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

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




Though my conversation was not very sincere, I was affected by his
discourses, and far from being weary, was pleased with them on account of
their clearness and simplicity, but above all because his heart seemed
interested in what he said. My disposition is naturally tender, I have
ever been less attached to people for the good they have really done me
than for that they designed to do, and my feelings in this particular
have seldom misled me: thus I truly esteemed M. Gaime. I was in a manner
his second disciple, which even at that time was of inestimable service
in turning me from a propensity to vice into which my idleness was
leading me.

One day, when I least expected it, I was sent for by the Count de la
Roque. Having frequently called at his house, without being able to
speak with him, I grew weary, and supposing he had either forgot me or
retained some unfavorable impression of me, returned no more: but I was
mistaken in both these conjectures. He had more than once witnessed the
pleasure I took in fulfilling my duty to his aunt: he had even mentioned
it to her, and afterwards spoke of it, when I no longer thought of it
myself.

He received me graciously, saying that instead of amusing me with useless
promises, he had sought to place me to advantage; that he had succeeded,
and would put me in a way to better my situation, but the rest must
depend on myself. That the family into which he should introduce me
being both powerful and esteemed, I should need no other patrons; and
though at first on the footing of a servant, I might be assured, that if
my conduct and sentiments were found above that station, I should not
long remain in it. The end of this discourse cruelly disappointed the
brilliant hopes the beginning had inspired. "What! forever a footman?"
said I to myself, with a bitterness which confidence presently effaced,
for I felt myself too superior to that situation to fear long remaining
there.

He took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, and
Chief of the illustrious House of Solar. The air of dignity conspicuous
in this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which he
received me yet more interesting. He questioned me with evident
interest, and I replied with sincerity. He then told the Count de la
Roque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which he
believed I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time must
show the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, "Child, almost all
situations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours,
however, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, and
endeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment;
for the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of." Immediately
after he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whom
he presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son. I was elated
with this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude,
that so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of a
footman. In fact, I was not treated like one. I dined at the steward's
table; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth)
having commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered that
I should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house.
Meantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of a
footman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without being
appointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters,
which were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Count
de Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time. This trial of my
discretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous,
and not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might have
contracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into.
Fortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained the
lessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and I
sometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition of
them. I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, had
no conception of my business. Nothing could be more prudent than the
advice he gave me respecting my conduct. My beginning was admirable; so
much attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone. The Abby
Gaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, and
that relaxation should be considered as neglect. "Your setting out,"
said he, "is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor gradually
to increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish them."

As they paid but little attention to my trifling talents, and supposed I
possessed no more than nature had given me, there was no appearance
(notwithstanding the promises of Count de Gauvon) of my meeting with any
particular consideration. Some objects of more consequence had
intervened. The Marquis de Breil, son of the Count de Gauvon, was then
ambassador at Vienna; some circumstances had occurred at that court which
for some weeks kept the family in continual agitation, and left them no
time to think of me. Meantime I had relaxed but little in my attentions,
though one object in the family did me both good and harm, making me more
secure from exterior dissipation, but less attentive to my duty.

Mademoiselle de Breil was about my own age, tolerably handsome, and very
fair complexioned, with black hair, which notwithstanding, gave her
features that air of softness so natural to the flaxen, and which my
heart could never resist. The court dress, so favorable to youth, showed
her fine neck and shape to advantage, and the mourning, which was then
worn, seemed to add to her beauty. It will be said, a domestic should
not take notice of these things; I was certainly to blame, yet I
perceived all this, nor was I the only one; the maitre d' hotel and valet
de chambre spoke of her sometimes at table with a vulgarity that pained
me extremely. My head, however, was not sufficiently turned to allow of
my being entirely in love; I did not forget myself, or my situation.
I loved to see Mademoiselle de Breil; to hear her utter anything that
marked wit, sense, or good humor: my ambition, confined to a desire of
waiting on her, never exceeded its just rights. At table I was ever
attentive to make the most of them; if her footman quitted her chair,
I instantly supplied his place; in default of this, I stood facing her,
seeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and watching the
moment to change her plate. What would I not have given to hear her
command, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me! but no,
I had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not even
perceive I was there. Her brother, who frequently spoke to me while at
table, having one day said something which I did not consider obliging,
I made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her attention;
she cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient to fill me with
transport. The next day, a second occasion presented itself, which I
fortunately made use of. A great dinner was given; and I saw, with
astonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting at table,
with a sword by his side, and hat on his head. By chance, the discourse
turned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms,
worked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'. As the Piedmontese
are not in general very perfect in the French language, they found fault
with the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no
't'. The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to cast
his eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything;
he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion. I then said, I did not
think the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French word, not derived
from the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from the verb 'ferit', he
strikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, some
threat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'. The whole company fixed
their eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never was
a greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an air
of satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle de
Breil. This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at least
as valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared to
wait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which he
fully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerly
chorused by the whole table. This interval was short, but delightful in
many respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, which
place things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for the
injuries of fortune. Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil again
raised her eyes, desiring me with a voice of timid affability to give her
some drink. It will easily be supposed I did not let her wait, but
advancing towards her, I was seized with such a trembling, that having
filled the glass too full, I spilled some of the water on her plate,
and even on herself. Her brother asked me, giddily, why I trembled thus?
This question increased my confusion, while the face of Mademoiselle de
Breil was suffused with a crimson blush.

Here ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile,
and others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate in
the conclusion of my amours. In vain I placed myself in the antechamber
of Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from her
daughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I the
confidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, that
one day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing and
covering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare to
quit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of a
footman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness.
To complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to please
Madam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, my
services; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly,
"If I had nothing to do?" I was obliged, therefore, to renounce this
dear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other things
intervening, I presently thought no more of it.

The disdain of Madam de Breil was fully compensated by the kindness of
her father-in-law, who at length began to think of me. The evening after
the entertainment, I have already mentioned, he had a conversation with
me that lasted half an hour, which appeared to satisfy him, and
absolutely enchanted me. This good man had less sense than Madam de
Vercellis, but possessed more feeling; I therefore succeeded much better
with him. He bade me attach myself to his son, the Abbe Gauvon, who had
an esteem for me, which, if I took care to cultivate, might be
serviceable in furnishing me with what was necessary to complete their
views for my future establishment. The next morning I flew to M. the
Abbe, who did not receive me as a servant, but made me sit by his
fireside, and questioned me with great affability. He soon found that my
education, which had attempted many things, had completed none; but
observing that I understood something of Latin, he undertook to teach me
more, and appointed me to attend him every morning. Thus, by one of the
whimsicalities which have marked the whole course of my life, at once
above and below my natural situation, I was pupil and footman in the same
house: and though in servitude, had a preceptor whose birth entitled him
to supply that place only to the children of kings.

The Abbe de Gauvon was a younger son, and designed by his family for a
bishopric, for which reason his studies had been pursued, further than is
usual with people of quality. He had been sent to the university of
Sienna, where he had resided some years, and from whence he had brought a
good portion of cruscantism, designing to be that at Turin which the Abbe
de Dangeau was formerly at Paris. Being disgusted with theology, he gave
in to the belle-lettres, which is very frequent in Italy, with those who
have entered the career of prelacy. He had studied the poets, and wrote
tolerable Latin and Italian verses; in a word, his taste was calculated
to form mine, and give some order to that chaos of insignificant trash
with which my brain was encumbered; but whether my prating had misled
him, or that he could not support the trouble of teaching the elementary
parts of Latin, he put me at first too high; and I had scarcely
translated a few fables of Phoedrus before he put me into Virgil, where I
could hardly understand anything. It will be seen hereafter that I was
destined frequently to learn Latin, but never to attain it. I labored
with assiduity, and the abbe bestowed his attention with a degree of
kindness, the remembrance of which, even at this time, both interests and
softens me. I passed the greater part of the morning with him as much
for my own instruction as his service; not that he ever permitted me to
perform any menial office, but to copy, or write from his dictating; and
my employment of secretary was more useful than that of scholar, and by
this means I not only learned the Italian in its utmost purity, but also
acquired a taste for literature, and some discernment of composition,
which could not have been at La Tribu's, and which was useful to me when
I afterwards wrote alone.

At this period of my life, without being romantic, I might reasonably
have indulged the hope of preferment. The abbe, thoroughly pleased with
me, expressed his satisfaction to everyone, while his father had such a
singular affection for me, that I was assured by the Count de Favria,
that he had spoken of me to the king; even Madam de Breil had laid aside
her disdainful looks; in short I was a general favorite, which gave great
jealousy to the other servants, who seeing me honored by the instructions
of their master's son, were persuaded I should not remain their equal.

As far as I could judge by some words dropped at random, and which I
reflected on afterwards, it appeared to me, that the House of Solar,
wishing to run the career of embassies, and hoping perhaps in time to
arrive at the ministry, wished to provide themselves with a person of
merit and talents, who depending entirely on them, might obtain their
confidence, and be of essential service. This project of the Count de
Gauvon was judicious, magnanimous, and truly worthy of a powerful
nobleman, equally provident and generous; but besides my not seeing, at
that time, its full extent, it was far too rational for my brain, and
required too much confinement.

My ridiculous ambition sought for fortune in the midst of brilliant
adventures, and not finding one woman in all this scheme, it appeared
tedious, painful and melancholy; though I should rather have thought it
more honorable on this account, as the species of merit generally
patronized by women is certainly less worthy that I was supposed to
possess.

Everything succeeded to my wish: I had obtained, almost forced, the
esteem of all; the trial was over, and I was universally considered as a
young man with flattering prospects, who was not at present in his proper
sphere, but was expected soon to reach it; but my place was not assigned
me by man, and I was to reach it by very difficult paths. I now come to
one of those characteristic traits, which are so natural to me, and
which, indeed, the reader might have observed without this reflection.

There were at Turin several new converts of my own stamp, whom I neither
liked nor wish to see; but I had met with some Genevese who were not of
this description, and among others a M. Mussard, nicknamed Wryneck, a
miniature painter, and a distant relation. This M. Mussard, having
learned my situation at the Count de Gauvon's, came to see me, with
another Genevese, named Bacle, who had been my comrade during my
apprenticeship. This Bacle was a very sprightly, amusing young fellow,
full of lively sallies, which at his time of life appeared extremely
agreeable. At once, then, behold me delighted with M. Bacle; charmed to
such a degree that I found it impossible to quit him. He was shortly to
depart for Geneva; what a loss had I to sustain! I felt the whole force
of it, and resolving to make the best use of this precious interval, I
determined not to leave him, or, rather, he never quitted me, for my head
was not yet sufficiently turned to think of quitting the house without
leave, but it was soon perceived that he engrossed my whole time, and he
was accordingly forbid the house. This so incensed me, that forgetting
everything but my friend Bacle, I went neither to the abbe nor the count,
and was no longer to be found at home. I paid no attention to repeated
reprimands, and at length was threatened with dismissal. This threat was
my ruin, as it suggested the idea that it was not absolutely necessary
that Bacle should depart alone. From that moment I could think of no
other pleasure, no other situation or happiness than taking this journey.
To render the felicity still more complete, at the end of it (though at
an immense distance) I pictured to myself Madam de Warrens; for as to
returning to Geneva, it never entered into my imagination. The hills,
fields, brooks and villages, incessantly succeeded each other with new
charms, and this delightful jaunt seemed worthy to absorb my whole
existence. Memory recalled, with inexpressible pleasure, how charming
the country had appeared in coming to Turin; what then must it be, when,
to the pleasure of independence, should be added the company of a
good-humored comrade of my own age and disposition, without any
constraint or obligation, but free to go or stay as we pleased? Would
it not be madness to sacrifice the prospect of so much felicity to
projects of ambition, slow and difficult in their execution, and
uncertain in their event? But even supposing them realized, and in
their utmost splendor, they were not worth one quarter of an hour of the
sweet pleasure and liberty of youth.

Full of these wise conclusions, I conducted myself so improperly, that
(not indeed without some trouble) I got myself dismissed; for on my
return one night the maitre de hotel gave me warning on the part of the
count. This was exactly what I wanted; for feeling, spite of myself,
the extravagance of my conduct, I wished to excuse it by the addition of
injustice and ingratitude, by throwing the blame on others, and
sheltering myself under the idea of necessity.

I was told the Count de Favria wished to speak with me the next morning
before my departure; but, being sensible that my head was so far turned
as to render it possible for me to disobey the injunction, the maitre de
hotel declined paying the money designed me, and which certainly I had
very ill earned, till after this visit; for my kind patrons being
unwilling to place me in the situation of a footman, I had not any fixed
wages.

The Count de Favria, though young and giddy, talked to me on this
occasion in the most sensible and serious manner: I might add, if it
would not be thought vain, with the utmost tenderness. He reminded me,
in the most flattering terms, of the cares of his uncle, and intentions
of his grandfather; after having drawn in lively colors what I was
sacrificing to ruin, he offered to make my peace, without stipulating any
conditions, but that I should no more see the worthless fellow who had
seduced me.

It was so apparent that he did not say all this of himself, that
notwithstanding my blind stupidity, I powerfully felt the kindness of my
good old master, but the dear journey was too firmly printed on my
imagination for any consideration to balance the charm. Bereft of
understanding, firm to my purpose, I hardened myself against conviction,
and arrogantly answered, that as they had thought fit to give me warning,
I had resolved to take it, and conceived it was now too late to retract,
since, whatever might happen to me, I was fully resolved not to be driven
a second time from the same house. The count, justly irritated, bestowed
on me some names which I deserved, and putting me out of his apartment by
the shoulders, shut the door on me. I departed triumphant, as if I had
gained the greatest victory, and fearful of sustaining a second combat
even had the ingratitude to leave the house without thanking the abbe for
his kindness.

To form a just conception of my delirium at that moment, the excess to
which my heart is subject to be heated by the most trifling incidents,
and the ardor with which my imagination seizes on the most attractive
objects should be conceived. At these times, plans the most ridiculous,
childish, and void of sense, flatter my favorite idea, and persuade me
that it is reasonable to sacrifice everything to the possession of it.
Would it be believed, that when near nineteen, any one could be so stupid
as to build his hopes of future subsistence on an empty phial? For
example:

The Abbe de Gauvon had made me a present, some weeks before, of a very
pretty heron fountain, with which I was highly delighted. Playing with
this toy, and speaking of our departure, the sage Bacle and myself
thought it might be of infinite advantage, and enable us to lengthen our
journey. What in the world was so curious as a heron fountain? This
idea was the foundation on which we built our future fortune: we were to
assemble the country people in every village we might pass through, and
delight them with the sight of it, when feasting and good cheer would be
sure to pour on us abundantly; for we were both firmly persuaded, that
provisions could cost nothing to those who grew and gathered them, and if
they did not stuff travellers, it was downright ill-nature.

We pictured in all parts entertainments and weddings, reckoning that
without any expense but wind from our lungs, and the water of our
fountain, we should be maintained through Piedmont, Savoy, France, and
indeed, all the world over. There was no end to our projected travels,
and we immediately directed our course northward, rather for the pleasure
of crossing the Alps, than from a supposed necessity of being obliged to
stop at any place.

Such was the plan on which I set out, abandoning without regret, my
preceptors, studies, and hopes, with the almost certain attainment of a
fortune, to lead the life of a real vagabond. Farewell to the capital;
adieu to the court, ambition, love, the fair, and all the great
adventures into which hope had led me during the preceding year! I
departed with my fountain and my friend Bacle, a purse lightly furnished,
but a heart over-flowing with pleasure, and only thinking how to enjoy
the extensive felicity which I supposed my project encircled.

This extravagant journey was performed almost as agreeably as I had
expected, though not exactly on the same plan; not but our fountain
highly amused the hostess and servants for some minutes at all the
ale-houses where we halted, yet we found it equally necessary to pay on
our departure; but that gave us no concern, as we never thought of
depending on it entirely until our money should be expended. An
accident spared us that trouble, our fountain was broken near Bramant,
and in good time, for we both felt (though without daring to own it to
each other) that we began to be weary of it. This misfortune rendered
us gayer than ever; we laughed heartily at our giddiness in having
forgotten that our clothes and shoes would wear out, or trusting to
renew them by the play of our fountain. We continued our journey as
merrily as we had begun it, only drawing faster towards that termination
where our drained purses made it necessary for us to arrive.

At Chambery I became pensive; not for the folly I had committed, for
never did any one think less of the past, but on account of the reception
I should meet with from Madam de Warrens; for I looked on her house as my
paternal home. I had written her an account of my reception at the Count
de Gauvon's; she knew my expectancies, and, in congratulating me on my
good fortune, had added some wise lessons on the return I ought to make
for the kindness with which they treated me. She looked on my fortune as
already made, if not destroyed by my own negligence; what then would she
say on my arrival? for it never entered my mind that she might shut the
door against me, but I dreaded the uneasiness I might give her; I dreaded
her reproaches, to me more wounding than want; I resolved to bear all in
silence, and, if possible to appease her. I now saw nothing but Madam de
Warrens in the whole universe, and to live in disgrace with her was
impossible.

I was most concerned about my companion, whom I did not wish to offend,
and feared I should not easily get rid of. I prefaced this separation by
an affected coldness during the last day's journey. The drole understood
me perfectly; in fact, he was rather giddy than deficient in point of
sense--I expected he would have been hurt at my inconstancy, but I was
quite mistaken; nothing affected my friend Bacle, for hardly had we set
foot in town, on our arrival in Annecy, before he said, "You are now at
home,"--embraced--bade me adieu--turned on his heel, and disappeared; nor
have I ever heard of him since.

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