were. Having lived much in the world, he had rather
attached himself to agreeable acquirements than to solid learning; had
sense, made verses, spoke well, sang better, and aided his good voice by
playing on the organ and harpsichord. So many pleasing qualities were
not necessary to make his company sought after, and, accordingly, it was
very much so, but this did not make him neglect the duties of his
function: he was chosen (in spite of his jealous competitors) Definitor
of his Province, or, according to them, one of the greatest pillars of
their order.

Father Cato became acquainted with Madam de Warrens at the Marquis of
Antremont's; he had heard of her concerts, wished to assist at them, and
by his company rendered our meetings truly agreeable. We were soon
attached to each other by our mutual taste for music, which in both was a
most lively passion, with this difference, that he was really a musician,
and myself a bungler. Sometimes assisted by Canavas and the Abbe Palais,
we had music in his apartment; or on holidays at his organ, and
frequently dined with him; for, what was very astonishing in a monk,
he was generous, profuse, and loved good cheer, without the least
tincture of greediness. After our concerts, he always used to stay to
supper, and these evenings passed with the greatest gayety and
good-humor; we conversed with the utmost freedom, and sang duets; I was
perfectly at my ease, had sallies of wit and merriment; Father Cato was
charming, Madam de Warrens adorable, and the Abbe Palais, with his rough
voice, was the butt of the company. Pleasing moments of sportive youth,
how long since have ye fled!

As I shall have no more occasion to speak of poor Father Cato, I will
here conclude in a few words his melancholy history. His brother monks,
jealous, or rather exasperated to discover in him a merit and elegance of
manners which favored nothing of monastic stupidity, conceived the most
violent hatred to him, because he was not as despicable as themselves;
the chiefs, therefore, combined against this worthy man, and set on the
envious rabble of monks, who otherwise would not have dared to hazard the
attack. He received a thousand indignities; they degraded him from his
office, took away the apartment which he had furnished with elegant
simplicity, and, at length, banished him, I know not whither: in short,
these wretches overwhelmed him with so many evils, that his honest and
proud soul sank under the pressure, and, after having been the delight of
the most amiable societies, he died of grief, on a wretched bed, hid in
some cell or dungeon, lamented by all worthy people of his acquaintance,
who could find no fault in him, except his being a monk.

Accustomed to this manner of life for some time, I became so entirely
attached to music that I could think of nothing else. I went to my
business with disgust, the necessary confinement and assiduity appeared
an insupportable punishment, which I at length wished to relinquish, that
I might give myself up without reserve to my favorite amusement. It will
be readily believed that this folly met with some opposition; to give up
a creditable employment and fixed salary to run after uncertain scholars
was too giddy a plan to be approved of by Madam de Warrens, and even
supposing my future success should prove as great as I flattered myself,
it was fixing very humble limits to my ambition to think of reducing
myself for life to the condition of a music-master. She, who formed for
me the brightest projects, and no longer trusted implicitly to the
judgment of M. d'Aubonne, seeing with concern that I was so seriously
occupied with a talent which she thought frivolous, frequently repeated
to me that provincial proverb, which does not hold quite so good in
Paris,

"Qui biens chante et biens dance,
fait un metier qui peu avance."

[He who can sweetly sing and featly dance.
His interests right little shall advance.]

On the other hand, she saw me hurried away by this irresistible passion,
my taste for music having become a furor, and it was much to be feared
that my employment, suffering by my distraction, might draw on me a
discharge, which would be worse than a voluntary resignation.
I represented to her; that this employment could not last long, that it
was necessary I should have some permanent means of subsistence, and that
it would be much better to complete by practice the acquisition of that
art to which my inclination led me than to make fresh essays, which
possibly might not succeed, since by this means, having passed the age
most proper for improvement, I might be left without a single resource
for gaining a livelihood: in short, I extorted her consent more by
importunity and caresses than by any satisfactory reasons. Proud of my
success, I immediately ran to thank M. Coccelli, Director-General of the
Survey, as though I had performed the most heroic action, and quitted my
employment without cause, reason, or pretext, with as much pleasure as I
had accepted it two years before.

This step, ridiculous as it may appear, procured me a kind of
consideration, which I found extremely useful. Some supposed I had
resources which I did not possess; others, seeing me totally given up to
music, judged of my abilities by the sacrifice I had made, and concluded
that with such a passion for the art, I must possess it in a superior
degree. In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings. I
passed here for an excellent master, because all the rest were very bad
ones. Possessing taste in singing, and being favored by my age and
figure, I soon procured more scholars than were sufficient to compensate
for the losses of my secretary's pay. It is certain, that had it been
reasonable to consider the pleasure of my situation only, it was
impossible to pass more speedily from one extreme to the other. At our
measuring, I was confined eight hours in the day to the most
unentertaining employment, with yet more disagreeable company. Shut up
in a melancholy counting-house, empoisoned by the smell and respiration
of a number of clowns, the major part of whom were ill-combed and very
dirty, what with attention, bad air, constraint and weariness, I was
sometimes so far overcome as to occasion a vertigo. Instead of this,
behold me admitted into the fashionable world, sought after in the first
houses, and everywhere received with an air of satisfaction; amiable and
gay young ladies awaiting my arrival, and welcoming me with pleasure;
I see nothing but charming objects, smell nothing but roses and orange
flowers; singing, chatting, laughter, and amusements, perpetually succeed
each other. It must be allowed, that reckoning all these advantages, no
hesitation was necessary in the choice; in fact, I was so content with
mine, that I never once repented it; nor do I even now, when, free from
the irrational motives that influenced me at that time, I weigh in the
scale of reason every action of my life.

This is, perhaps, the only time that, listening to inclination, I was not
deceived in my expectations. The easy access, obliging temper, and free
humor of this country, rendered a commerce with the world agreeable,
and the inclination I then felt for it, proves to me, that if I have a
dislike for society, it is more their fault than mine. It is a pity the
Savoyards are not rich: though, perhaps, it would be a still greater pity
if they were so, for altogether they are the best, the most sociable
people that I know, and if there is a little city in the world where the
pleasures of life are experienced in an agreeable and friendly commerce,
it is at Chambery. The gentry of the province who assemble there have
only sufficient wealth to live and not enough to spoil them; they cannot
give way to ambition, but follow, through necessity, the counsel of
Cyneas, devoting their youth to a military employment, and returning home
to grow old in peace; an arrangement over which honor and reason equally
preside. The women are handsome, yet do not stand in need of beauty,
since they possess all those qualifications which enhance its value and
even supply the want of it. It is remarkable, that being obliged by my
profession to see a number of young girls, I do not recollect one at
Chambery but what was charming: it will be said I was disposed to find
them so, and perhaps there maybe some truth in the surmise. I cannot
remember my young scholars without pleasure. Why, in naming the most
amiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that happy age in which
our moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with such happiness
together? The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my neighbor, and
sister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime. She was a fine clear brunette,
lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as girls of that age usually
are; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and easy air, rendered her
sufficiently pleasing with that degree of plumpness which would have
given a heightening to her charms. I went there of mornings, when she
was usually in her dishabille, her hair carelessly turned up, and, on my
arrival, ornamented with a flower, which was taken off at my departure
for her hair to be dressed. There is nothing I fear so much as a pretty
woman in an elegant dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times less
in full dress. Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in the
afternoon, was ever so. She made an equally pleasing, but quite
different impression on me. Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate,
she was very timid and extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of just
modulation, but which she had not courage to employ to its full extent.
She had the mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece of blue
chenille did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my attention,
though not absolutely on its own account. Mademoiselle des Challes,
another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed, jolly,
very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for her
gracefulness, equal temper, and good humor. Her sister, Madam de Charly,
the handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but I taught her
daughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty promised to equal
her mother's, if she had not unfortunately been a little red-haired.
I had likewise among my scholars a little French lady, whose name I have
forgotten, but who merits a place in my list of preferences. She had
adopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in which voice she would
utter some very keen things, which did not in the least appear to
correspond with her manner; but she was indolent, and could not generally
take pains to show her wit, that being a favor she did not grant to every
one. After a month or two of negligent attendance, this was an expedient
she devised to make me more assiduous, for I could not easily persuade
myself to be so. When with my scholars, I was fond enough of teaching,
but could not bear the idea of being obliged to attend at a particular
hour; constraint and subjection in every shape are to me insupportable,
and alone sufficient to make me hate even pleasure itself.

I had some scholars likewise among the tradespeople, and, among others,
one who was the indirect cause of a change of relationship, which (as I
have promised to declare all) I must relate in its place. She was the
daughter of a grocer, and was called Mademoiselle de Larnage, a perfect
model for a Grecian statue, and whom I should quote for the handsomest
girl I have ever seen, if true beauty could exist without life or soul.
Her indolence, reserve, and insensibility were inconceivable; it was
equally impossible to please or make her angry, and I am convinced that
had any one formed a design upon her virtue, he might have succeeded, not
through her inclination, but from her stupidity. Her mother, who would
run no risk of this, did not leave her a single moment. In having her
taught to sing and providing a young master, she had hoped to enliven
her, but it all proved ineffectual. While the master was admiring the
daughter, the mother was admiring the master, but this was equally lost
labor. Madam de Larnage added to her natural vivacity that portion of
sprightliness which should have belonged to the daughter. She was a
little, ugly, lively trollop, with small twinkling ferret eyes, and
marked with smallpox. On my arrival in the morning, I always found my
coffee and cream ready, and the mother never failed to welcome me with a
kiss on the lips, which I would willingly have returned the daughter, to
see how she would have received it. All this was done with such an air
of carelessness and simplicity, that even when M. de Larnage was present;
her kisses and caresses were not omitted. He was a good quiet fellow,
the true original of his daughter; nor did his wife endeavor to deceive
him, because there was absolutely no occasion for it.

I received all these caresses with my usual stupidity, taking them only
for marks of pure friendship, though they were sometimes troublesome; for
the lively Madam Lard was displeased, if, during the day, I passed the
shop without calling; it became necessary, therefore (when I had no time
to spare), to go out of my way through another street, well knowing it
was not so easy to quit her house as to enter it.

Madam Lard thought so much of me, that I could not avoid thinking
something of her. Her attentions affected me greatly; and I spoke of
them to Madam de Warrens, without supposing any mystery in the matter,
but had there been one I should equally have divulged it, for to have
kept a secret of any kind from her would have been impossible. My heart
lay as open to Madam de Warrens as to Heaven. She did not understand the
matter quite so simply as I had done, but saw advances where I only
discovered friendship. She concluded that Madam Lard would make a point
of not leaving me as great a fool as she found me, and, some way or
other, contrive to make herself understood; but exclusive of the
consideration that it was not just, that another should undertake the
instruction of her pupil, she had motives more worthy of her, wishing to
guard me against the snares to which my youth and inexperience exposed
me. Meantime, a more dangerous temptation offered which I likewise
escaped, but which proved to her that such a succession of dangers
required every preservative she could possibly apply.

The Countess of Menthon, mother to one of my scholars, was a woman of
great wit, and reckoned to possess, at least, an equal share of mischief,
having (as was reported) caused a number of quarrels, and, among others,
one that terminated fatally for the house of D' Antremont. Madam de
Warrens had seen enough of her to know her character: for having (very
innocently) pleased some person to whom Madam de Menthon had pretensions,
she found her guilty of the crime of this preference, though Madam de
Warrens had neither sought after nor accepted it, and from that moment
endeavored to play her rival a number of ill turns, none of which
succeeded. I shall relate one of the most whimsical, by way of specimen.

They were together in the country, with several gentlemen of the
neighborhood, and among the rest the lover in question. Madam de Menthon
took an opportunity to say to one of these gentlemen, that Madam de
Warrens was a prude, that she dressed ill, and particularly that she
covered her neck like a tradeswoman. "O, for that matter," replied the
person she was speaking to (who was fond of a joke), "she has good
reason, for I know she is marked with a great ugly rat on her bosom, so
naturally, that it even appears to be running." Hatred, as well as love,
renders its votaries credulous. Madam de Menthon resolved to make use of
this discovery, and one day, while Madam de Warrens was at cards with
this lady's ungrateful favorite, she contrived, in passing behind her
rival, almost to overset the chair she sat on, and at the same instant,
very dexterously displaced her handkerchief; but instead of this hideous
rat, the gentleman beheld a far different object, which it was not more
easy to forget than to obtain a sight of, and which by no means answered
the intentions of the lady.

I was not calculated to engross the attention of Madam de Menthon, who
loved to be surrounded by brilliant company; notwithstanding she bestowed
some attention on me, not for the sake of my person, which she certainly
did not regard, but for the reputation of wit which I had acquired, and
which might have rendered me convenient to her predominant inclination.
She had a very lively passion for ridicule, and loved to write songs and
lampoons on those who displeased her: had she found me possessed of
sufficient talents to aid the fabrication of her verses, and complaisance
enough to do so, we should presently have turned Chambery upside down;
these libels would have been traced to their source, Madam de Menthon
would have saved herself by sacrificing me, and I should have been cooped
up in prison, perhaps, for the rest of my life, as a recompense for
having figured away as the Apollo of the ladies. Fortunately, nothing of
this kind happened; Madam de Menthon made me stay for dinner two or three
days, to chat with me, and soon found I was too dull for her purpose.
I felt this myself, and was humiliated at the discovery, envying the
talents of my friend Venture; though I should rather have been obliged to
my stupidity for keeping me out of the reach of danger. I remained,
therefore, Madam de Menthon's daughter's singing-master, and nothing
more! but I lived happily, and was ever well received at Chambery, which
was a thousand times more desirable than passing for a wit with her, and
for a serpent with everybody else.

However this might be, Madam de Warrens conceived it necessary to guard
me from the perils of youth by treating me as a man: this she immediately
set about, but in the most extraordinary manner that any woman, in
similar circumstances, ever devised. I all at once observed that her
manner was graver, and her discourse more moral than usual. To the
playful gayety with which she used to intermingle her instructions
suddenly succeeded an uniformity of manner, neither familiar nor severe,
but which seemed to prepare me for some explanation. After having vainly
racked my brain for the reason of this change, I mentioned it to her;
this she had expected and immediately proposed a walk to our garden the
next day. Accordingly we went there the next morning; she had contrived
that we should remain alone the whole day, which she employed in
preparing me for those favors she meant to bestow; not as another woman
would have done, by toying and folly, but by discourses full of sentiment
and reason, rather tending to instruct than seduce, and which spoke more
to my heart than to my senses. Meantime, however excellent and to the
purpose these discourses might be, and though far enough from coldness or
melancholy, I did not listen to them with all the attention they merited,
nor fix them in my memory as I should have done at any other time. That
air of preparation which she had adopted gave me a degree of inquietude;
while she spoke (in spite of myself) I was thoughtful and absent,
attending less to what she said than curious to know what she aimed at;
and no sooner had I comprehended her design (which I could not easily do)
than the novelty of the idea, which, during all the years I had passed
with her, had never once entered my imagination, took such entire
possession of me that I was no longer capable of minding what she said!
I only thought of her; I heard her no longer.

Thinking to render young minds attentive to reason by proposing some
highly interesting object as the result of it, is an error instructors
frequently run into, and one which I have not avoided in my Umilius.
The young pupil, struck with the object presented to him, is occupied
only with that, and leaping lightly over your preliminary discourses,
lights at once on the point, to which, in his idea, you lead him too
tediously. To render him attentive, he must be prevented from seeing the
whole of your design; and, in this particular, Madam de Warrens did not
act with sufficient precaution.

By a singularity which adhered to her systematic disposition, she took
the vain precaution of proposing conditions; but the moment I knew the
purchase, I no longer even heard them, but immediately consented to
everything; and I doubt whether there is a man on the whole earth who
would have been sincere or courageous enough to dispute terms, or one
single woman who would have pardoned such a dispute. By a continuation
of the same whimsicality, she attached a number of the gravest
formalities to the acquisition of her favors, and gave me eight days to
think of them, which I assured her I had no need of, though that
assurance was far from a truth: for to complete this assemblage of
singularities, I was very glad to have this intermission; so much had the
novelty of these ideas struck me, and such disorder did I feel in mine,
that it required time to arrange them.

It will be supposed, that these eight days appeared to me as many ages;
on the contrary, I should have been very glad had the time been
lengthened. I find it difficult to describe the state I found myself in;
it was a strange chaos of fear and impatience, dreading what I desired,
and studying some civil pretext to evade my happiness.

Let the warmth of my constitution be remembered, my age, and my heart
intoxicated with love; let my tender attachment to her be supposed,
which, far from having diminished, had daily gained additional strength;
let it be considered that I was only happy when with her, that my heart
was full, not only of her bounty, of her amiable disposition, but of her
shape, of her person, of herself; in a word, conceive me united to her by
every affinity that could possibly render her dear; nor let it be
supposed, that, being ten or twelve years older than myself, she began to
grow an old woman, or was so in my opinion. From the time the first
sight of her had made such an impression on me, she had really altered
very little, and, in my mind, not at all. To me she was ever charming,
and was still thought so by everyone. She had got something jollier,
but had the same fine eyes, the same clear complexion, the same features,
the same beautiful light hair, the sane gayety, and even the same voice,
whose youthful and silvery sound made so lively an impression on my
heart, that, even to this day, I cannot hear a young woman's voice,
that is at all harmonious, without emotion. It will be seen, that in a
more advanced age, the bare idea of some trifling favors I had to expect
from the person I loved, inflamed me so far, that I could not support,
with any degree of patience, the time necessary to traverse the short
space that separated us; how then, by what miracle, when in the flower of
my youth, had I so little impatience for a happiness I had never tasted
but in idea? How could I see the moment advancing with more pain than
pleasure? Why, instead of transports that should have intoxicated me
with their deliciousness, did I experience only fears and repugnance?
I have no doubt that if I could have avoided this happiness with any
degree of decency, I should have relinquished it with all my heart.
I have promised a number of extravagancies in the history of my
attachment to her; this certainly is one that no idea could be formed of.

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