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

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




I passed three or four years in this manner, between music, magestry,
projects, and journeys, floating incessantly from one object to another,
and wishing to fix though I knew not on what, but insensibly inclining
towards study. I was acquainted with men of letters, I had heard them
speak of literature, and sometimes mingled in the conversation, yet
rather adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained.
In my excursions to Geneva, I frequently called on my good old friend
Monsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising emulation by fresh news
from the republic of letters, extracted from Baillet on Colomies. I
frequently saw too, at Chambery, a Dominican professor of physic, a good
kind of friar, whose name I have forgotten, who often made little
chemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, I
attempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose more
than half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water, the
effervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to unstop the
bottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the attempt, it burst
in my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of the orpiment and lime,
that it nearly cost me my life. I remained blind for six weeks, and by
the event of this experiment learned to meddle no more with experimental
Chemistry while the elements were unknown to me.

This adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for some
time past, had been visibly on the decline. This was rather
extraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it have
been expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rather
capacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was short
breathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily, had
palpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with a
lingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome. How is it
possible to fall into such a state in the flower of one's age, without
any inward decay, or without having done anything to destroy health?

It is sometimes said, "the sword wears the scabbard," this was truly the
case with me: the violence of my passions both kept me alive and hastened
my dissolution. What passions? will be asked: mere nothings: the most
trivial objects in nature, but which affected me as forcibly as if the
acquisition of a Helen, or the throne of the universe were at stake.
My senses, for instance, were at ease with one woman, but my heart never
was, and the necessities of love consumed me in the very bosom of
happiness. I had a tender, respected and lovely friend, but I sighed for
a mistress; my prolific fancy painted her as such, and gave her a
thousand forms, for had I conceived that my endearments had been lavished
on Madam de Warrens, they would not have been less tender, though
infinitely more tranquil. But is it possible for man to taste, in their
utmost extent, the delights of love? I cannot tell, but I am persuaded
my frail existence would have sunk under the weight of them.

I was, therefore, dying for love without an object, and this state,
perhaps, is, of all others, the most dangerous. I was likewise uneasy,
tormented at the bad state of poor Madam de Warrens' circumstances, and
the imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring them, in a
short time, to total ruin. My tortured imagination (which ever paints
misfortunes in the extremity) continually beheld this in its utmost
excess, and in all the horror of its consequences. I already saw myself
forced by want to quit her--to whom I had consecrated my future life, and
without whom I could not hope for happiness: thus was my soul continually
agitated, and hopes and fears devoured me alternately.

Music was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming, from the
ardor with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of the
obscure books of Rameau; by an invincible resolution to charge my memory
with rules it could not contain; by continual application, and by long
and immense compilations which I frequently passed whole nights in
copying: but why dwell on these particularly, while every folly that took
possession of my wandering brain, the most transient ideas of a single
day, a journey, a concert, a supper, a walk, a novel to read, a play to
see, things in the world the least premeditated in my pleasures or
occupation became for me the most violent passions, which by their
ridiculous impetuosity conveyed the most serious torments; even the
imaginary misfortunes of Cleveland, read with avidity and frequent
interruption, have, I am persuaded, disordered me more than my own.

There was a Genevese, named Bagueret, who had been employed under Peter
the Great, of the court of Russia, one of the most worthless, senseless
fellows I ever met with; full of projects as foolish as himself, which
were to rain down millions on those who took part in them. This man,
having come to Chambery on account of some suit depending before the
senate, immediately got acquainted with Madam de Warrens, and with great
reason on his side, since for those imaginary treasures that cost him
nothing, and which he bestowed with the utmost prodigality, he gained,
in exchange, the unfortunate crown pieces one by one out of her pocket.
I did not like him, and he plainly perceived this, for with me it is not
a very difficult discovery, nor did he spare any sort of meanness to gain
my good will, and among other things proposed teaching me to play at
chess, which game he understood something of. I made an attempt, though
almost against my inclination, and after several efforts, having learned
the march, my progress was so rapid, that before the end of the first
sitting I gave him the rook, which in the beginning he had given me.
Nothing more was necessary; behold me fascinated with chess! I buy a
board, with the rest of the apparatus, and shutting myself up in my
chamber, pass whole days and nights in studying all the varieties of the
game, being determined by playing alone, without end or relaxation, to
drive them into my head, right or wrong. After incredible efforts,
during two or three months passed in this curious employment, I go to the
coffee-house, thin, sallow, and almost stupid; I seat myself, and again
attack M. Bagueret: he beats me, once, twice, twenty times; so many
combinations were fermenting in my head, and my imagination was so
stupefied, that all appeared confusion. I tried to exercise myself with
Phitidor's or Stamina's book of instructions, but I was still equally
perplexed, and, after having exhausted myself with fatigue, was further
to seek than ever, and whether I abandoned my chess for a time, or
resolved to surmount every difficulty by unremitted practice, it was the
same thing. I could never advance one step beyond the improvement of the
first sitting, nay, I am convinced that had I studied it a thousand ages,
I should have ended by being able to give Bagueret the rook and nothing
more.

It will be said my time was well employed, and not a little of it passed
in this occupation, nor did I quit my first essay till unable to persist
in it, for on leaving my apartment I had the appearance of a corpse, and
had I continued this course much longer I should certainly have been one.

Any one will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially in
the ardor of youth, that such a head should suffer the body to enjoy
continued health; the alteration of mine had an effect on my temper,
moderating the ardor of my chimerical fancies, for as I grew weaker they
became more tranquil, and I even lost, in some measure, my rage for
travelling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy; vapors
succeeded passions, languor became sorrow: I wept and sighed without
cause, and felt my life ebbing away before I had enjoyed it. I only
trembled to think of the situation in which I should leave my dear Madam
de Warrens; and I can truly say, that quitting her, and leaving her in
these melancholy circumstances, was my only concern. At length I fell
quite ill, and was nursed by her as never mother nursed a child. The
care she took of me was of real utility to her affairs, since it diverted
her mind from schemes, and kept projectors at a distance. How pleasing
would death have been at that time, when, if I had not tasted many of the
pleasures of life, I had felt but few of its misfortunes. My tranquil
soul would have taken her flight, without having experienced those cruel
ideas of the injustice of mankind which embitters both life and death.
I should have enjoyed the sweet consolation that I still survived in the
dearer part of myself: in the situation I then was, it could hardly be
called death; and had I been divested of my uneasiness on her account,
it would have appeared but a gentle sleep; yet even these disquietudes
had such an affectionate and tender turn, that their bitterness was
tempered by a pleasing sensibility. I said to her, "You are the
depository of my whole being, act so that I may be happy." Two or three
times, when my disorder was most violent, I crept to her apartment to
give her my advice respecting her future conduct; and I dare affirm these
admonitions were both wise and equitable, in which the interest I took in
her future concerns was strongly marked. As if tears had been both
nourishment and medicine, I found myself the better for those I shed with
her, while seated on her bed-side, and holding her hands between mine.
The hours crept insensibly away in these nocturnal discourses; I returned
to my chamber better than I had quitted it, being content and calmed by
the promises she made, and the hopes with which she had inspired me:
I slept on them with my heart at peace, and fully resigned to the
dispensations of Providence. God grant, that after having had so many
reasons to hate life, after being agitated with so many storms, after it
has even become a burden, that death, which must terminate all, may be no
more terrible than it would have been at that moment!

By inconceivable care and vigilance, she saved my life; and I am
convinced she alone could have done this. I have little faith in the
skill of physicians, but depend greatly on the assistance of real
friends, and am persuaded that being easy in those particulars on which
our happiness depends, is more salutary than any other application. If
there is a sensation in life peculiarly delightful, we experienced it in
being restored to each other; our mutual attachment did not increase, for
that was impossible, but it became, I know not how, more exquisitely
tender, fresh softness being added to its former simplicity. I became in
a manner her work; we got into the habit, though without design, of being
continually with each other, and enjoying, in some measure, our whole
existence together, feeling reciprocally that we were not only necessary,
but entirely sufficient for each other's happiness. Accustomed to think
of no subject foreign to ourselves, our happiness and all our desires
were confined to that pleasing and singular union, which, perhaps, had no
equal, which is not, as I have before observed, love, but a sentiment
inexpressibly more intimate, neither depending on the senses, age, nor
figure, but an assemblage of every endearing sensation that composes our
rational existence and which can cease only with our being.

How was it that this delightful crisis did not secure our mutual felicity
for the remainder of her life and mine? I have the consoling conviction
that it was not my fault; nay, I am persuaded, she did not wilfully
destroy it; the invincible peculiarity of my disposition was doomed soon
to regain its empire; but this fatal return was not suddenly
accomplished, there was, thank Heaven, a short but precious interval,
that did not conclude by my fault, and which I cannot reproach myself
with having employed amiss.

Though recovered from my dangerous illness, I did not regain my strength;
my stomach was weak, some remains of the fever kept me in a languishing
condition, and the only inclination I was sensible of, was to end my days
near one so truly dear to me; to confirm her in those good resolutions
she had formed; to convince her in what consisted the real charms of a
happy life, and, as far as depended on me, to render hers so; but I
foresaw that in a gloomy, melancholy house, the continual solitude of our
tete-a-tetes would at length become too dull and monotonous: a remedy
presented itself: Madam de Warrens had prescribed milk for me, and
insisted that I should take it in the country; I consented, provided she
would accompany me; nothing more was necessary to gain her compliance,
and whither we should go was all that remained to be determined on. Our
garden (which I have before mentioned) was not properly in the country,
being surrounded by houses and other gardens, and possessing none of
those attractions so desirable in a rural retreat; besides, after the
death of Anet, we had given up this place from economical principles,
feeling no longer a desire to rear plants, and other views making us not
regret the loss of that little retreat. Improving the distaste I found
she began to imbibe for the town, I proposed to abandon it entirely, and
settle ourselves in an agreeable solitude, in some small house, distant
enough from the city to avoid the perpetual intrusion of her hangers-on.
She followed my advice, and this plan, which her good angel and mine
suggested, might fully have secured our happiness and tranquility till
death had divided us--but this was not the state we were appointed to;
Madam de Warrens was destined to endure all the sorrows of indigence and
poverty, after having passed the former part of her life in abundance,
that she might learn to quit it with the less regret; and myself, by an
assemblage of misfortunes of all kinds, was to become a striking example
to those who, inspired with a love of justice and the public good, and
trusting too implicitly to their own innocence, shall openly dare to
assert truth to mankind, unsupported by cabals, or without having
previously formed parties to protect them.

An unhappy fear furnished some objections to our plan: she did not dare
to quit her ill-contrived house, for fear of displeasing the proprietor.
"Your proposed retirement is charming," said she, "and much to my taste,
but we are necessitated to remain here, for, on quitting this dungeon,
I hazard losing the very means of life, and when these fail us in the
woods, we must again return to seek them in the city. That we may have
the least possible cause for being reduced to this necessity, let us not
leave this house entirely, but pay a small pension to the Count of
Saint-Laurent, that he may continue mine. Let us seek some little
habitation, far enough from the town to be at peace, yet near enough to
return when it may appear convenient."

This mode was finally adopted; and after some small search, we fixed at
Charmettes, on an estate belonging to M. de Conzie, at a very small
distance from Chambery; but as retired and solitary as if it had been a
hundred leagues off. The spot we had concluded on was a valley between
two tolerably high hills, which ran north and south; at the bottom, among
the trees and pebbles, ran a rivulet, and above the declivity, on either
side, were scattered a number of houses, forming altogether a beautiful
retreat for those who love a peaceful romantic asylum. After having
examined two or three of these houses, we chose that which we thought the
most pleasing, which was the property of a gentleman of the army, called
M. Noiret. This house was in good condition, before it a garden, forming
a terrace; below that on the declivity an orchard, and on the ascent,
behind the house, a vineyard: a little wood of chestnut trees opposite; a
fountain just by, and higher up the hill, meadows for the cattle; in
short, all that could be thought necessary for the country retirement we
proposed to establish. To the best of my remembrance, we took possession
of it toward the latter end of the summer Of 1736. I was delighted on
going to sleep there--"Oh!" said I, to this dear friend, embracing her
with tears of tenderness and delight, "this is the abode of happiness and
innocence; if we do not find them here together it will be in vain to
seek them elsewhere."





THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903



BOOK VI.


Hoc erat in votis: Modus agri non ila magnus
Hortus ubi, et leclo vicinus aqua fons;
Et paululum sylvae superhis forel.


I cannot add, 'auctius acque di melius fecere'; but no matter, the former
is enough for my purpose; I had no occasion to have any property there,
it was sufficient that I enjoyed it; for I have long since both said and
felt, that the proprietor and possessor are two very different people,
even leaving husbands and lovers out of the question.

At this moment began the short happiness of my life, those peaceful and
rapid moments, which have given me a right to say, I have lived.
Precious and ever--regretted moments! Ah! recommence your delightful
course; pass more slowly through my memory, if possible, than you
actually did in your fugitive succession. How shall I prolong, according
to my inclination, this recital at once so pleasing and simple? How
shall I continue to relate the same occurrences, without wearying my
readers with the repetition, any more than I was satiated with the
enjoyment? Again, if all this consisted of facts, actions, or words, I
could somehow or other convey an idea of it; but how shall I describe
what was neither said nor done, nor even thought, but enjoyed, felt,
without being able to particularize any other object of my happiness than
the bare idea? I rose with the sun, and was happy; I walked, and was
happy; I saw Madam de Warrens, and was happy; I quitted her, and still
was happy!--Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills, or
strolled along the valley; read, was idle, worked in the garden, or
gathered fruits, happiness continually accompanied me; it was fixed on no
particular object, it was within me, nor could I depart from it a single
moment.

Nothing that passed during that charming epocha, nothing that I did,
said, or thought, has escaped my memory. The time that preceded or
followed it, I only recollect by intervals, unequally and confused; but
here I remember all as distinctly as if it existed at this moment.
Imagination, which in my youth was perpetually anticipating the future,
but now takes a retrograde course, makes some amends by these charming
recollections for the deprivation of hope, which I have lost forever.
I no longer see anything in the future that can tempt my wishes, it is a
recollection of the past alone that can flatter me, and the remembrance
of the period I am now describing is so true and lively, that it
sometimes makes me happy, even in spite of my misfortunes.

Of these recollections I shall relate one example, which may give some
idea of their force and precision. The first day we went to sleep at
Charmettes, the way being up-hill, and Madam de Warrens rather heavy, she
was carried in a chair, while I followed on foot. Fearing the chairmen
would be fatigued, she got out about half-way, designing to walk the rest
of it. As we passed along, she saw something blue in the hedge, and
said, "There's some periwinkle in flower yet!" I had never seen any
before, nor did I stop to examine this: my sight is too short to
distinguish plants on the ground, and I only cast a look at this as I
passed: an interval of near thirty years had elapsed before I saw any
more periwinkle, at least before I observed it, when being at Cressier in
1764, with my friend, M. du Peyrou, we went up a small mountain, on the
summit of which there is a level spot, called, with reason, 'Belle--vue',
I was then beginning to herbalize;--walking and looking among the bushes,
I exclaimed with rapture, "Ah, there's some periwinkle!" Du Peyrou, who
perceived my transport, was ignorant of the cause, but will some day be
informed: I hope, on reading this. The reader may judge by this
impression, made by so small an incident, what an effect must have been
produced by every occurrence of that time.

Meantime, the air of the country did not restore my health; I was
languishing and became more so; I could not endure milk, and was obliged
to discontinue the use of it. Water was at this time the fashionable
remedy for every complaint; accordingly I entered on a course of it, and
so indiscreetly, that it almost released me, not only from my illness but
also from my life. The water I drank was rather hard and difficult to
pass, as water from mountains generally is; in short, I managed so well,
that in the coarse of two months I totally ruined my stomach, which until
that time had been very good, and no longer digesting anything properly,
had no reason to expect a cure. At this time an accident happened, as
singular in itself as in its subsequent consequences, which can only
terminate with my existence.

One morning, being no worse than usual, while putting up the leaf of a
small table, I felt a sudden and almost inconceivable revolution
throughout my whole frame. I know not how to describe it better than as
a kind of tempest, which suddenly rose in my blood, and spread in a
moment over every part of my body. My arteries began beating so
violently that I not only felt their motion, but even heard it,
particularly that of the carotids, attended by a loud noise in my ears,
which was of three, or rather four, distinct kinds. For instance, first
a grave hollow buzzing; then a more distinct murmur, like the running of
water; then an extremely sharp hissing, attended by the beating I before
mentioned, and whose throbs I could easily count, without feeling my
pulse, or putting a hand to any part of my body. This internal tumult
was so violent that it has injured my auricular organs, and rendered me,
from that time, not entirely deaf, but hard of hearing.

My surprise and fear may easily be conceived; imagining it was the stroke
of death, I went to bed, and the physician being sent for, trembling with
apprehension, I related my case; judging it past all cure. I believe the
doctor was of the same opinion; however he performed his office, running
over a long string of causes and effects beyond my comprehension, after
which, in consequence of this sublime theory, he set about, 'in anima
vili', the experimental part of his art, but the means he was pleased to
adopt in order to effect a cure were so troublesome, disgusting, and
followed by so little effect, that I soon discontinued it, and after some
weeks, finding I was neither better nor worse, left my bed, and returned
to my usual method of living; but the beating of my arteries and the
buzzing in my ears has never quitted me a moment during the thirty years'
time which has elapsed since that time.

Till now, I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of repose,
with other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it, even to this
time, persuaded me I had but a short time to live. This idea
tranquillized me for a time: I became less anxious about a cure, and
being persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ the
remainder of it as usefully as possible. This was practicable by a
particular indulgence of Nature, which, in this melancholy state,
exempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I should
have experienced. I was incommoded by the noise, but felt no pain, nor
was it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnal
wakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath, which is not violent
enough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I attempted to
run, or use any degree of exertion.

This accident, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my body, only
killed my passions, and I have reason to thank Heaven for the happy
effect produced by it on my soul. I can truly say, I only began to live
when I considered myself as entering the grave; for, estimating at their
real value those things I was quitting; I began to employ myself on
nobler objects, namely by anticipating those I hoped shortly to have the
contemplation of, and which I had hitherto too much neglected. I had
often made light of religion, but was never totally devoid of it;
consequently, it cost me less pain to employ my thoughts on that subject,
which is generally thought melancholy, though highly pleasing to those
who make it an object of hope and consolation; Madam de Warrens,
therefore, was more useful to me on this occasion than all the
theologians in the world would have been.

She, who brought everything into a system, had not failed to do as much
by religion; and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinity
to each other. Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous,
being made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, and
prejudices derived from education. Men, in general, make God like
themselves; the virtuous make Him good, and the profligate make Him
wicked; ill-tempered and bilious devotees see nothing but hell, because
they would willingly damn all mankind; while loving and gentle souls
disbelieve it altogether; and one of the astonishments I could never
overcome, is to see the good Fenelon speak of it in his Telemachus as if
he really gave credit to it; but I hope he lied in that particular, for
however strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely must
lie sometimes. Madam de Warrens spoke truth with me, and that soul, made
up without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angry God,
saw only clemency and forgiveness, where devotees bestowed inflexible
justice, and eternal punishment.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.