The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau — Volume 02

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book II. by Jean Jacques RousseauThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book II.Author: Jean Jacques RousseauRelease Date: December 6, 2004 [EBook #3902]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUSSEAU ***Produced by David WidgerTHE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus SocietyLondon, 1903BOOK II.The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more terrible than that wherein I put my design inexecution appeared delightful. To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child, in the midst of my apprenticeship,before I had learned enough of my business to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger: to exposemyself in that age of weakness and innocence to all the temptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,misfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evils than those I meant to shun, was the picture Ishould have drawn, the natural consequence of my hazardous enterprise. How different was the idea I entertained of it!—The independence I seemed to possess was the sole object of my ...

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Publié par

otte

Publié le

08 décembre 2010

Nombre de lectures

Langue

English

Privately Printed for the Members of the AldusSocietyLondon, 1903BOOK II.The moment in which fear had instigated my flight,did not seem more terrible than that wherein I putmy design in execution appeared delightful. Toleave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,in the midst of my apprenticeship, before I hadlearned enough of my business to obtain asubsistence; to run on inevitable misery anddanger: to expose myself in that age of weaknessand innocence to all the temptations of vice anddespair; to set out in search of errors, misfortunes,snares, slavery, and death; to endure moreintolerable evils than those I meant to shun, wasthe picture I should have drawn, the naturalconsequence of my hazardous enterprise. Howdifferent was the idea I entertained of it!—Theindependence I seemed to possess was the soleobject of my contemplation; having obtained myliberty, I thought everything attainable: I enteredwith confidence on the vast theatre of the world,which my merit was to captivate: at every step Iexpected to find amusements, treasures, andadventures; friends ready to serve, and mistresseseager to please me; I had but to show myself, andthe whole universe would be interested in my

concerns; not but I could have been content withsomething less; a charming society, with sufficientmeans, might have satisfied me. My moderationwas such, that the sphere in which I proposed toshine was rather circumscribed, but then it was topossess the very quintessence of enjoyment, andmyself the principal object. A single castle, forinstance, might have bounded my ambition; could Ihave been the favorite of the lord and lady, thedaughter's lover, the son's friend, and protector ofthe neighbors, I might have been tolerably content,and sought no further.In expectation of this modest fortune, I passed afew days in the environs of the city, with somecountry people of my acquaintance, who receivedme with more kindness than I should have met within town; they welcomed, lodged, and fed mecheerfully; I could be said to live on charity, thesefavors were not conferred with a sufficientappearance of superiority to furnish out the idea.I rambled about in this manner till I got toConfignon, in Savoy, at about two leagues distancefrom Geneva. The vicar was called M. dePontverre; this name, so famous in the history ofthe Republic, caught my attention; I was curious tosee what appearance the descendants of thegentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went,therefore, to visit this M. de Pontverre, and wasreceived with great civility.tHhee sapuothkoer iotfy tohfe hhoelyr emsyo tohfe rG cehnuervcah,, daencdl atihmeend on

invited me to dinner. I had little to object toarguments which had so desirable a conclusion,and was inclined to believe that priests, who gavesuch excellent dinners, might be as good as ourministers. Notwithstanding M. de Pontverre'spedigree, I certainly possessed most learning; but Irather sought to be a good companion than anexpert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which Ithought delicious, argued so powerfully on his side,that I should have blushed at silencing so kind ahost; I, therefore, yielded him the victory, or ratherdeclined the contest. Any one who had observedmy precaution, would certainly have pronouncedme a dissembler, though, in fact, I was onlycourteous.Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always avice in young people; 'tis oftener a virtue. Whentreated with kindness, it is natural to feel anattachment for the person who confers theobligation; we do not acquiesce because we wishto deceive, but from dread of giving uneasiness, orbecause we wish to avoid the ingratitude ofrendering evil for good. What interest had M. dePontverre in entertaining, treating with respect, andendeavoring to convince me? None but mine; myyoung heart told me this, and I was penetrated withgratitude and respect for the generous priest; I wassensible of my superiority, but scorned to repay hishospitality by taking advantage of it. I had noconception of hypocrisy in this forbearance, orthought of changing my religion, nay, so far wasthe idea from being familiar to me, that I looked onit with a degree of horror which seemed to exclude

the possibility of such an event; I only wished toavoid giving offence to those I was sensiblecaressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivatetheir good opinion, and meantime leave them thehope of success by seeming less on my guardthan I really was. My conduct in this particularresembled the coquetry of some very honestwomen, who, to obtain their wishes, withoutpermitting or promising anything, sometimesencourage hopes they never mean to realize.Reason, piety, and love of order, certainlydemanded that instead of being encouraged in myfolly, I should have been dissuaded from the ruin Iwas courting, and sent back to my family; and thisconduct any one that was actuated by genuinevirtue would have pursued; but it should beobserved that though M. de Pontverre was areligious man, he was not a virtuous one, but abigot, who knew no virtue except worshippingimages and telling his beads, in a word, a kind ofmissionary, who thought the height of meritconsisted in writing libels against the ministers ofGeneva. Far from wishing to send me back, heendeavored to favor my escape, and put it out ofmy power to return even had I been so disposed. Itwas a thousand to one but he was sending me toperish with hunger, or become a villain; but all thiswas foreign to his purpose; he saw a soul snatchedfrom heresy, and restored to the bosom of thechurch: whether I was an honest man or a knavewas very immaterial, provided I went to mass.This ridiculous mode of thinking is not peculiar to

Catholics; it is the voice of every dogmaticalpersuasion where merit consists in belief, and notin virtue."You are called by the Almighty," said M. dePontverre; "go to Annecy, where you will find agood and charitable lady, whom the bounty of theking enables to turn souls from those errors shehas happily renounced." He spoke of a Madam deWarrens, a new convert, to whom the priestscontrived to send those wretches who weredisposed to sell their faith, and with these she wasin a manner constrained to share a pension of twothousand francs bestowed on her by the King ofSardinia. I felt myself extremely humiliated at beingsupposed to want the assistance of a good andcharitable lady. I had no objection to beaccommodated with everything I stood in need of,but did not wish to receive it on the footing ofcharity and to owe this obligation to a devotee wasstill worse; notwithstanding my scruples thepersuasions of M. de Pontverre, the dread ofperishing with hunger, the pleasures I promisedmyself from the journey, and hope of obtainingsome desirable situation, determined me; and I setout though reluctantly, for Annecy. I could easilyhave reached it in a day, but being in no greathaste to arrive there, it took me three. My headwas filled with the ideas of adventures, and Iapproached every country-seat I saw in my way, inexpectation of having them realized. I had toomuch timidity to knock at the doors, or even enterif I saw them open, but I did what I dared—whichwas to sing under those windows that I thought

had the most favorable appearance; and was verymuch disconcerted to find I wasted my breath tono purpose, and that neither old nor young ladieswere attracted by the melody of my voice, or thewit of my poetry, though some songs mycompanions had taught me I thought excellent andthat I sung them incomparably. At length I arrivedat Annecy, and saw Madam de Warrens.As this period of my life, in a great measure,determined my character, I could not resolve topass it lightly over. I was in the middle of mysixteenth year, and though I could not be calledhandsome, was well made for my height; I had agood foot, a well turned leg, and animatedcountenance; a well proportioned mouth, black hairand eyebrows, and my eyes, though small andrather too far in my head, sparkling with vivacity,darted that innate fire which inflamed my blood;unfortunately for me, I knew nothing of all this,never having bestowed a single thought on myperson till it was too late to be of any service tome. The timidity common to my age washeightened by a natural benevolence, which mademe dread the idea of giving pain. Though my mindhad received some cultivation, having seen nothingof the world, I was an absolute stranger to politeaddress, and my mental acquisitions, so far fromsupplying this defect, only served to increase myembarrassment, by making me sensible of everydeficiency.Depending little, therefore, on externalappearances, I had recourse to other expedients: I

wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling allthe flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed frombooks with the phrases of an apprentice, Iendeavored to strike the attention, and insure thegood will of Madam de Warrens. I enclosed M. dePontverre's letter in my own and waited on the ladywith a heart palpitating with fear and expectation. Itwas Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I wasinformed she was that moment gone to church; Ihasten after her, overtake, and speak to her.—Theplace is yet fresh in my memory—how can it beotherwise? often have I moistened it with my tearsand covered it with kisses.—Why cannot I enclosewith gold the happy spot, and render it the objectof universal veneration? Whoever wishes to honormonuments of human salvation would onlyapproach it on their knees.It was a passage at the back of the house,bordered on the left hand by a little rivulet, whichseparated it from the garden, and, on the right, bythe court yard wall; at the end was a private doorwhich opened into the church of the Cordeliers.Madam de Warrens was just passing this door; buton hearing my voice, instantly turned about. Whatan effect did the sight of her produce! I expected tosee a devout, forbidding old woman; M. dePontverre's pious and worthy lady could be noother in my conception; instead of which, I see aface beaming with charms, fine blue eyes full ofsweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzledthe sight, the form of an enchanting neck, nothingescaped the eager eye of the young proselyte; forthat instant I was hers!—a religion preached by

such missionaries must lead to paradise!My letter was presented with a trembling hand; shetook it with a smile —opened it, glanced an eyeover M. de Pontverre's and again returned to mine,which she read through and would have readagain, had not the footman that instant informedher that service was beginning—"Child," said she,in a tone of voice which made every nerve vibrate,"you are wandering about at an early age—it isreally a pity!"—and without waiting for an answer,added—"Go to my house, bid them give yousomething for breakfast, after mass, I will speak to".uoyLouisa—Eleanora de Warrens was of the nobleand ancient family of La Tour de Pit, of Vevay, acity in the country of the Vaudois. She was marriedvery young to a M. de Warrens, of the house ofLoys, eldest son of M. de Villardin, of Lausanne;there were no children by this marriage, which wasfar from being a happy one. Some domesticuneasiness made Madam de Warrens take theresolution of crossing the Lake, and throwingherself at the feet of Victor Amadeus, who wasthen at Evian; thus abandoning her husband,family, and country by a giddiness similar to mine,which precipitation she, too, has found sufficienttime and reason to lament.The king, who was fond of appearing a zealouspprrootmecottieorn ,o fa tnhde cCoamthploilimc efnatitehd, thoeor kw ihtehr au npdeenrs ihoins offifteen hundred livres of Piedmont, which was a

considerable appointment for a prince who neverhad the character of being generous; but findinghis liberality made some conjecture he had anaffection for the lady, he sent her to Annecyescorted by a detachment of his guards, where,under the direction of Michael Gabriel de Bernex,titular bishop of Geneva, she abjured her formerreligion at the Convent of the Visitation.I came to Annecy just six years after this event;Madam de Warrens was then eight—and—twenty,being born with the century. Her beauty, consistingmore in the expressive animation of thecountenance, than a set of features, was in itsmeridian; her manner soothing and tender; anangelic smile played about her mouth, which wassmall and delicate; she wore her hair (which was ofan ash color, and uncommonly beautiful) with anair of negligence that made her appear still moreinteresting; she was short, and rather thick for herheight, though by no means disagreeably so; butthere could not be a more lovely face, a finer neck,or hands and arms more exquisitely formed.Her education had been derived from such avariety of sources, that it formed an extraordinaryassemblage. Like me, she had lost her mother ather birth, and had received instruction as itchanced to present itself; she had learnedsomething of her governess, something of herfather, a little of her masters, but copiously fromher lovers; particularly a M. de Tavel, who,possessing both taste and information, endeavoredto adorn with them the mind of her he loved. These

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