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

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The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to
distinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.
When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they
mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his
laconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,
wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to
flatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the
minister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having
been unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the
usurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the
part, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur had
not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the prejudices
with which he was inspired by others, and of all the imputations brought
against him it was the most devoid of truth. My first sentiment on
seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender commiseration, on
account of his extreme leanness of body, years having already left him
little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my eyes to his animated,
open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled with confidence, which
absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the very short compliment I
made him when I first came into his presence by speaking of something
else, as if I had already been a week in his house. He did not bid us
sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the manor, remained
standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine and piercing eye
of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling myself entirely
at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side upon the sofa. By
the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived the liberty I took
gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This is not a
Neuchatelois.

Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the
heart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by
his attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to
see me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there
two days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each
other that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,
where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there at
least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and then
returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my host. The
emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage to
Raubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more pleasing than
that with which I approached Columbier.

What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while
thinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming
philosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he
called me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea
of the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the
want we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.
He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and
for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I
lodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my
ease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my
life to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards
spoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father!
How is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous
wretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your
friendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,
who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.
My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is
still a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,
and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to
be deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular
and foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people
he sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect
it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice
and not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes
into his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,
desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal
application to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave
him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On
receiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission to
the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a
language which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of
my lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered
him still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had
proofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did
it affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions, yet in
his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his manners in
general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a matter of no
great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier being too long
for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by setting off after
dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The landlord of the
house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlin a favor
of importance to him, begged I would request his excellency to ask it in
his behalf. "Most willingly," said I, and took him with me. I left him
in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter to his lordship, who
returned me no answer. After passing with him the whole morning, I saw
as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz, who was fatigued to
death with waiting. Thinking the governor had forgotten what I had said
to him, I again spoke of the business before we sat down to table, but
still received no answer. I thought this manner of making me feel I was
importunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man in waiting, held my
tongue. On my return the next day I was much surprised at the thanks he
returned me for the good dinner his excellency had given him after
receiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lordship sent him the
rescript he had solicited, dispatched by the minister, and signed by the
king, and this without having said a word either to myself or Sandoz
concerning the business, about which I thought he did not wish to give
himself the least concern.

I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my
recollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my
life, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of
heart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was
impossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that in
future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving
them a regular arrangement.

I was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of my
asylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom, as
it will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king not
only approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must relate
everything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, rather
embarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute it
properly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money into
provisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish me
with wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added,
and perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me a
little house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would fix
upon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the last
offer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without accepting
either, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector, and became
so sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I interested myself
as much in his glory as until then I had thought his successes unjust.
At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by an illumination in
a very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with which I decorated
the house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I had the vindictive
haughtiness to spend almost as much money as he had wished to give me.
The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the highest pinnacle of
military and political fame, he would think of acquiring that of another
nature, by reanimating his states, encouraging in them commerce and
agriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with a new people,
maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming the arbitrator,
after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a situation to sheath
his sword without danger, certain that no sovereign would oblige him
again to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was afraid he would
profit but little by the advantages he had gained, and that he would be
great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon the subject, and with
a familiarity of a nature to please men of his character, conveying to
him the sacred voice of truth, which but few kings are worthy to hear.
The liberty I took was a secret between him and myself. I did not
communicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I sent my letter to the
king sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch without asking what
it contained. His majesty returned me no answer and the marshal going
soon after to Berlin, the king told him he had received from me a
scolding. By this I understood my letter had been ill received, and the
frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the rusticity of a pedant.
In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps I did not say what was
necessary, nor in the manner proper to the occasion. All I can answer
for is the sentiment which induced me to take up the pen.

Shortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possible
assurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took the
Armenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it.
I had formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, where
the frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made me
more clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience of
an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had at
Montmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress,
troubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet,
before I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion of
M. de Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination.
I therefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of the
storm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it until
I should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months afterwards
that, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could properly,
and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers, especially
after having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me I might wear
it even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the waistcoat,
caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this dress attended
divine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to visit his
lordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner made me no
other compliment than that which consisted in saying "Salaam aliakum,"
i.e., "Peace be with you;" the common Turkish salutation; after which
nothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my new
dress.

Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading a
quiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I have
never felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction; my
imagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up my
attention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seated
opposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue, is
the only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking and
rambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet and
eyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of the
weather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment each
other, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live like a
savage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the women,
I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat down to
work at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the better
support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time with my
female neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very amiable
and not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois, daughter
of the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as to induce
me to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from which she
derived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and the services
she received from me on occasions of importance, so that now a worthy and
virtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to me for her
reason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I received
from her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy winter,
through out the whole of which when my sufferings were most cruel, she
came to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she made very short
for us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual openness of heart.
She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and these names, which we
still give to each other, will, I hope, continue to be as dear to her as
they are to me. That my laces might be of some utility, I gave them to
my young female friends at their marriages, upon condition of their
suckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had one upon these
terms, and well deserved it by her observance of them; Isabella herself
also received another, which, by intention she as fully merited. She has
not been happy enough to be able to pursue her inclination. When I sent
the laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of them a letter; the first
has been shown about in the world; the second has not the same celebrity:
friendship proceeds with less noise.

Amongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will not
enter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had a
house upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was not
anxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon bad
terms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet,
as he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under the
necessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimes
dined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. du
Perou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his name
over in silence.

M. du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whose
successor, M. le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left a
widow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of her
second husband.

Du Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother, had
been carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him. He
had acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself
upon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance,
yellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored this
opinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered
his motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond of
disputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad.
I was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker, a
man of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a friend.
He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the least
compliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had already
formed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and still
less of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said was
just. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neither
the elevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but he
had all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. I
did not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment from
esteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totally
forgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich.

For a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go to
Neuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury.
Why did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness upon
which I must not be silent.

Although protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while I
avoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of the
public, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happened
in France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would have
been afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by not
imitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers of
that city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of state
against me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressed
themselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited my
book, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying,
that had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been suffered
to do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupid
hypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animated
the people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from setting
forth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live at
Motiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have measured
me the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear price. They
would have it that I was obliged to them for the protection the king
granted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to deprive me of
it. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all the injury
they could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power, they made a
merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in suffering me
to stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their vain efforts,
but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had the weakness to be
unwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded for almost two years,
as if it was not doing too much honor to such wretches, to pay attention
to their proceedings, which, good or bad, could not be imputed to them,
because they never act but from a foreign impulse. Besides, minds
without sense or knowledge, whose objects of esteem are influence, power
and money, and far from imagining even that some respect is due to
talents, and that it is dishonorable to injure and insult them.

A certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had been
deprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, the
husband of Isabella: "I am told this Rousseau has great wit,--bring him
to me that I may see whether he has or not." The disapprobation of such
a man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls.

After the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even at
Neuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had,
however, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he had
given me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer is
indiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after my
solemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestant
country, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as in
the duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion into
which I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the other
hand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing myself to a
refusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the tumult excited
at Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe (the ministers),
he would, without difficulty administer to me the sacrament in his
church. The time of communion approaching, I wrote to M. de Montmollin,
the minister, to prove to him my desire of communicating, and declaring
myself heartily united to the Protestant church; I also told him, in
order to avoid disputing upon articles of faith, that I would not hearken
to any particular explanation of the point of doctrine. After taking
these steps I made myself easy, not doubting but M. de Montmollin would
refuse to admit me without the preliminary discussion to which I refused
to consent, and that in this manner everything would be at an end without
any fault of mine. I was deceived: when I least expected anything of the
kind, M. de Montmollin came to declare to me not only that he admitted me
to the communion under the condition which I had proposed, but that he
and the elders thought themselves much honored by my being one of their
flock. I never in my whole life felt greater surprise or received from
it more consolation. Living always alone and unconnected, appeared to me
a melancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so many
proscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be able
to say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to the
communion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears of
tenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him to
whose table I was drawing near.

Sometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam de
Boufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means of
D'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, the
first this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency,
she rebuked me severely for having written to M. de Montmollin, and
especially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meant
by her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declared
myself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollande
without incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me
diverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct my
conscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of the
purity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and I
answered her without anger, stating to her my reasons.

Calumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benign
authors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly.
For my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without giving
myself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was a
censure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could the
Sorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to a
certainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was not
one. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of what
consequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singular
care, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this
publication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne, by
way of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the case.
But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all I could
bring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have been
better placed in a madhouse than they were in the college.

I was more affected by another publication, because it came from a man
for whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though I
pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by the
archbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty I
owed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;
the case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I had
always detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I never
combat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must be
certain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I had
no doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although they
were at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old principle of
crushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow my ancient
maxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work which I
think I did completely.

I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wanting
to determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means of
subsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my old
projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my household
arrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale or
squandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since my
departure. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished.
Two or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without my
having the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literary
pursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned.
Persuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that the
public, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, all
my endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolution
should take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a resource
from amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect I took
up my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far advanced as
to leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My books which
I had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my papers sent me
by the same conveyance, furnished me with the means of beginning my
memoirs to which I was determined to give my whole attention. I began by
transcribing the letters into a book, by which my memory might be guided
in the order of fact and time. I had already selected those I intended
to keep for this purpose, and for ten years the series was not
interrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I found an
interruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six months,
from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put into my
selection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d' Epinay,
Madam de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were missing.
What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon my papers
whilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was not
conceivable, and I had seen M. de Luxembourg take the key of the chamber
in which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, and
all those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had been
under the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be put
in order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked them
over for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those which
ought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I perceived
the vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly been taken
away. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could not
comprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and at
the time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could not
be interesting to any person. They contained nothing more than
cavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendship
from M. de Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was then
upon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? To
what use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwards
that I suspected the nature of the theft. The deficiency being no longer
doubtful, I looked over my rough drafts to see whether or not it was the
only one. I found several, which on account of the badness of my memory,
made me suppose others in the multitude of my papers. Those I remarked
were that of the 'Morale Sensitive', and the extract of the adventures of
Lord Edward. The last, I confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg.
La Roche, her valet de chambre, had sent me the papers, and I could think
of nobody but herself to whom this fragment could be of consequence; but
what concern could the other give her, any more than the rest of the
letters missing, with which, even with evil intentions, nothing to my
prejudice could be done, unless they were falsified? As for the
marechal, with whose friendship for me, and invariable integrity, I was
perfectly acquainted, I never could suspect him for a moment. The most
reasonable supposition, after long tormenting my mind in endeavoring to
discover the author of the theft, that which imputed it to D'Alembert,
who, having thrust himself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, might
have found means to turn over these papers, and take from amongst them
such manuscripts and letters as he might have thought proper, either for
the purpose of endeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or to
appropriate those he should find useful to his own private purposes. I
imagined that, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might have
supposed it to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with
which he would have armed himself against me in a manner easy to be
imagined. Certain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketch
and determined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me
but little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand had
committed upon me without having complained of these pilferings.

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