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

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




This undertaking of the 'Encyclopedie' was interrupted by his
imprisonment. The 'Pensees Philosophiquiest' drew upon him some
temporary inconvenience which had no disagreeable consequences. He did
not come off so easily on account of the 'Lettre sur les Aveugles',
--[Letter concerning blind persons.]--in which there was nothing
reprehensible, but some personal attacks with which Madam du Pre St.
Maur, and M. de Raumur were displeased: for this he was confined in the
dungeon of Vincennes. Nothing can describe the anguish I felt on account
of the misfortunes of my friend. My wretched imagination, which always
sees everything in the worst light, was terrified. I imagined him to be
confined for the remainder of his life. I was almost distracted with the
thought. I wrote to Madam de Pompadour, beseeching her to release him or
obtain an order to shut me up in the same dungeon. I received no answer
to my letter: this was too reasonable to be efficacious, and I do not
flatter myself that it contributed to the alleviation which, some time
afterwards, was granted to the severities of the confinement of poor
Diderot. Had this continued for any length of time with the same rigor,
I verily believe I should have died in despair at the foot of the hated
dungeon. However, if my letter produced but little effect, I did not on
account of it attribute to myself much merit, for I mentioned it but to
very few people, and never to Diderot himself.





THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903



BOOK VIII.


At the end of the preceding book a pause was necessary. With this begins
the long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin.

Having lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had,
notwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance. Among
others at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha, and
of the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M. de la Popliniere,
that of M. Seguy, friend to the Baron de Thun, and known in the literary
world by his beautiful edition of Rousseau. The baron invited M. Seguy
and myself to go and pass a day or two at Fontenai sous bois, where the
prince had a house. As I passed Vincennes, at the sight of the dungeon,
my feelings were acute; the effect of which the baron perceived on my
countenance. At supper the prince mentioned the confinement of Diderot.
The baron, to hear what I had to say, accused the prisoner of imprudence;
and I showed not a little of the same in the impetuous manner in which I
defended him. This excess of zeal, inspired by the misfortune which had
befallen my friend, was pardoned, and the conversation immediately
changed. There were present two Germans in the service of the prince.
M. Klupssel, a man of great wit, his chaplain, and who afterwards, having
supplanted the baron, became his governor. The other was a young man
named M. Grimm, who served him as a reader until he could obtain some
place, and whose indifferent appearance sufficiently proved the pressing
necessity he was under of immediately finding one. From this very
evening Klupssel and I began an acquaintance which soon led to
friendship. That with the Sieur Grimm did not make quite so rapid a
progress; he made but few advances, and was far from having that haughty
presumption which prosperity afterwards gave him. The next day at
dinner, the conversation turned upon music; he spoke well on the subject.
I was transported with joy when I learned from him he could play an
accompaniment on the harpsichord. After dinner was over music was
introduced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon on the
harpischord of the prince. Thus began that friendship which, at first,
was so agreeable to me, afterwards so fatal, and of which I shall
hereafter have so much to say.

At my return to Paris, I learned the agreeable news that Diderot was
released from the dungeon, and that he had on his parole the castle and
park of Vincennes for a prison, with permission to see his friends. How
painful was it to me not to be able instantly to fly to him! But I was
detained two or three days at Madam Dupin's by indispensable business.
After ages of impatience, I flew to the arms of my friend. He was not
alone: D' Alembert and the treasurer of the Sainte Chapelle were with
him. As I entered I saw nobody but himself, I made but one step, one
cry; I riveted my face to his: I pressed him in my arms, without speaking
to him, except by tears and sighs: I stifled him with my affection and
joy. The first thing he did, after quitting my arms, was to turn himself
towards the ecclesiastic, and say: "You see, sir, how much I am beloved
by my friends." My emotion was so great, that it was then impossible for
me to reflect upon this manner of turning it to advantage; but I have
since thought that, had I been in the place of Diderot, the idea he
manifested would not have been the first that would have occurred to me.

I found him much affected by his imprisonment. The dungeon had made a
terrible impression upon his mind, and, although he was very agreeably
situated in the castle, and at liberty to, walk where he pleased in the
park, which was not inclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of his
friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy. As I was the person
most concerned for his sufferings, I imagined I should also be the
friend, the sight of whom would give him consolation; on which account,
notwithstanding very pressing occupations, I went every two days at
farthest, either alone, or accompanied by his wife, to pass the afternoon
with him.

The heat of the summer was this year (1749) excessive. Vincennes is two
leagues from Paris. The state of my finances not permitting me to pay
for hackney coaches, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I went on foot,
when alone, and walked as fast as possible, that I might arrive the
sooner. The trees by the side of the road, always lopped, according to
the custom of the country, afforded but little shade, and exhausted by
fatigue, I frequently threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceed
any further. I thought a book in my hand might make me moderate my pace.
One day I took the Mercure de France, and as I walked and read, I came to
the following question proposed by the academy of Dijon, for the premium
of the ensuing year, 'Has the progress of sciences and arts contributed
to corrupt or purify morals?'

The moment I had read this, I seemed to behold another world, and became
a different man. Although I have a lively remembrance of the impression
it made upon me, the detail has escaped my mind, since I communicated it
to M. de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him. This is one of
the singularities of my memory which merits to be remarked. It serves me
in proportion to my dependence upon it; the moment I have committed to
paper that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I have no
sooner written a thing than I had forgotten it entirely. This
singularity is the same with respect to music. Before I learned the use
of notes I knew a great number of songs; the moment I had made a
sufficient progress to sing an air set to music, I could not recollect
any one of them; and, at present, I much doubt whether I should be able
entirely to go through one of those of which I was the most fond. All I
distinctly recollect upon this occasion is, that on my arrival at
Vincennes, I was in an agitation which approached a delirium. Diderot
perceived it; I told him the cause, and read to him the prosopopoeia of
Fabricius, written with a pencil under a tree. He encouraged me to
pursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for the premium. I did so,
and from that moment I was ruined.

All the rest of my misfortunes during my life were the inevitable effect
of this moment of error.

My sentiments became elevated with the most inconceivable rapidity to the
level of my ideas. All my little passions were stifled by the enthusiasm
of truth, liberty, and virtue; and, what is most astonishing, this
effervescence continued in my mind upwards of five years, to as great a
degree perhaps as it has ever done in that of any other man. I composed
the discourse in a very singular manner, and in that style which I have
always followed in my other works. I dedicated to it the hours of the
night in which sleep deserted me, I meditated in my bed with my eyes
closed, and in my mind turned over and over again my periods with
incredible labor and care; the moment they were finished to my
satisfaction, I deposited them in my memory, until I had an opportunity
of committing them to paper; but the time of rising and putting on my
clothes made me lose everything, and when I took up my pen I recollected
but little of what I had composed. I made Madam le Vasseur my secretary;
I had lodged her with her daughter, and husband, nearer to myself; and
she, to save me the expense of a servant, came every morning to make my
fire, and to do such other little things as were necessary. As soon as
she arrived I dictated to her while in bed what I had composed in the
night, and this method, which for a long time I observed, preserved me
many things I should otherwise have forgotten.

As soon as the discourse was finished, I showed it to Diderot. He was
satisfied with the production, and pointed out some corrections he
thought necessary to be made.

However, this composition, full of force and fire, absolutely wants logic
and order; of all the works I ever wrote, this is the weakest in
reasoning, and the most devoid of number and harmony. With whatever
talent a man may be born, the art of writing is not easily learned.

I sent off this piece without mentioning it to anybody, except, I think,
to Grimm, with whom, after his going to live with the Comte de Vriese, I
began to be upon the most intimate footing. His harpsichord served as a
rendezvous, and I passed with him at it all the moments I had to spare,
in singing Italian airs, and barcaroles; sometimes without intermission,
from morning till night, or rather from night until morning; and when I
was not to be found at Madam Dupin's, everybody concluded I was with
Grimm at his apartment, the public walk, or theatre. I left off going to
the Comedie Italienne, of which I was free, to go with him, and pay, to
the Comedie Francoise, of which he was passionately fond. In short, so
powerful an attraction connected me with this young man, and I became so
inseparable from him, that the poor aunt herself was rather neglected,
that is, I saw her less frequently; for in no moment of my life has my
attachment to her been diminished.

This impossibility of dividing, in favor of my inclinations, the little
time I had to myself, renewed more strongly than ever the desire I had
long entertained of having but one home for Theresa and myself; but the
embarrassment of her numerous family, and especially the want of money to
purchase furniture, had hitherto withheld me from accomplishing it. An
opportunity to endeavor at it presented itself, and of this I took
advantage. M. de Francueil and Madam Dupin, clearly perceiving that
eight or nine hundred livres a year were unequal to my wants, increased
of their own accord, my salary to fifty guineas; and Madam Dupin, having
heard I wished to furnish myself lodgings, assisted me with some articles
for that purpose. With this furniture and that Theresa already had, we
made one common stock, and, having an apartment in the Hotel de
Languedoc, Rue de Grevelle St, Honor, kept by very honest people, we
arranged ourselves in the best manner we could, and lived there peaceably
and agreeably during seven years, at the end of which I removed to go and
live at the Hermitage.

Theresa's father was a good old man, very mild in his disposition, and
much afraid of his wife; for this reason he had given her the surname of
Lieutenant Criminal, which Grimm, jocosely, afterwards transferred to the
daughter. Madam le Vasseur did not want sense, that is address; and
pretended to the politeness and airs of the first circles; but she had a
mysterious wheedling, which to me was insupportable, gave bad advice to
her daughter, endeavored to make her dissemble with me, and separately,
cajoled my friends at my expense, and that of each other; excepting these
circumstances; she was a tolerably good mother, because she found her
account in being so, and concealed the faults of her daughter to turn
them to her own advantage. This woman, who had so much of my care and
attention, to whom I made so many little presents, and by whom I had it
extremely at heart to make myself beloved, was, from the impossibility of
my succeeding in this wish, the only cause of the uneasiness I suffered
in my little establishment. Except the effects of this cause I enjoyed,
during these six or seven, years, the most perfect domestic happiness of
which human weakness is capable. The heart of my Theresa was that of an
angel; our attachment increased with our intimacy, and we were more and
more daily convinced how much we were made for each other. Could our
pleasures be described, their simplicity would cause laughter. Our
walks, tete-a-tete, on the outside of the city, where I magnificently
spent eight or ten sous in each guinguette.--[Ale-house]--Our little
suppers at my window, seated opposite to each other upon two little
chairs, placed upon a trunk, which filled up the spare of the embrasure.
In this situation the window served us as a table, we respired the fresh
air, enjoyed the prospect of the environs and the people who passed; and,
although upon the fourth story, looked down into the street as we ate.

Who can describe, and how few can feel, the charms of these repasts,
consisting of a quartern loaf, a few cherries, a morsel of cheese, and
half-a-pint of wine which we drank between us? Friendship, confidence,
intimacy, sweetness of disposition, how delicious are your reasonings!
We sometimes remained in this situation until midnight, and never thought
of the hour, unless informed of it by the old lady. But let us quit
these details, which are either insipid or laughable; I have always said
and felt that real enjoyment was not to be described.

Much about the same time I indulged in one not so delicate, and the last
of the kind with which I have to reproach myself. I have observed that
the minister Klupssel was an amiable man; my connections with him were
almost as intimate as those I had with Grimm, and in the end became as
familiar; Grimm and he sometimes eat at my apartment. These repasts, a
little more than simple, were enlivened by the witty and extravagant
wantonness of expression of Klupssel, and the diverting Germanicisms of
Grimm, who was not yet become a purist.

Sensuality did not preside at our little orgies, but joy, which was
preferable, reigned in them all, and we enjoyed ourselves so well
together that we knew not how to separate. Klupssel had furnished a
lodging for a little girl, who, notwithstanding this, was at the service
of anybody, because he could not support her entirely himself. One
evening as we were going into the coffee-house, we met him coming out to
go and sup with her. We rallied him; he revenged himself gallantly, by
inviting us to the same supper, and there rallying us in our turn. The
poor young creature appeared to be of a good disposition, mild and little
fitted to the way of life to which an old hag she had with her, prepared
her in the best manner she could. Wine and conversation enlivened us to
such a degree that we forgot ourselves. The amiable Klupssel was
unwilling to do the honors of his table by halves, and we all three
successively took a view of the next chamber, in company with his little
friend, who knew not whether she should laugh or cry. Grimm has always
maintained that he never touched her; it was therefore to amuse himself
with our impatience, that he remained so long in the other chamber, and
if he abstained, there is not much probability of his having done so from
scruple, because previous to his going to live with the Comte de Friese,
he lodged with girls of the town in the same quarter of St. Roch.

I left the Rue des Moineaux, where this girl lodged, as much ashamed as
Saint Preux left the house in which he had become intoxicated, and when I
wrote his story I well remembered my own. Theresa perceived by some
sign, and especially by my confusion, I had something with which I
reproached myself; I relieved my mind by my free and immediate
confession. I did well, for the next day Grimm came in triumph to relate
to her my crime with aggravation, and since that time he has never failed
maliciously to recall it to her recollection; in this he was the more
culpable, since I had freely and voluntarily given him my confidence, and
had a right to expect he would not make me repent of it. I never had a
more convincing proof than on this occasion, of the goodness of my
Theresa's heart; she was more shocked at the behavior of Grimm than at my
infidelity, and I received nothing from her but tender reproaches, in
which there was not the least appearance of anger.

The simplicity of mind of this excellent girl was equal to her goodness
of heart; and this is saying everything: but one instance of it, which is
present to my recollection, is worthy of being related. I had told her
Klupssel was a minister, and chaplain to the prince of Saxe-Gotha. A
minister was to her so singular a man, that oddly confounding the most
dissimilar ideas, she took it into her head to take Klupssel for the
pope; I thought her mad the first time she told me when I came in, that
the pope had called to see me. I made her explain herself and lost not a
moment in going to relate the story to Grimm and Klupssel, who amongst
ourselves never lost the name of pope. We gave to the girl in the Rue
des Moineaux the name of Pope Joan. Our laughter was incessant; it
almost stifled us. They, who in a letter which it hath pleased them to
attribute to me, have made me say I never laughed but twice in my life,
did not know me at this period, nor in my younger days; for if they had,
the idea could never have entered into their heads.

The year following (1750), not thinking more of my discourse; I learned
it had gained the premium at Dijon. This news awakened all the ideas
which had dictated it to me, gave them new animation, and completed the
fermentation of my heart of that first leaven of heroism and virtue which
my father, my country, and Plutarch had inspired in my infancy. Nothing
now appeared great in my eyes but to be free and virtuous, superior to
fortune and opinion, and independent of all exterior circumstances;
although a false shame, and the fear of disapprobation at first prevented
me from conducting myself according to these principles, and from
suddenly quarreling with the maxims of the age in which I lived, I from
that moment took a decided resolution to do it.--[And of this I purposely
delayed the execution, that irritated by contradiction f it might be
rendered triumphant.]

While I was philosophizing upon the duties of man, an event happened
which made me better reflect upon my own. Theresa became pregnant for
the third time. Too sincere with myself, too haughty in my mind to
contradict my principles by my actions, I began to examine the
destination of my children, and my connections with the mother, according
to the laws of nature, justice, and reason, and those of that religion,
pure, holy, and eternal, like its author, which men have polluted while
they pretended to purify it, and which by their formularies they have
reduced to a religion of words, since the difficulty of prescribing
impossibilities is but trifling to those by whom they are not practised.

If I deceived myself in my conclusions, nothing can be more astonishing
than the security with which I depended upon them. Were I one of those
men unfortunately born deaf to the voice of nature, in whom no sentiment
of justice or humanity ever took the least root, this obduracy would be
natural. But that warmth of heart, strong sensibility, and facility of
forming attachments; the force with which they subdue me; my cruel
sufferings when obliged to break them; the innate benevolence I cherished
towards my fellow-creatures; the ardent love I bear to great virtues, to
truth and justice, the horror in which I hold evil of every kind; the
impossibility of hating, of injuring or wishing to injure anyone; the
soft and lively emotion I feel at the sight of whatever is virtuous,
generous and amiable; can these meet in the same mind with the depravity
which without scruple treads under foot the most pleasing of all our
duties? No, I feel, and openly declare this to be impossible. Never in
his whole life could J. J. be a man without sentiment or an unnatural
father. I may have been deceived, but it is impossible I should have
lost the least of my feelings. Were I to give my reasons, I should say
too much; since they have seduced me, they would seduce many others. I
will not therefore expose those young persons by whom I may be read to
the same danger. I will satisfy myself by observing that my error was
such, that in abandoning my children to public education for want of the
means of bringing them up myself; in destining them to become workmen and
peasants, rather than adventurers and fortune-hunters, I thought I acted
like an honest citizen, and a good father, and considered myself as a
member of the republic of Plato. Since that time the regrets of my heart
have more than once told me I was deceived; but my reason was so far from
giving me the same intimation, that I have frequently returned thanks to
Heaven for having by this means preserved them from the fate of their
father, and that by which they were threatened the moment I should have
been under the necessity of leaving them. Had I left them to Madam
d'Upinay, or Madam de Luxembourg, who, from friendship, generosity, or
some other motive, offered to take care of them in due time, would they
have been more happy, better brought up, or honester men? To this I
cannot answer; but I am certain they would have been taught to hate and
perhaps betray their parents: it is much better that they have never
known them.

My third child was therefore carried to the foundling hospital as well as
the two former, and the next two were disposed of in the same manner; for
I have had five children in all. This arrangement seemed to me to be so
good, reasonable and lawful, that if I did not publicly boast of it, the
motive by which I was withheld was merely my regard for their mother: but
I mentioned it to all those to whom I had declared our connection, to
Diderot, to Grimm, afterwards to M. d'Epinay, and after another interval
to Madam de Luxembourg; and this freely and voluntarily, without being
under the least necessity of doing it, having it in my power to conceal
the step from all the world; for La Gouin was an honest woman, very
discreet, and a person on whom I had the greatest reliance. The only one
of my friends to whom it was in some measure my interest to open myself,
was Thierry the physician, who had the care of my poor aunt in one of her
lyings in, in which she was very ill. In a word, there was no mystery in
my conduct, not only on account of my never having concealed anything
from my friends, but because I never found any harm in it. Everything
considered, I chose the best destination for my children, or that which I
thought to be such. I could have wished, and still should be glad, had I
been brought up as they have been.

Whilst I was thus communicating what I had done, Madam. le Vasseur did
the same thing amongst her acquaintance, but with less disinterested
views. I introduced her and her daughter to Madam Dupin, who, from
friendship to me, showed them the greatest kindness. The mother confided
to her the secret of the daughter. Madam Dupin, who is generous and
kind, and to whom she never told how attentive I was to her,
notwithstanding my moderate resources, in providing for everything,
provided on her part for what was necessary, with a liberality which, by
order of her mother, the daughter concealed from me during my residence
in Paris, nor ever mentioned it until we were at the Hermitage, when she
informed me of it, after having disclosed to me several other secrets of
her heart. I did not know Madam Dupin, who never took the least notice
to me of the matter, was so well informed: I know not yet whether Madam
de Chenonceaux, her daughter-in-law, was as much in the secret: but Madam
de Brancueil knew the whole and could not refrain from prattling. She
spoke of it to me the following year, after I had left her house. This
induced me to write her a letter upon the subject, which will be found in
my collections, and wherein I gave such of my reasons as I could make
public, without exposing Madam le Vasseur and her family; the most
determinative of them came from that quarter, and these I kept profoundly
secret.

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