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

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Thus was my airy castle again overthrown; but this time I was thirty
years of age, and in Paris, where it is impossible to live for a trifle.
The resolution I took upon this occasion will astonish none but those by
whom the first part of these memoirs has not been read with attention.
I had just made great and fruitless efforts, and was in need of
relaxation. Instead of sinking with despair I gave myself up quietly to
my indolence and to the care of Providence; and the better to wait for
its assistance with patience, I lay down a frugal plan for the slow
expenditure of a few louis, which still remained in my possession,
regulating the expense of my supine pleasures without retrenching it;
going to the coffee-house but every other day, and to the theatre but
twice a week. With respect to the expenses of girls of easy virtue, I
had no retrenchment to make; never having in the whole course of my life
applied so much as a farthing to that use except once, of which I shall
soon have occasion to speak. The security, voluptuousness, and
confidence with which I gave myself up to this indolent and solitary
life, which I had not the means of continuing for three months, is one of
the singularities of my life, and the oddities of my disposition. The
extreme desire I had, the public should think of me was precisely what
discouraged me from showing myself; and the necessity of paying visits
rendered them to such a degree insupportable, that I ceased visiting the
academicians and other men of letters, with whom I had cultivated an
acquaintance. Marivaux, the Abbe Malby, and Fontenelle, were almost the
only persons whom I sometimes went to see. To the first I showed my
comedy of Narcissus. He was pleased with it, and had the goodness to
make in it some improvements. Diderot, younger than these, was much
about my own age. He was fond of music, and knew it theoretically; we
conversed together, and he communicated to me some of his literary
projects. This soon formed betwixt us a more intimate connection, which
lasted fifteen years, and which probably would still exist were not I,
unfortunately, and by his own fault, of the same profession with himself.

It would be impossible to imagine in what manner I employed this short
and precious interval which still remained to me, before circumstances
forced me to beg my bread:--in learning by memory passages from the poets
which I had learned and forgotten a hundred times. Every morning at ten
o'clock, I went to walk in the Luxembourg with a Virgil and a Rousseau in
my pocket, and there, until the hour of dinner, I passed away the time in
restoring to my memory a sacred ode or a bucolic, without being
discouraged by forgetting, by the study of the morning, what I had
learned the evening before. I recollected that after the defeat of
Nicias at Syracuse the captive Athenians obtained a livelihood by
reciting the poems of Homer. The use I made of this erudition to ward
off misery was to exercise my happy memory by learning all the poets by
rote.

I had another expedient, not less solid, in the game of chess, to which I
regularly dedicated, at Maugis, the evenings on which I did not go to the
theatre. I became acquainted with M. de Legal, M. Husson, Philidor, and
all the great chess players of the day, without making the least
improvement in the game. However, I had no doubt but, in the end, I
should become superior to them all, and this, in my own opinion, was a
sufficient resource. The same manner of reasoning served me in every
folly to which I felt myself inclined. I said to myself: whoever excels
in anything is sure to acquire a distinguished reception in society. Let
us therefore excel, no matter in what, I shall certainly be sought after;
opportunities will present themselves, and my own merit will do the rest.
This childishness was not the sophism of my reason; it was that of my
indolence. Dismayed at the great and rapid efforts which would have been
necessary to call forth my endeavors, I strove to flatter my idleness,
and by arguments suitable to the purpose, veiled from my own eyes the
shame of such a state.

I thus calmly waited for the moment when I was to be without money; and
had not Father Castel, whom I sometimes went to see in my way to the
coffee-house, roused me from my lethargy, I believe I should have seen
myself reduced to my last farthing without the least emotion. Father
Castel was a madman, but a good man upon the whole; he was sorry to see
me thus impoverish myself to no purpose. "Since musicians and the
learned," said he, "do not sing by your scale, change the string, and
apply to the women. You will perhaps succeed better with them. I have
spoken of you to Madam de Beuzenval; go to her from me; she is a good
woman who will be glad to see the countryman of her son and husband. You
will find at her house Madam de Broglie, her daughter, who is a woman of
wit. Madam Dupin is another to whom I also have mentioned you; carry her
your work; she is desirous of seeing you, and will receive you well. No
thing is done in Paris without the women. They are the curves, of which
the wise are the asymptotes; they incessantly approach each other, but
never touch."

After having from day to day delayed these very disagreeable steps, I at
length took courage, and called upon Madam de Beuzenval. She received me
with kindness; and Madam de Broglio entering the chamber, she said to
her: "Daughter, this is M. Rousseau, of whom Father Castel has spoken to
us." Madam de Broglie complimented me upon my work, and going to her
harpsichord proved to me she had already given it some attention.
Perceiving it to be about one o'clock, I prepared to take my leave.
Madam de Beuzenval said to me: "You are at a great distance from the
quarter of the town in which you reside; stay and dine here." I did not
want asking a second time. A quarter of an hour afterwards,
I understood, by a word, that the dinner to which she had invited me was
that of her servants' hall. Madam de Beuzenval was a very good kind of
woman, but of a confined understanding, and too full of her illustrious
Polish nobility: she had no idea of the respect due to talents. On this
occasion, likewise, she judged me by my manner rather than by my dress,
which, although very plain, was very neat, and by no means announced a
man to dine with servants. I had too long forgotten the way to the place
where they eat to be inclined to take it again. Without suffering my
anger to appear, I told Madam de Beuzenval that I had an affair of a
trifling nature which I had just recollected obliged me to return home,
and I immediately prepared to depart. Madam de Broglie approached her
mother, and whispered in her ear a few words which had their effect.
Madam de Beuzenval rose to prevent me from going, and said, "I expect
that you will do us the honor to dine with us." In this case I thought
to show pride would be a mark of folly, and I determined to stay. The
goodness of Madam de Broglie had besides made an impression upon me, and
rendered her interesting in my eyes. I was very glad to dine with her,
and hoped, that when she knew me better, she would not regret having
procured me that honor. The President de Lamoignon, very intimate in the
family, dined there also. He, as well as Madam de Broglie, was a master
of all the modish and fashionable small talk jargon of Paris. Poor Jean
Jacques was unable to make a figure in this way. I had sense enough not
to pretend to it, and was silent. Happy would it have been for me, had I
always possessed the same wisdom; I should not be in the abyss into which
I am now fallen. I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being unable to
justify to Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor.

After dinner I thought of my ordinary resource. I had in my pocket an
epistle in verse, written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons. This
fragment was not without some fire, which I increased by my manner of
reading, and made them all three shed tears. Whether it was vanity, or
really the truth, I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say to
her mother: "Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was fitter
to dine with us than with your women?" Until then my heart had been
rather burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied. Madam
de Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too far, thought
I should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become a favorite with
fine ladies. To guide my inexperience she gave me the confessions of the
Count de -----. "This book," said she, "is a Mentor, of which you will
stand in need in the great world. You will do well by sometimes
consulting it." I kept the book upwards of twenty years with a sentiment
of gratitude to her from whose hand I had received it, although I
frequently laughed at the opinion the lady seemed to have of my merit in
gallantry. From the moment I had read the work, I was desirous of
acquiring the friendship of the author. My inclination led me right; he
is the only real friend I ever possessed amongst men of letters.

[I have so long been of the same opinion, and so perfectly convinced
of its being well founded, that since my return to Paris I confided
to him the manuscript of my confessions. The suspicious J. J.
never suspected perfidy and falsehood until he had been their
victim.]

From this time I thought I might depend on the services of Madam the
Baroness of Beuzenval, and the Marchioness of Broglie, and that they
would not long leave me without resource. In this I was not deceived.
But I must now speak of my first visit to Madam Dupin, which produced
more lasting consequences.

Madam Dupin was, as every one in Paris knows, the daughter of Samuel
Bernard and Madam Fontaine. There were three sisters, who might be
called the three graces. Madam de la Touche who played a little prank,
and went to England with the Duke of Kingston. Madam Darby, the eldest
of the three; the friend, the only sincere friend of the Prince of Conti;
an adorable woman, as well by her sweetness and the goodness of her
charming character, as by her agreeable wit and incessant cheerfulness.
Lastly, Madam Dupin, more beautiful than either of her sisters, and the
only one who has not been reproached with some levity of conduct.

She was the reward of the hospitality of M. Dupin, to whom her mother
gave her in marriage with the place of farmer general and an immense
fortune, in return for the good reception he had given her in his
province. When I saw her for the first time, she was still one of the
finest women in Paris. She received me at her toilette, her arms were
uncovered, her hair dishevelled, and her combing-cloth ill-arranged.
This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I became
confused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by Madam
Dupin.

My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. She
kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my
plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner,
and placed me at table by her side. Less than this would have turned my
brain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the
permission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twice
or thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak, but never dared
attempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural timidity.
Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, and
in my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it against
myself.

Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I found
nothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me. Her house,
at that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented by
societies the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composed
were chosen on account of some distinguished merit. She was fond of
seeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men of
letters, and fine women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes,
ambassadors, and blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of
Forcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey,
passed for her intimate friends. The Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint
Pierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, M. de Buffon, and M. de
Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner did
not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe, as
it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had no
reason to flatter himself he should be able to take a distinguished part
in the midst of such superior talents. I therefore had not courage to
speak; but no longer able to contain myself, I took a resolution to
write. For the first two days she said not a word to me upon the
subject. On the third day, she returned me my letter, accompanying it
with a few exhortations which froze my blood. I attempted to speak, but
my words expired upon my lips; my sudden passion was extinguished with my
hopes, and after a declaration in form I continued to live with her upon
the same terms as before, without so much as speaking to her even by the
language of the eyes.

I thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived. M. de Francueil,
son to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much the same with
herself and me. He had wit, a good person, and might have pretensions.
This was said to be the case, and probably proceeded from his
mother-in-law's having given him an ugly wife of a mild disposition,
with whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon the best of
terms. M. de Francueil was fond of talents in others, and cultivated
those he possessed. Music, which he understood very well, was a means
of producing a connection between us. I frequently saw him, and he soon
gained my friendship. He, however, suddenly gave me to understand that
Madam Dupin thought my visits too frequent, and begged me to discontinue
them. Such a compliment would have been proper when she returned my
letter; but eight or ten days afterwards, and without any new cause, it
appeared to me ill-timed. This rendered my situation the more singular,
as M. and Madam de Francueil still continued to give me the same good
reception as before.

I however made the intervals between my visits longer, and I should
entirely have ceased calling on them, had not Madam Dupin, by another
unexpected caprice, sent to desire I would for a few days take care of
her son, who changing his preceptor, remained alone during that interval.
I passed eight days in such torments as nothing but the pleasure of
obeying Madam Dupin could render supportable: I would not have undertaken
to pass eight other days like them had Madam Dupin given me herself for
the recompense.

M. de Francueil conceived a friendship for me, and I studied with him.
We began together a course of chemistry at Rouelles. That I might be
nearer at hand, I left my hotel at Quentin, and went to lodge at the
Tennis Court, Rue Verdelet, which leads into the Rue Platiere, where M.
Dupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I contracted an
inflammation of the lungs that had liked to have carried me off. In my
younger days I frequently suffered from inflammatory disorders,
pleurisies, and especially quinsies, to which I was very subject, and
which frequently brought me near enough to death to familiarize me to its
image.

During my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, and
to lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding the
fire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in an
inactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. The evening
preceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by Royer;
the name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in favor of the
talents of others, which has ever made me distrustful of my own, I still
thought the music feeble, and devoid of animation and invention. I
sometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I could do better
than that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the composition of an
opera, and the importance I heard men of the profession affix to such an
undertaking, instantly discouraged me, and made me blush at having so
much as thought of it. Besides, where was I to find a person to write
the words, and one who would give himself the trouble of turning the
poetry to my liking? These ideas of music and the opera had possession
of my mind during my illness, and in the delirium of my fever I composed
songs, duets, and choruses. I am certain I composed two or three little
pieces, 'di prima infenzione', perhaps worthy of the admiration of
masters, could they have heard them executed. Oh, could an account be
taken of the dreams of a man in a fever, what great and sublime things
would sometimes proceed from his delirium!

These subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention during my
convalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and frequent
meditations, and which were often involuntary, and made such an
impression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both words and music.
This was not the first time I had undertaken so difficult a task. Whilst
I was at Chambery I had composed an opera entitled 'Iphis and Anaxarete',
which I had the good sense to throw into the fire. At Lyons I had
composed another, entitled 'La Decouverte du Nouveau Monde', which, after
having read it to M. Bordes, the Abbes Malby, Trublet, and others, had
met the same fate, notwithstanding I had set the prologue and the first
act to music, and although David, after examining the composition, had
told me there were passages in it worthy of Buononcini.

Before I began the work I took time to consider of my plan. In a heroic
ballet I proposed three different subjects, in three acts, detached from
each other, set to music of a different character, taking for each
subject the amours of a poet. I entitled this opera Les Muses Galantes.
My first act, in music strongly characterized, was Tasso; the second in
tender harmony, Ovid; and the third, entitled Anacreon, was to partake of
the gayety of the dithyrambus. I tried my skill on the first act, and
applied to it with an ardor which, for the first time, made me feel the
delightful sensation produced by the creative power of composition. One
evening, as I entered the opera, feeling myself strongly incited and
overpowered by my ideas, I put my money again into my pocket, returned to
my apartment, locked the door, and, having close drawn all the curtains,
that every ray of light might be excluded, I went to bed, abandoning
myself entirely to this musical and poetical 'oestrum', and in seven or
eight hours rapidly composed the greatest part of an act. I can truly
say my love for the Princess of Ferrara (for I was Tasso for the moment)
and my noble and lofty sentiment with respect to her unjust brother,
procured me a night a hundred times more delicious than one passed in the
arms of the princess would have been. In the morning but a very little
of what I had done remained in my head, but this little, almost effaced
by sleep and lassitude, still sufficiently evinced the energy of the
pieces of which it was the scattered remains.

I this time did, not proceed far with my undertaking, being interrupted
by other affairs. Whilst I attached myself to the family of Dupin, Madam
de Beuzenval and Madam de Broglie, whom I continued to visit, had not
forgotten me. The Count de Montaigu, captain in the guards, had just
been appointed ambassador to Venice. He was an ambassador made by
Barjac, to whom he assiduously paid his court. His brother, the
Chevalier de Montaigu, 'gentilhomme de la manche' to the dauphin, was
acquainted with these ladies, and with the Abbe Alary of the French
academy, whom I sometimes visited. Madam de Broglie having heard the
ambassador was seeking a secretary, proposed me to him. A conference was
opened between us. I asked a salary of fifty guineas, a trifle for an
employment which required me to make some appearance. The ambassador was
unwilling to give more than a thousand livres, leaving me to make the
journey at my own expense. The proposal was ridiculous. We could not
agree, and M. de Francueil, who used all his efforts to prevent my
departure, prevailed.

I stayed, and M. de Montaigu set out on his journey, taking with him
another secretary, one M. Follau, who had been recommended to him by the
office of foreign affairs. They no sooner arrived at Venice than they
quarrelled. Bollau perceiving he had to do with a madman, left him
there, and M. de Montaigu having nobody with him, except a young abbe of
the name of Binis, who wrote under the secretary, and was unfit to
succeed him, had recourse to me. The chevalier, his brother, a man of
wit, by giving me to understand there were advantages annexed to the
place of secretary, prevailed upon me to accept the thousand livres.
I was paid twenty louis in advance for my journey, and immediately
departed.

At Lyons I would most willingly have taken the road to Mount Cenis, to
see my poor mamma. But I went down the Rhone, and embarked at Toulon, as
well on account of the war, and from a motive of economy, as to obtain a
passport from M. de Mirepoix, who then commanded in Provence, and to whom
I was recommended. M. de Montaigu not being able to do without me, wrote
letter after letter, desiring I would hasten my journey; this, however,
an accident considerably prolonged.

It was at the time of the plague at Messina, and the English fleet had
anchored there, and visited the Felucca, on board of which I was, and
this circumstance subjected us, on our arrival, after a long and
difficult voyage, to a quarantine of one--and--twenty days.

The passengers had the choice of performing it on board or in the
Lazaretto, which we were told was not yet furnished. They all chose the
Felucca. The insupportable heat, the closeness of the vessel, the
impossibility of walking in it, and the vermin with which it swarmed,
made me at all risks prefer the Lazaretto. I was therefore conducted to
a large building of two stories, quite empty, in which I found neither
window, bed, table, nor chair, not so much as even a joint-stool or
bundle of straw. My night sack and my two trunks being brought me, I was
shut in by great doors with huge locks, and remained at full liberty to
walk at my ease from chamber to chamber and story to story, everywhere
finding the same solitude and nakedness.

This, however, did not induce me to repent that I had preferred the
Lazaretto to the Felucca; and, like another Robinson Crusoe, I began to
arrange myself for my one-and twenty days, just as I should have done for
my whole life. In the first place, I had the amusement of destroying the
vermin I had caught in the Felucca. As soon as I had got clear of these,
by means of changing my clothes and linen, I proceeded to furnish the
chamber I had chosen. I made a good mattress with my waistcoats and
shirts; my napkins I converted, by sewing them together, into sheets; my
robe de chambre into a counterpane; and my cloak into a pillow. I made
myself a seat with one of my trunks laid flat, and a table with the
other. I took out some writing paper and an inkstand, and distributed,
in the manner of a library, a dozen books which I had with me. In a
word, I so well arranged my few movables, that except curtains and
windows, I was almost as commodiously lodged in this Lazeretto,
absolutely empty as it was, as I had been at the Tennis Court in the Rue
Verdelet. My dinners were served with no small degree of pomp; they were
escorted by two grenadiers with bayonets fixed; the staircase was my
dining--room, the landing-place my table, and the steps served me for a
seat; and as soon as my dinner was served up a little bell was rung to
inform me I might sit down to table.

Between my repasts, when I did not either read or write or work at the
furnishing of my apartment, I went to walk in the burying-ground of the
Protestants, which served me as a courtyard. From this place I ascended
to a lanthorn which looked into the harbor, and from which I could see
the ships come in and go out. In this manner I passed fourteen days, and
should have thus passed the whole time of the quarantine without the
least weariness had not M. Joinville, envoy from France, to whom I found
means to send a letter, vinegared, perfumed, and half burnt, procured
eight days of the time to be taken off: these I went and spent at his
house, where I confess I found myself better lodged than in the
Lazaretto. He was extremely civil to me. Dupont, his secretary, was a
good creature: he introduced me, as well at Genoa as in the country, to
several families, the company of which I found very entertaining and
agreeable; and I formed with him an acquaintance and a correspondence
which we kept up for a considerable length of time. I continued my
journey, very agreeably, through Lombardy. I saw Milan, Verona, Brescie,
and Padua, and at length arrived at Venice, where I was impatiently
expected by the ambassador.

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