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

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My carriage was inconvenient and uncomfortable, and I was too much
indisposed to go far in a day. My appearance besides was not
sufficiently distinguished for me to be well served, and in France
post-horses feel the whip in proportion to the favorable opinion the
postillion has of his temporary master. By paying the guides generously
thought I should make up for my shabby appearance: this was still worse.
They took me for a worthless fellow who was carrying orders, and, for the
first time in my life, travelling post. From that moment I had nothing
but worn-out hacks, and I became the sport of the postillions. I ended
as I should have begun by being patient, holding my tongue, and suffering
myself to be driven as my conductors thought proper.

I had sufficient matter of reflection to prevent me from being weary on
the road, employing myself in the recollection of that which had just
happened; but this was neither my turn of mind nor the inclination of my
heart. The facility with which I forget past evils, however recent they
may be, is astonishing. The remembrance of them becomes feeble, and,
sooner or later, effaced, in the inverse proportion to the greater degree
of fear with which the approach of them inspires me. My cruel
imagination, incessantly tormented by the apprehension of evils still at
a distance, diverts my attention, and prevents me from recollecting those
which are past. Caution is needless after the evil has happened, and it
is time lost to give it a thought. I, in some measure, put a period to
my misfortunes before they happen: the more I have suffered at their
approach the greater is the facility with which I forget them; whilst, on
the contrary, incessantly recollecting my past happiness, I, if I may so
speak, enjoy it a second time at pleasure. It is to this happy
disposition I am indebted for an exemption from that ill humor which
ferments in a vindictive mind, by the continual remembrance of injuries
received, and torments it with all the evil it wishes to do its enemy.
Naturally choleric, I have felt all the force of anger, which in the
first moments has sometimes been carried to fury, but a desire of
vengeance never took root within me. I think too little of the offence
to give myself much trouble about the offender. I think of the injury I
have received from him on account of that he may do me a second time, but
were I certain he would never do me another the first would be instantly
forgotten. Pardon of offences is continually preached to us. I knew not
whether or not my heart would be capable of overcoming its hatred, for it
never yet felt that passion, and I give myself too little concern about
my enemies to have the merit of pardoning them. I will not say to what a
degree, in order to torment me, they torment themselves. I am at their
mercy, they have unbounded power, and make of it what use they please.
There is but one thing in which I set them at defiance: which is in
tormenting themselves about me, to force me to give myself the least
trouble about them.

The day after my departure I had so perfectly forgotten what had passed,
the parliament, Madam de Pompadour, M. de Choiseul, Grimm, and
D'Alembert, with their conspiracies, that had not it been for the
necessary precautions during the journey I should have thought no more of
them. The remembrance of one thing which supplied the place of all these
was what I had read the evening before my departure. I recollect, also,
the pastorals of Gessner, which his translator Hubert had sent me a
little time before. These two ideas occurred to me so strongly, and were
connected in such a manner in my mind, that I was determined to endeavor
to unite them by treating after the manner of Gessner, the subject of the
Levite of Ephraim. His pastoral and simple style appeared to me but
little fitted to so horrid a subject, and it was not to be presumed the
situation I was then in would furnish me with such ideas as would enliven
it. However, I attempted the thing, solely to amuse myself in my
cabriolet, and without the least hope of success. I had no sooner begun
than I was astonished at the liveliness of my ideas, and the facility
with which I expressed them. In three days I composed the first three
cantos of the little poem I finished at Motiers, and I am certain of not
having done anything in my life in which there is a more interesting
mildness of manners, a greater brilliancy of coloring, more simple
delineations, greater exactness of proportion, or more antique simplicity
in general, notwithstanding the horror of the subject which in itself is
abominable, so that besides every other merit I had still that of a
difficulty conquered. If the Levite of Ephraim be not the best of my
works, it will ever be that most esteemed. I have never read, nor shall
I ever read it again without feeling interiorly the applause of a heart
without acrimony, which, far from being embittered by misfortunes, is
susceptible of consolation in the midst of them, and finds within itself
a resource by which they are counterbalanced. Assemble the great
philosophers, so superior in their books to adversity which they do not
suffer, place them in a situation similar to mine, and, in the first
moments of the indignation of their injured honor, give them a like work
to compose, and it will be seen in what manner they will acquit
themselves of the task.

When I set of from Montmorency to go into Switzerland, I had resolved to
stop at Yverdon, at the house of my old friend Roguin, who had several
years before retired to that place, and had invited me to go and see him.
I was told Lyons was not the direct road, for which reason I avoided
going through it. But I was obliged to pass through Besancon, a
fortified town, and consequently subject to the same inconvenience. I
took it into my head to turn about and to go to Salins, under the
pretense of going to see M. de Marian, the nephew of M. Dupin, who had an
employment at the salt-works, and formerly had given me many invitations
to his house. The expedition succeeded: M. de Marian was not in the
way, and, happily, not being obliged to stop, I continued my journey
without being spoken to by anybody.

The moment I was within the territory of Berne, I ordered the postillion
to stop; I got out of my carriage, prostrated myself, kissed the ground,
and exclaimed in a transport of joy: "Heaven, the protector of virtue be
praised, I touch a land of liberty!" Thus blind and unsuspecting in my
hopes, have I ever been passionately attached to that which was to make
me unhappy. The man thought me mad. I got into the carriage, and a few
hours afterwards I had the pure and lively satisfaction of feeling myself
pressed within the arms of the respectable Rougin. Ah! let me breathe
for a moment with this worthy host! It is necessary I should gain
strength and courage before I proceed further. I shall soon find that in
my way which will give employment to them both. It is not without reason
that I have been diffuse in the recital of all the circumstances I have
been able to recollect. Although they may seem uninteresting, yet, when
once the thread of the conspiracy is got hold of, they may throw some
light upon the progress of it; and, for instance, without giving the
first idea of the problem I am going to propose, afford some aid in
solving it.

Suppose that, for the execution of the conspiracy of which I was the
object, my absence was absolutely necessary, everything tending to that
effect could not have happened otherwise than it did; but if without
suffering myself to be alarmed by the nocturnal embassy of Madam de
Luxembourg, I had continued to hold out, and, instead of remaining at the
castle, had returned to my bed and quietly slept until morning, should I
have equally had an order of arrest made out against me? This is a great
question upon which the solution of many others depends, and for the
examination of it, the hour of the comminatory decree of arrest, and that
of the real decree may be remarked to advantage. A rude but sensible
example of the importance of the least detail in the exposition of facts,
of which the secret causes are sought for to discover them by induction.





THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903



BOOK XII.


With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last
eight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible
for me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into
which I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the
hand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and
misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of
my heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a man
who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the
inconceivable art of rendering the public unknown to itself, or without
its perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.
Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the
treatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not
be able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor
assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes are
all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am
interested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible
for me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different causes
are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst my
readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine the
mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully read
over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each fact he
shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain such
information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to
intrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of
all. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I
lose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which
his steps must be directed.

During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my
friend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,
and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed,
I formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle
and his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,
delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition.
I conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.
The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man
already verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of
great esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set
upon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and I
was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great
disproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made
me join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was at
length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,
his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has
made him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has
not yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the
certainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the
most pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,
but in advising for the best.

I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at
Geneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,
and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been
given at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the
republic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second
decree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I
refused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were
well confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every law,
beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest confusion
in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears; everything remained
quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace, it was unfavorable
to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips and pedants like a
scholar threatened with a flogging for not having said his catechism.

These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised
against me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the
gazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French
especially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much pique
themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the
unfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized
themselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while
each seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me.
I was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The
continuator of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of
extravagance in attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means
proof of his own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was
afraid of incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work
of any kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain
the cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe
the world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the
'Perpetual Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the
Savoyard Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the
author of 'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have
been had I published the 'Treatise de l'Esprit', or any similar work?
And yet, in the storm raised against the author of that book, the public,
far from joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by
eulogium. Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with,
and the treatment of the two authors in the different countries of
Europe, be compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to,
a man of sense be found, and I will ask no more.

I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield to
the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous of
keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,
encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The
colonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion
he had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied
with his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything
necessary for my little household establishment.

The banneret Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most assiduous
attention, did not leave me for an instant during the whole day. I was
much flattered by his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The
day on which I was to take possession of my new habitation was already
fixed, and I had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm
was raised against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but
I have never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited
against me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer
me to remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was
informed of the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the
members of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,
and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under
oppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their
states. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had
rather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However
this may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the blow.
Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to me, he
gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its
arrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know
where to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and
foreseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its
neighbor.

Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited
but completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village
of Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had
only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more
opportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally
be sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve as a
pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that moment
to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me hesitate.
The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly subject,
added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me with an
aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct, seemed to
tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of humanity.
Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my alcove at
Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a distich, the
last line of which was as follows:

Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.

[He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king.]


This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,
from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the verse
by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody who
came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de Lorenzy
had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had no doubt
but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to the prince.
I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in 'Emilius', where
under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it was clearly seen
whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped critics, because Madam
de Boufflers had several times mentioned the subject to me. I was,
therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink in the registers of the
King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his majesty to have the
principles I had dared to attribute to him, he, for that reason, could
not but be displeased with my writings and their author; for everybody
knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants have never failed to
conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on reading my works,
without being acquainted with my person.

However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far
from thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves to
the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong minds,
such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of
reigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this
occasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I
thought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance
his love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage
of circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man who
had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.
I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I
imagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean
Jacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below
the General of the Volsci?

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing
me at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam
Girardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very
convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with
a good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I eat with her
until Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a
fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to me
and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I
felt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and
that what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would in
future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my
misfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief
would add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she
would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of
feeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,
she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was
driven by fate.

I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of my poor
mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and whatever
pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to me, I will
not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an error, if an
involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one. I had long
perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no longer for
me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the more
sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the same
inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma, and this
effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for
perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing with
any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,
however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my heart at
ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had neglected
duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse at length
became so strong that it almost forced from me a public confession of my
fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage is so clear, that
it is astonishing any person should, after reading it, have had the
courage to reproach me with my error. My situation was however still the
same, or something worse, by the animosity of my enemies, who sought to
find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and unwilling to run the risk,
I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to a similar mortification.
I had besides remarked that a connection with women was prejudicial to my
health; this double reason made me form resolutions to which I had but
sometimes badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had more
constantly adhered to them. It was in this interval I had remarked
Theresa's coolness; she had the same attachment to me from duty, but not
the least from love. Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable,
and I imagined that, certain of the continuation of my cares wherever she
might be, she would choose to stay at Paris rather than to wander with
me. Yet she had given such signs of grief at our parting, had required
of me such positive promises that we should meet again, and, since my
departure, had expressed to the Prince de Conti and M. de Luxembourg so
strong a desire of it, that, far from having the courage to speak to her
of separation, I scarcely had enough to think of it myself; and after
having felt in my heart how impossible it was for me to do without her,
all I thought of afterwards was to recall her to me as soon as possible.
I wrote to her to this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two months
since I had quitted her; but it was our first separation after a union of
so many years. We had both of us felt it most cruelly. What emotion in
our first embrace! O how delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy!
How does my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to shed them
more frequently?

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of Scotland
and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the states of
his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He answered
me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had expected from
him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet, lord of the
manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his excellency.
The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous Scotchman,
powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began between him and
me the strong attachment, which on my part still remains the same, and
would be so on his, had not the traitors, who have deprived me of all the
consolation of life, taken advantage of my absence to deceive his old age
and depreciate me in his esteem.

George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous
General Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had
quitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account of
his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he soon
became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked in the
ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time in Spain,
the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attached
himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King of Prussia,
who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His majesty
received a great return for this reception, in the services rendered him
by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious, the sincere
friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy man, haughty
and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of friendship, but
to this it was so obedient, that with very different maxims he saw
nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him. The king
charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, to
Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years, let him
retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful employment of
passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the inhabitants
happy.

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