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

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




As I began to read music tolerably well, the question was, how I should
learn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good master,
for, with the assistance of my Rameau alone, I despaired of ever being
able to accomplish it; and, since the departure of M. le Maitre, there
was nobody in Savoy who understood anything of the principles of harmony.

I am now about to relate another of those inconsequences, which my life
is full of, and which have so frequently carried me directly from my
designs, even when I thought myself immediately within reach of them.
Venture had spoken to me in very high terms of the Abbe Blanchard, who
had taught him composition; a deserving man, possessed of great talents,
who was music-master to the cathedral at Besancon, and is now in that
capacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I therefore determined to go to
Besancon, and take some lessons from the Abbe Blanchard, and the idea
appeared so rational to me, that I soon made Madam de Warrens of the same
opinion, who immediately set about the preparations for my journey, in
the same style of profusion with which all her plans were executed. Thus
this project for preventing a bankruptcy, and repairing in future the
waste of dissipation, began by causing her to expend eight hundred
livres; her ruin being accelerated that I might be put in a condition to
prevent it. Foolish as this conduct may appear, the illusion was
complete on my part, and even on hers, for I was persuaded I should labor
for her emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine.

I expected to find Venture still at Annecy, and promised myself to obtain
a recommendatory letter from him to the Abbe Blanchard; but he had left
that place, and I was obliged to content myself in the room of it, with a
mass in four parts of his composition, which he had left with me. With
this slender recommendation I set out for Besancon by the way of Geneva,
where I saw my relations; and through Nion, where I saw my father, who
received me in his usual manner, and promised to forward my portmanteau,
which, as I travelled on horseback, came after me. I arrived at
Besancon, and was kindly received by the Abbe Blanchard, who promised me
his instruction, and offered his services in any other particular. We
had just set about our music, when I received a letter from my father,
informing me that my portmanteau had been seized and confiscated at
Rousses, a French barrier on the side of Switzerland. Alarmed at the
news, I employed the acquaintance I had formed at Besancon, to learn the
motive of this confiscation. Being certain there was nothing contraband
among my baggage, I could not conceive on what pretext it could have been
seized on; at length, however, I learned the rights of the story, which
(as it is a very curious one) must not be omitted.

I became acquainted at Chambery with a very worthy old man, from Lyons,
named Monsieur Duvivier, who had been employed at the Visa, under the
regency, and for want of other business, now assisted at the Survey. He
had lived in the polite world, possessed talents, was good-humored, and
understood music. As we both wrote in the same chamber, we preferred
each other's acquaintance to that of the unlicked cubs that surrounded
us. He had some correspondents at Paris, who furnished him with those
little nothings, those daily novelties, which circulate one knows not
why, and die one cares not when, without any one thinking of them longer
than they are heard. As I sometimes took him to dine with Madam de
Warrens, he in some measure treated me with respect, and (wishing to
render himself agreeable) endeavored to make me fond of these trifles,
for which I naturally had such a distaste, that I never in my life read
any of them. Unhappily one of these cursed papers happened to be in the
waistcoat pocket of a new suit, which I had only worn two or three times
to prevent its being seized by the commissioners of the customs. This
paper contained an insipid Jansenist parody on that beautiful scene in
Racine's Mithridates: I had not read ten lines of it, but by
forgetfulness left it in my pocket, and this caused all my necessaries to
be confiscated. The commissioners at the head of the inventory of my
portmanteau, set a most pompous verbal process, in which it was taken for
granted that this most terrible writing came from Geneva for the sole
purpose of being printed and distributed in France, and then ran into
holy invectives against the enemies of God and the Church, and praised
the pious vigilance of those who had prevented the execution of these
most infernal machinations. They doubtless found also that my spirits
smelt of heresy, for on the strength of this dreadful paper, they were
all seized, and from that time I never received any account of my
unfortunate portmanteau. The revenue officers whom I applied to for this
purpose required so many instructions, informations, certificates,
memorials, etc., etc., that, lost a thousand times in the perplexing
labyrinth, I was glad to abandon them entirely. I feel a real regret for
not having preserved this verbal process from the office of Rousses, for
it was a piece calculated to hold a distinguished rank in the collection
which is to accompany this Work.

The loss of my necessities immediately brought me back to Chambery,
without having learned anything of the Abbe Blanchard. Reasoning with
myself on the events of this journey, and seeing that misfortunes
attended all my enterprises, I resolved to attach myself entirely to
Madam de Warrens, to share her fortune, and distress myself no longer
about future events, which I could not regulate. She received me as if I
had brought back treasures, replaced by degrees my little wardrobe, and
though this misfortune fell heavy enough on us both, it was forgotten
almost as suddenly as it arrived.

Though this mischance had rather dampened my musical ardor, I did not
leave off studying my Rameau, and, by repeated efforts, was at length
able to understand it, and to make some little attempts at composition,
the success of which encouraged me to proceed. The Count de Bellegrade,
son of the Marquis of Antremont, had returned from Dresden after the
death of King Augustus. Having long resided at Paris, he was fond of
music, and particularly that of Rameau. His brother, the Count of
Nangis, played on the violin; the Countess la Tour, their sister, sung
tolerably: this rendered music the fashion at Chambery, and a kind of
public concert was established there, the direction of which was at first
designed for me, but they soon discovered I was not competent to the
undertaking, and it was otherwise arranged. Notwithstanding this, I
continued writing a number of little pieces, in my own way, and, among
others, a cantata, which gained great approbation; it could not, indeed,
be called a finished piece, but the airs were written in a style of
novelty, and produced a good effect, which was not expected from me.
These gentlemen could not believe that, reading music so indifferently,
it was possible I should compose any that was passable, and made no doubt
that I had taken to myself the credit of some other person's labors.
Monsieur de Nangis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me one
morning with a cantata of Clerambault's which he had transposed as he
said, to suit his voice, and to which another bass was necessary, the
transposition having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable. I
answered, it required considerable labor, and could not be done on the
spot. Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at
least the bass to a recitative: I did so, not well, doubtless, because to
attempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom, but I
did it at least according to rule, and he being present, could not doubt
but I understood the elements of composition. I did not, therefore, lose
my scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should be a concert at
Chambery in which I was not necessary.

About this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed the
Alps. Several officers came to visit Madam de Warrens, and among others
the Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, since
Plenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom she
presented me. On her recommendation, he appeared to interest himself
greatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never remembered
till the last year of his life, when I no longer stood in need of his
assistance. The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father was then
ambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same time, and dined
one day at M. de Menthon's, when I happened to be among the guests.
After dinner; the discourse turned on music, which the marquis understood
extremely well. The opera of 'Jephtha' was then new; he mentioned this
piece, it was brought him, and he made me tremble by proposing to execute
it between us. He opened the book at that celebrated double chorus,

La Terra, l'Enfer, le Ciel meme,
Tout tremble devant le Seigneur!

[The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself,
tremble before the Lord!]

He said, "How many parts will you take? I will do these six." I had not
yet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and though
acquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man could
undertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time. Nothing
has cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from one part to
another, and have the eye at once on a whole division. By the manner in
which I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined to believe I did
not understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy himself in this
particular that he proposed my noting a song for Mademoiselle de Menthon,
in such a manner that I could not avoid it. He sang this song, and I
wrote from his voice, without giving him much trouble to repeat it. When
finished he read my performance, and said (which was very true) that it
was very correctly noted. He had observed my embarrassment, and now
seemed to enhance the merit of this little success. In reality, I then
understood music very well, and only wanted that quickness at first sight
which I possess in no one particular, and which is only to be acquired in
this art by long and constant practice. Be that as it may, I was fully
sensible of his kindness in endeavoring to efface from the minds of
others, and even from my own, the embarrassment I had experienced on this
occasion. Twelve or fifteen years afterwards, meeting this gentleman at
several houses in Paris, I was tempted to make him recollect this
anecdote, and show him I still remembered it; but he had lost his sight
since that time; I feared to give him pain by recalling to his memory how
useful it formerly had been to him, and was therefore silent on that
subject.

I now touch on the moment that binds my past existence to the present,
some friendships of that period, prolonged to the present time, being
very dear to me, have frequently made me regret that happy obscurity,
when those who called themselves my friends were really so; loved me for
myself, through pure good will, and not from the vanity of being
acquainted with a conspicuous character, perhaps for the secret purpose
of finding more occasions to injure him.

From this time I date my first acquaintance with my old friend
Gauffecourt, who, notwithstanding every effort to disunite us, has still
remained so.--Still remained so!--No, alas! I have just lost him!--but
his affection terminated only with his life--death alone could put a
period to our friendship. Monsieur de Gauffecourt was one of the most
amiable men that ever existed; it was impossible to see him without
affection, or to live with him without feeling a sincere attachment.
In my life I never saw features more expressive of goodness and serenity,
or that marked more feeling, more understanding, or inspired greater
confidence. However reserved one might be, it was impossible even at
first sight to avoid being as free with him as if he had been an
acquaintance of twenty years; for myself, who find so much difficulty
to be at ease among new faces, I was familiar with him in a moment.
His manner, accent, and conversation, perfectly suited his features:
the sound of his voice was clear, full and musical; it was an agreeable
and expressive bass, which satisfied the ear, and sounded full upon the
heart. It was impossible to possess a more equal and pleasing vivacity,
or more real and unaffected gracefulness, more natural talents, or
cultivated with greater taste; join to all these good qualities an
affectionate heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing his
favors with too little caution; serving his friends with zeal, or rather
making himself the friend of every one he could serve, yet contriving
very dexterously to manage his own affairs, while warmly pursuing the
interests of others.

Gauffecourt was the son of a clock-maker, and would have been a
clock-maker himself had not his person and desert called him to a superior
situation. He became acquainted with M. de la Closure, the French
Resident at Geneva, who conceived a friendship for him, and procured him
some connections at Paris, which were useful, and through whose influence
he obtained the privilege of furnishing the salts of Valais, which was
worth twenty thousand livres a year. This very amply satisfied his
wishes with respect to fortune, but with regard to women he was more
difficult; he had to provide for his own happiness, and did what he
supposed most conducive to it. What renders his character most
remarkable, and does him the greatest honor, is, that though connected
with all conditions, he was universally esteemed and sought after without
being envied or hated by any one, and I really believe he passed through
life without a single enemy.--Happy man!

He went every year to the baths of Aix, where the best company from the
neighboring countries resorted, and being on terms of friendship with all
the nobility of Savoy, came from Aix to Chambery to see the young Count
de Bellegarde and his father the Marquis of Antremont. It was here Madam
de Warrens introduced me to him, and this acquaintance, which appeared at
that time to end in nothing, after many years had elapsed, was renewed on
an occasion which I should relate, when it became a real friendship.
I apprehend I am sufficiently authorized in speaking of a man to whom I
was so firmly attached, but I had no personal interest in what concerned
him; he was so truly amiable, and born with so many natural good
qualities that, for the honor of human nature, I should think it
necessary to preserve his memory. This man, estimable as he certainly
was, had, like other mortals, some failings, as will be seen hereafter;
perhaps had it not been so, he would have been less amiable, since,
to render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he should
sometimes act in such a manner as to require a small portion of
indulgence.

Another connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished,
and continues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness,
which it is so difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieur
de Conzie, a Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a fancy
to learn music, or rather to be acquainted with the person who taught it.
With great understanding and taste for polite acquirements, M. de Conzie
possessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him extremely
attractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it found a
counterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of literature and
philosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and only waited for
culture and emulation to spring up, found in him exactly what was wanting
to render them prolific. M. de Conzie had no great inclination to music,
and even this was useful to me, for the hours destined for lessons were
passed anyhow rather than musically; we breakfasted, chatted, and read
new publications, but not a word of music.

The correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of Prussia, then
made a noise in the world, and these celebrated men were frequently the
subject of our conversation, one of whom recently seated on a throne,
already indicated what he would prove himself hereafter, while the other,
as much disgraced as he is now admired, made us sincerely lament the
misfortunes that seemed to pursue him, and which are so frequently the
appendage of superior talents. The Prince of Prussia had not been happy
in his youth, and it appeared that Voltaire was formed never to be so.
The interest we took in both parties extended to all that concerned them,
and nothing that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The inclination I felt for
these performances inspired me with a desire to write elegantly, and
caused me to endeavor to imitate the colorings of that author, with whom
I was so much enchanted. Some time after, his philosophical letters
(though certainly not his best work) greatly augmented my fondness for
study; it was a rising inclination, which, from that time, has never been
extinguished.

But the moment was not yet arrived when I should give into it entirely;
my rambling disposition (rather contracted than eradicated) being kept
alive by our manner of living at Madam de Warrens, which was too
unsettled for one of my solitary temper. The crowd of strangers who
daily swarmed about her from all parts, and the certainty I was in that
these people sought only to dupe her, each in his particular mode,
rendered home disagreeable. Since I had succeeded Anet in the confidence
of his mistress, I had strictly examined her circumstances, and saw their
evil tendency with horror. I had remonstrated a hundred times, prayed,
argued, conjured, but all to no purpose. I had thrown myself at her
feet, and strongly represented the catastrophe that threatened her, had
earnestly entreated that she would reform her expenses, and begin with
myself, representing that it was better to suffer something while she was
yet young, than by multiplying her debts and creditors, expose her old
age to vexation and misery.

Sensible of the sincerity of my zeal, she was frequently affected, and
would then make the finest promises in the world: but only let an artful
schemer arrive, and in an instant all her good resolutions were
forgotten. After a thousand proofs of the inefficacy of my
remonstrances, what remained but to turn away my eyes from the ruin
I could not prevent; and fly myself from the door I could not guard!
I made therefore little journeys to Geneva and Lyons, which diverted my
mind in some measure from this secret uneasiness, though it increased the
cause by these additional expenses. I can truly aver that I should have
acquiesed with pleasure in every retrenchment, had Madam de Warrens
really profited by it, but being persuaded that what I might refuse
myself would be distributed among a set of interested villains, I took
advantage of her easiness to partake with them, and, like the dog
returning from the shambles, carried off a portion of that morsel which I
could not protect.

Pretences were not wanting for all these journeys; even Madam de Warrens
would alone have supplied me with more than were necessary, having plenty
of connections, negotiations, affairs, and commissions, which she wished
to have executed by some trusty hand. In these cases she usually applied
to me; I was always willing to go, and consequently found occasions
enough to furnish out a rambling kind of life. These excursions procured
me some good connections, which have since been agreeable or useful to
me. Among others, I met at Lyons, with M. Perrichon, whose friendship I
accuse myself with not having sufficiently cultivated, considering the
kindness he had for me; and that of the good Parisot, which I shall speak
of in its place, at Grenoble, that of Madam Deybens and Madam la
Presidente de Bardonanche, a woman of great understanding, and who would
have entertained a friendship for me had it been in my power to have seen
her oftener; at Geneva, that of M. de Closure, the French Resident, who
often spoke to me of my mother, the remembrance of whom neither death nor
time had erased from his heart; likewise those of the two Barillots, the
father, who was very amiable, a good companion, and one of the most
worthy men I ever met, calling me his grandson. During the troubles of
the republic, these two citizens took contrary sides, the son siding with
the people, the father with the magistrates. When they took up arms in
1737, I was at Geneva, and saw the father and son quit the same house
armed, the one going to the townhouse, the other to his quarters, almost
certain to meet face to face in the course of two hours, and prepared to
give or receive death from each other. This unnatural sight made so
lively an impression on me, that I solemnly vowed never to interfere in
any civil war, nor assist in deciding our internal dispute by arms,
either personally or by my influence, should I ever enter into my rights
as a citizen. I can bring proofs of having kept this oath on a very
delicate occasion, and it will be confessed (at least I should suppose
so) that this moderation was of some worth.

But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which the
first sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as may be
conjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my advantage,
which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which ought not to be
omitted.

My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some years
in the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan of. My
poor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt lost, nearly
at the same period, her son and husband. These losses reanimated in some
measure her affection for the nearest relative she had remaining, which
was myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned her house my home, and
amused myself with rummaging and turning over the books and papers my
uncle had left. Among them I found some curious ones, and some letters
which they certainly little thought of. My aunt, who set no store by
these dusty papers, would willingly have given the whole to me, but I
contented myself with two or three books, with notes written by the
Minister Bernard, my grandfather, and among the rest, the posthumous
works of Rohault in quarto, the margins of which were full of excellent
commentaries, which gave me an inclination to the mathematics. This book
remained among those of Madam de Warrens, and I have since lamented that
I did not preserve it. To these I added five or six memorials in
manuscript, and a printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, a
man of considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but too
much, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly treated by
the magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the fortress of Arberg,
where he had been confined many years, for being, as it was said,
concerned in the conspiracy of Berne.

This memorial was a judicious critique on the extensive but ridiculous
plan of fortification, which had been adopted at Geneva, though censured
by every person of judgment in the art, who was unacquainted with the
secret motives of the council, in the execution of this magnificent
enterprise. Monsieur de Micheli, who had been excluded from the
committee of fortification for having condemned this plan, thought that,
as a citizen, and a member of the two hundred, he might give his advice,
at large, and therefore, did so in this memorial, which he was imprudent
enough to have printed, though he never published it, having only those
copies struck off which were meant for the two hundred, and which were
all intercepted at the post-house by order of the Senate.

[The grand council of Geneva in December, 1728, pronounced this
paper highly disrespectful to the councils, and injurious to the
committee of fortification.]

I found this memorial among my uncle's papers, with the answer he had
been ordered to make to it, and took both. This was soon after I had
left my place at the survey, and I yet remained on good terms with the
Counsellor de Coccelli, who had the management of it. Some time after,
the director of the custom-house entreated me to stand godfather to his
child, with Madam Coccelli, who was to be godmother: proud of being
placed on such terms of equality with the counsellor, I wished to assume
importance, and show myself worthy of that honor.

Full of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show him
Micheli's memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove I
was connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were intrusted
with the secrets of the state, yet by a kind of reserve which I should
find it difficult to account for, I did not show him my uncle's answer,
perhaps, because it was manuscript, and nothing less than print was
worthy to approach the counsellor. He understood, however, so well the
importance of this paper, which I had the folly to put into his hands,
that I could never after get it into my possession, and being convinced
that every effort for that purpose would be ineffectual, I made a merit
of my forbearance, transforming the theft into a present. I made no
doubt that this writing (more curious, however, than useful) answered his
purpose at the court of Turin, where probably he took care to be
reimbursed in some way or other for the expense which the acquisition of
it might be supposed to have cost him. Happily, of all future
contingencies, the least probable, is, that ever the King of Sardina
should besiege Geneva, but as that event is not absolutely impossible, I
shall ever reproach my foolish vanity with having been the means of
pointing out the greatest defects of that city to its most ancient enemy.

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