BOOK V.

|It was, I believe, in 1732, that I arrived at Chambery, as already

related, and began my employment of registering land for the king. I was

almost twenty-one, my mind well enough formed for my age, with respect

to sense, but very deficient in point of judgment, and needing every

instruction from those into whose hands I fell, to make me conduct

myself with propriety; for a few years' experience had not been able to

cure me radically of my romantic ideas; and notwithstanding the ills I

had sustained, I knew as little of the world, or mankind, as if I had

never purchased instruction. I slept at home, that is, at the house of

Madam de Warens; but it was not as at Annecy: here were no gardens, no

brook, no landscape; the house was dark and dismal, and my apartment the

most gloomy of the whole. The prospect a dead wall, an alley instead of

a street, confined air, bad light, small rooms, iron bars, rats, and a

rotten floor; an assemblage of circumstances that do not constitute

a very agreeable habitation; but I was in the same house with my best

friend, incessantly near her, at my desk, or in chamber, so that I could

not perceive the gloominess of my own, or have time to think of it. It

may appear whimsical that she should reside at Chambery on purpose to

live in this disagreeable house; but it was a trait of contrivance which

I ought not to pass over in silence. She had no great inclination for

a journey to Turin, fearing that after the recent revolutions, and the

agitation in which the court yet was, she should not be very favorably

received there; but her affairs seemed to demand her presence, as she

feared being forgotten or ill-treated, particularly as the Count

de Saint-Laurent, Intendent-general of the Finances, was not in her

interest. He had an old house in Chambery, ill-built, and standing in so

disagreeable a situation that it was always untenanted; she hired, and

settled in this house, a plan that succeeded much better than a journey

to Turin would have done, for her pension was not suppressed, and the

Count de Saint-Laurent was ever after one of her best friends.

Her household was much on the old footing; her faithful Claude Anet

still remained with her. He was, as I have before mentioned, a peasant

of Moutru, who in his childhood had gathered herbs in Jura for the

purpose of making Swiss tea; she had taken him into her service for his

knowledge of drugs, finding it convenient to have a herbalist among her

domestics. Passionately fond of the study of plants, he became a real

botanist, and had he not died young, might have acquired as much fame

in that science as he deserved for being an honest man. Serious even to

gravity, and older than myself, he was to me a kind of tutor, commanding

respect, and preserving me from a number of follies, for I dared not

forget myself before him. He commanded it likewise from his mistress,

who knew his understanding, uprightness, and inviolable attachment to

herself, and returned it. Claude Anet was of an uncommon temper. I

never encountered a similar disposition: he was slow, deliberate, and

circumspect in his conduct; cold in his manner; laconic and sententious

in his discourse; yet of an impetuosity in his passions, which (though

careful to conceal) preyed upon him inwardly, and urged him to the

only folly he ever committed; that folly, indeed, was terrible, it was

poisoning himself. This tragic scene passed soon after my arrival, and

opened my eyes to the intimacy that subsisted between Claude Anet and

his mistress, for had not the information come from her, I should never

have suspected it; yet, surely, if attachment, fidelity, and zeal, could

merit such a recompense, it was due to him, and what further proves him

worthy such a distinction, he never once abused her confidence. They

seldom disputed, and their disagreements ever ended amicably; one,

indeed, was not so fortunate; his mistress, in a passion, said something

affronting, which not being able to digest, he consulted only with

despair, and finding a bottle of laudanum at hand, drank it off; then

went peaceably to bed, expecting to awake no more. Madam de

Warens herself was uneasy, agitated, wandering about the house and

happily--finding the phial empty--guessed the rest. Her screams, while

flying to his assistance, alarmed me; she confessed all, implored my

help, and was fortunate enough, after repeated efforts, to make him

throw up the laudanum. Witness of this scene, I could not but wonder at

my stupidity in never having suspected the connection; but Claude

Anet was so discreet, that a more penetrating observer might have been

deceived. Their reconciliation affected me, and added respect to the

esteem I before felt for him. From this time I became, in some measure,

his pupil, nor did I find myself the worse for his instruction.

I could not learn, without pain, that she lived in greater intimacy with

another than with myself: it was a situation I had not even thought of,

but (which was very natural) it hurt me to see another in possession of

it. Nevertheless, instead of feeling any aversion to the person who had

this advantage over me, I found the attachment I felt for her actually

extend to him. I desired her happiness above all things, and since he

was concerned in her plan of felicity, I was content he should be happy

likewise. Meantime he perfectly entered into the views of his mistress;

conceived a sincere friendship for me, and without affecting the

authority his situation might have entitled him to, he naturally

possessed that which his superior judgment gave him over mine. I dared

do nothing he disproved of, but he was sure to disapprove only what

merited disapprobation: thus we lived in an union which rendered us

mutually happy, and which death alone could dissolve.

One proof of the excellence of this amiable woman's character, is, that

all those who loved her, loved each other; even jealousy and rivalship

submitting to the more powerful sentiment with which she inspired them,

and I never saw any of those who surrounded her entertain the least ill

will among themselves. Let the reader pause a moment on this encomium,

and if he can recollect any other woman who deserves it, let him attach

himself to her, if he would obtain happiness.

From my arrival at Chambery to my departure for Paris, 1741, included an

interval of eight or nine years, during which time I have few adventures

to relate; my life being as simple as it was agreeable. This uniformity

was precisely what was most wanting to complete the formation of my

character, which continual troubles had prevented from acquiring any

degree of stability. It was during this pleasing interval, that my

unconnected, unfinished education, gained consistence, and made me what

I have unalterably remained amid the storms with which I have since been

surrounded.

The progress was slow, almost imperceptible, and attended by

few memorable circumstances; yet it deserves to be followed and

investigated.

At first, I was wholly occupied with my business, the constraint of a

desk left little opportunity for other thoughts, the small portion of

time I was at liberty was passed with my dear Madam de Warens, and

not having leisure to read, I felt no inclination for it; but when my

business (by daily repetition) became familiar, and my mind was less

occupied, study again became necessary, and (as my desires were ever

irritated by any difficulty that opposed the indulgence of them) might

once more have become a passion, as at my master's, had not other

inclinations interposed and diverted it.

Though our occupation did not demand a very profound skill in

arithmetic, it sometimes required enough to puzzle me. To conquer this

difficulty, I purchased books which treated on that science, and learned

well, for I now studied alone. Practical arithmetic extends further

than is usually supposed if you would attain exact precision. There

are operations of extreme length in which I have sometimes seen good

geometricians lose themselves. Reflection, assisted by practice, gives

clear ideas, and enables you to devise shorter methods, these inventions

flatter our self-complacency, while their exactitude satisfies our

understanding, and renders a study pleasant, which is, of itself, heavy

and unentertaining. At length I became so expert as not to be puzzled

by any question that was solvable by arithmetical calculation; and even

now, while everything I formerly knew fades daily on my memory, this

acquirement, in a great measure remains, through an interval of thirty

years. A few days ago, in a journey I made to Davenport, being with my

host at an arithmetical lesson given his children, I did (with pleasure,

and without errors) a most complicated work. While setting down

my figures, methought I was still at Chambery, still in my days of

happiness--how far had I to look back for them!

The colored plans of our geometricians had given me a taste for drawing:

accordingly I bought colors, and began by attempting flowers and

landscapes. It was unfortunate that I had not talents for this art,

for my inclination was much disposed to it, and while surrounded with

crayons, pencils, and colors, I could have passed whole months without

wishing to leave them. This amusement engaged me so much that they were

obliged to force me from it; and thus it is with every inclination

I give into, it continues to augment, till at length it becomes so

powerful, that I lose sight of everything except the favorite amusement.

Years have not been able to cure me of that fault, nay, have not even

diminished it; for while I am writing this, behold me, like an old

dotard, infatuated with another, to me useless study, which I do not

understand, and which even those who have devoted their youthful days

to the acquisition of, are constrained to abandon, at the age I am

beginning with it.

At that time, the study I am now speaking of would have been well

placed, the opportunity was good, and I had some temptation to profit

by it; for the satisfaction I saw in the eyes of Anet, when he came

home loaded with new discovered plants, set me two or three times on the

point of going to herbalize with him, and I am almost certain that had I

gone once, I should have been caught, and perhaps at this day might have

been an excellent botanist, for I know no study more congenial to my

natural inclination, than that of plants; the life I have led for these

ten years past, in the country, being little more than a continual

herbalizing, though I must confess, without object, and without

improvement; but at the time I am now speaking of I had no inclination

for botany, nay, I even despised, and was disgusted at the idea,

considering it only as a fit study for an apothecary. Madam de Warens

was fond of it merely for this purpose, seeking none but common plants

to use in her medical preparations; thus botany, chemistry, and anatomy

were confounded in my idea under the general denomination of medicine,

and served to furnish me with pleasant sarcasms the whole day, which

procured me, from time to time, a box on the ear, applied by Madam de

Warens. Besides this, a very contrary taste grew up with me, and by

degrees absorbed all others; this was music. I was certainly born

for that science, I loved it from my infancy, and it was the only

inclination I have constantly adhered to; but it is astonishing that

what nature seemed to have designed me for should have cost so much

pains to learn, and that I should acquire it so slowly, that after a

whole life spent in the practice of this art, I could never attain to

sing with any certainty at sight. What rendered the study of music more

agreeable to me at that time, was, being able to practise it with Madam

de Warens. In other respects our tastes were widely different: this was

a point of coincidence, which I loved to avail myself of. She had no

more objection to this than myself. I knew at that time almost as much

of it as she did, and after two or three efforts, we could make shift to

decipher an air. Sometimes, when I saw her busy at her furnace, I

have said, "Here now is a charming duet, which seems made for the very

purpose of spoiling your drugs;" her answer would be, "If you make me

burn them, I'll make you eat them:" thus disputing, I drew her to the

harpsichord; the furnace was presently forgotten, the extract of juniper

or wormwood calcined (which I cannot recollect without transport), and

these scenes usually ended by her smearing my face with the remains of

them.

It may easily be conjectured that I had plenty of employment to fill

up my leisure hours; one amusement, however, found room, that was well

worth all the rest.

[Illustration: 0162]

We lived in such a confined dungeon, that it was necessary sometimes to

breathe the open air; Anet, therefore, engaged Madam de Warens to hire

a garden in the suburbs, both for this purpose and the convenience of

rearing plants, etc.; to this garden was added a summer-house, which was

furnished in the customary manner; we sometimes dined, and I frequently

slept, there. Insensibly I became attached to this little retreat,

decorated it with books and prints, spending part of my time in

ornamenting it during the absence of Madam de Warens, that I might

surprise her the more agreeably on her return. Sometimes I quitted this

dear friend, that I might enjoy the uninterrupted pleasure of thinking

on her; this was a caprice I can neither excuse nor fully explain, I

only know this really was the case, and therefore I avow it. I remember

Madam de Luxembourg told me one day in raillery, of a man who used to

leave his mistress that he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to

her; I answered, I could have been this man; I might have added, That I

had done the very same.

I did not, however, find it necessary to leave Madam de Warens that I

might love her the more ardently, for I was ever as perfectly free with

her as when alone; an advantage I never enjoyed with any other person,

man or woman, however I might be attached to them; but she was so often

surrounded by company who were far from pleasing me, that spite and

weariness drove me to this asylum, where I could indulge the idea,

without danger of being interrupted by impertinence. Thus, my time being

divided between business, pleasure, and instruction, my life passed in

the most absolute serenity. Europe was not equally tranquil: France and

the emperor had mutually declared war, the King of Sardinia had entered

into the quarrel, and a French army had filed off into Piedmont to awe

the Milanese. Our division passed through Chambery, and, among others,

the regiment of Champaigne, whose colonel was the Duke de la Trimouille,

to whom I was presented. He promised many things, but doubtless never

more thought of me. Our little garden was exactly at the end of the

suburb by which the troops entered, so that I could fully satisfy my

curiosity in seeing them pass, and I became as anxious for the success

of the war as if it had nearly concerned me. Till now I had never

troubled myself about politics, for the first time I began reading the

gazettes, but with so much partiality on the side of France, that my

heart beat with rapture on its most trifling advantages, and I was as

much afflicted on a reverse of fortune, as if I had been particularly

concerned.

Had this folly been transient, I should not, perhaps, have mentioned it,

but it took such root in my heart (without any reasonable cause) that

when I afterwards acted the anti-despot and proud republican at Paris,

in spite of myself, I felt a secret predilection for the nation I

declared servile, and for that government I affected to oppose. The

pleasantest of all was that, ashamed of an inclination so contrary to my

professed maxims, I dared not own it to any one, but rallied the French

on their defeats, while my heart was more wounded than their own. I

am certainly the first man, that, living with a people who treated him

well, and whom he almost adored, put on, even in their own country,

a borrowed air of despising them; yet my original inclination is so

powerful, constant, disinterested, and invincible, that even since my

quitting that kingdom, since its government, magistrates, and authors,

have outvied each other in rancor against me, since it has become

fashionable to load me with injustice and abuse, I have not been able

to get rid of this folly, but notwithstanding their ill-treatment, love

them in spite of myself.

I long sought the cause of this partiality, but was never able to find

any, except in the occasion that gave it birth. A rising taste for

literature attached me to French books, to their authors, and their

country: at the very moment the French troops were passing Chambery, I

was reading Brantome's 'Celebrated Captains'; my head was full of the

Clissons, Bayards, Lautrecs, Colignys, Montmorenceys, and Trimouille,

and I loved their descendants as the heirs of their merit and courage.

In each regiment that passed by methought I saw those famous black bands

who had formerly done so many noble exploits in Piedmont; in fine, I

applied to these all the ideas I had gathered from books; my reading

continued, which, still drawn from the same nation, nourished my

affection for that country, till, at length, it became a blind passion,

which nothing could overcome. I have had occasion to remark several

times in the course of my travels, that this impression was not peculiar

to me for France, but was more or less active in every country, for that

part of the nation who were fond of literature, and cultivated learning;

and it was this consideration that balanced in my mind the general

hatred which the conceited air of the French is so apt to inspire. Their

romances, more than their men, attract the women of all countries, and

the celebrated dramatic pieces of France create a fondness in youth for

their theaters; the reputation which that of Paris in particular has

acquired, draws to it crowds of strangers, who return enthusiasts

to their own country: in short, the excellence of their literature

captivates the senses, and in the unfortunate war just ended, I have

seen their authors and philosophers maintain the glory of France, so

tarnished by its warriors.

I was, therefore, an ardent Frenchman; this rendered me a politician,

and I attended in the public square, amid a throng of news-mongers, the

arrival of the post, and, sillier than the ass in the fable, was very

uneasy to know whose packsaddle I should next have the honor to carry,

for it was then supposed we should belong to France, and that

Savoy would be exchanged for Milan. I must confess, however, that I

experienced some uneasiness, for had this war terminated unfortunately

for the allies, the pension of Madam de Warens would have been in a

dangerous situation; nevertheless, I had great confidence in my good

friends, the French, and for once (in spite of the surprise of M.

de Broglio) my confidence was not ill-founded--thanks to the King of

Sardinia, whom I had never thought of.

While we were fighting in Italy, they were singing in France: the operas

of Rameau began to make a noise there, and once more raise the credit

of his theoretic works, which, from their obscurity, were within the

compass of very few understandings. By chance I heard of his 'Treatise

on Harmony', and had no rest till I purchased it. By another chance

I fell sick; my illness was inflammatory, short and violent, but my

convalescence was tedious, for I was unable to go abroad for a whole

month. During this time I eagerly ran over my Treatise on Harmony, but

it was so long, so diffuse, and so badly disposed, that I found it would

require a considerable time to unravel it: accordingly I suspended my

inclination, and recreated my sight with music.

The cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself with.

These were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by heart, and

among the rest, 'The Sleeping Cupids', which I have never seen since

that time, though I still retain it almost entirely; as well as 'Cupid

Stung by a Bee', a very pretty cantata by Clerambault, which I learned

about the same time.

To complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdoste, called the

Abbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion, who performed

very well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him, and we soon

became inseparable. He had been brought up by an Italian monk, who was

a capital organist. He explained to me his principles of music, which I

compared with Rameau; my head was filled with accompaniments, concords

and harmony, but as it was necessary to accustom the ear to all this,

I proposed to Madam de Warens having a little concert once a month, to

which she consented.

Behold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could think

of nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my time to

select the music, assemble the musicians, look to the instruments, and

write out the several parts. Madam de Warens sang; Father Cato (whom I

have before mentioned, and shall have occasion to speak of again) sang

likewise; a dancing-master named Roche, and his son, played on the

violin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who was employed like myself in

the survey, and has since married at Paris), played on the violoncello;

the Abbe Palais performed on the harpsichord, and I had the honor to

conduct the whole. It may be supposed all this was charming; I cannot

say it equalled my concert at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly it

was not far behind it.

This little concert, given by Madam de Warens, the new convert, who

lived (it was expressed) on the king's charity, made the whole tribe of

devotees murmur, but was a very agreeable amusement to several worthy

people, at the head of whom it would not be easily surmised that I

should place a monk; yet, though a monk, a man of considerable merit,

and even of a very amiable disposition, whose subsequent misfortunes

gave me the most lively concern, and whose idea, attached to that of

my happy days, is yet dear to my memory. I speak of Father Cato, a

Cordelier, who, in conjunction with the Count d'Ortan, had caused the

music of poor Le Maitre to be seized at Lyons; which action was far from

being the brightest trait in his history. He was a Bachelor of Sorbonne,

had lived long in Paris among the great world, and was particularly

caressed by the Marquis d'Antremont, then Ambassador from Sardinia. He

was tall and well made; full faced, with very fine eyes, and black hair,

which formed natural curls on each side of his forehead. His manner was

at once noble, open, and modest; he presented himself with ease and

good manners, having neither the hypocritical nor impudent behavior of a

monk, or the forward assurance of a fashionable coxcomb, but the manners

of a well-bred man, who, without blushing for his habit, set a value

on himself, and ever felt in his proper situation when in good company.

Though Father Cato was not deeply studied for a doctor, he was much so

for a man of the world, and not being compelled to show his talents, he

brought them forward so advantageously that they appeared greater than

they really were. Having lived much in the world, he had rather attached

himself to agreeable acquirements than to solid learning; had sense,

made verses, spoke well, sang better, and aided his good voice by

playing on the organ and harpsichord. So many pleasing qualities were

not necessary to make his company sought after, and, accordingly, it

was very much so, but this did not make him neglect the duties of his

function: he was chosen (in spite of his jealous competitors) Definitor

of his Province, or, according to them, one of the greatest pillars of

their order.

Father Cato became acquainted with Madam de Warens at the Marquis of

Antremont's; he had heard of her concerts, wished to assist at them,

and by his company rendered our meetings truly agreeable. We were soon

attached to each other by our mutual taste for music, which in both

was a most lively passion, with this difference, that he was really a

musician, and myself a bungler. Sometimes assisted by Canavas and the

Abbe Palais, we had music in his apartment; or on holidays at his organ,

and frequently dined with him; for, what was very astonishing in a

monk, he was generous, profuse, and loved good cheer, without the least

tincture of greediness. After our concerts, he always used to stay

to supper, and these evenings passed with the greatest gayety and

good-humor; we conversed with the utmost freedom, and sang duets; I was

perfectly at my ease, had sallies of wit and merriment; Father Cato was

charming, Madam de Warens adorable, and the Abbe Palais, with his rough

voice, was the butt of the company. Pleasing moments of sportive youth,

how long since have ye fled!

As I shall have no more occasion to speak of poor Father Cato, I will

here conclude in a few words his melancholy history. His brother monks,

jealous, or rather exasperated to discover in him a merit and elegance

of manners which favored nothing of monastic stupidity, conceived

the most violent hatred to him, because he was not as despicable as

themselves; the chiefs, therefore, combined against this worthy man, and

set on the envious rabble of monks, who otherwise would not have dared

to hazard the attack. He received a thousand indignities; they degraded

him from his office, took away the apartment which he had furnished with

elegant simplicity, and, at length, banished him, I know not whither:

in short, these wretches overwhelmed him with so many evils, that his

honest and proud soul sank under the pressure, and, after having been

the delight of the most amiable societies, he died of grief, on a

wretched bed, hid in some cell or dungeon, lamented by all worthy people

of his acquaintance, who could find no fault in him, except his being a

monk.

Accustomed to this manner of life for some time, I became so entirely

attached to music that I could think of nothing else. I went to my

business with disgust, the necessary confinement and assiduity appeared

an insupportable punishment, which I at length wished to relinquish,

that I might give myself up without reserve to my favorite amusement.

It will be readily believed that this folly met with some opposition; to

give up a creditable employment and fixed salary to run after uncertain

scholars was too giddy a plan to be approved of by Madam de Warens, and

even supposing my future success should prove as great as I flattered

myself, it was fixing very humble limits to my ambition to think of

reducing myself for life to the condition of a music-master. She, who

formed for me the brightest projects, and no longer trusted implicitly

to the judgment of M. d'Aubonne, seeing with concern that I was so

seriously occupied with a talent which she thought frivolous, frequently

repeated to me that provincial proverb, which does not hold quite so

good in Paris,

"Qui biens chante et biens dance,

fait un metier qui peu avance."

[He who can sweetly sing and featly dance,

His interests right little shall advance.]

On the other hand, she saw me hurried away by this irresistible passion,

my taste for music having become a furor, and it was much to be feared

that my employment, suffering by my distraction, might draw on me

a discharge, which would be worse than a voluntary resignation. I

represented to her; that this employment could not last long, that it

was necessary I should have some permanent means of subsistence, and

that it would be much better to complete by practice the acquisition of

that art to which my inclination led me than to make fresh essays, which

possibly might not succeed, since by this means, having passed the age

most proper for improvement, I might be left without a single resource

for gaining a livelihood: in short, I extorted her consent more by

importunity and caresses than by any satisfactory reasons. Proud of my

success, I immediately ran to thank M. Coccelli, Director-General of the

Survey, as though I had performed the most heroic action, and quitted my

employment without cause, reason, or pretext, with as much pleasure as I

had accepted it two years before.

This step, ridiculous as it may appear, procured me a kind of

consideration, which I found extremely useful. Some supposed I had

resources which I did not possess; others, seeing me totally given up to

music, judged of my abilities by the sacrifice I had made, and concluded

that with such a passion for the art, I must possess it in a superior

degree. In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are kings. I passed

here for an excellent master, because all the rest were very bad ones.

Possessing taste in singing, and being favored by my age and figure, I

soon procured more scholars than were sufficient to compensate for the

losses of my secretary's pay. It is certain, that had it been reasonable

to consider the pleasure of my situation only, it was impossible to pass

more speedily from one extreme to the other. At our measuring, I was

confined eight hours in the day to the most unentertaining employment,

with yet more disagreeable company. Shut up in a melancholy

counting-house, empoisoned by the smell and respiration of a number of

clowns, the major part of whom were ill-combed and very dirty, what with

attention, bad air, constraint and weariness, I was sometimes so far

overcome as to occasion a vertigo. Instead of this, behold me admitted

into the fashionable world, sought after in the first houses, and

everywhere received with an air of satisfaction; amiable and gay young

ladies awaiting my arrival, and welcoming me with pleasure; I see

nothing but charming objects, smell nothing but roses and orange

flowers; singing, chatting, laughter, and amusements, perpetually

succeed each other. It must be allowed, that reckoning all these

advantages, no hesitation was necessary in the choice; in fact, I was

so content with mine, that I never once repented it; nor do I even now,

when, free from the irrational motives that influenced me at that time,

I weigh in the scale of reason every action of my life.

This is, perhaps, the only time that, listening to inclination, I was

not deceived in my expectations. The easy access, obliging temper,

and free humor of this country, rendered a commerce with the world

agreeable, and the inclination I then felt for it, proves to me, that if

I have a dislike for society, it is more their fault than mine. It is

a pity the Savoyards are not rich: though, perhaps, it would be a still

greater pity if they were so, for altogether they are the best, the most

sociable people that I know, and if there is a little city in the world

where the pleasures of life are experienced in an agreeable and friendly

commerce, it is at Chambery. The gentry of the province who assemble

there have only sufficient wealth to live and not enough to spoil them;

they cannot give way to ambition, but follow, through necessity, the

counsel of Cyneas, devoting their youth to a military employment, and

returning home to grow old in peace; an arrangement over which honor and

reason equally preside. The women are handsome, yet do not stand in need

of beauty, since they possess all those qualifications which enhance

its value and even supply the want of it. It is remarkable, that being

obliged by my profession to see a number of young girls, I do not

recollect one at Chambery but what was charming: it will be said I was

disposed to find them so, and perhaps there may be some truth in the

surmise. I cannot remember my young scholars without pleasure. Why, in

naming the most amiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that

happy age in which our moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with

such happiness together? The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my

neighbor, and sister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime. She was a fine clear

brunette, lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as girls of that

age usually are; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and easy air, rendered

her sufficiently pleasing with that degree of plumpness which would have

given a heightening to her charms. I went there of mornings, when she

was usually in her dishabille, her hair carelessly turned up, and, on my

arrival, ornamented with a flower, which was taken off at my departure

for her hair to be dressed. There is nothing I fear so much as a pretty

woman in an elegant dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times

less in full dress. Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in

the afternoon, was ever so. She made an equally pleasing, but quite

different impression on me. Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate,

she was very timid and extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of

just modulation, but which she had not courage to employ to its full

extent. She had the mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece

of blue chenille did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my

attention, though not absolutely on its own account. Mademoiselle des

Challes, another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed,

jolly, very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for her

gracefulness, equal temper, and good humor. Her sister, Madam de Charly,

the handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but I taught her

daughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty promised to equal

her mother's, if she had not unfortunately been a little red-haired. I

had likewise among my scholars a little French lady, whose name I have

forgotten, but who merits a place in my list of preferences. She had

adopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in which voice she would

utter some very keen things, which did not in the least appear to

correspond with her manner; but she was indolent, and could not

generally take pains to show her wit, that being a favor she did not

grant to every one. After a month or two of negligent attendance, this

was an expedient she devised to make me more assiduous, for I could

not easily persuade myself to be so. When with my scholars, I was fond

enough of teaching, but could not bear the idea of being obliged to

attend at a particular hour; constraint and subjection in every shape

are to me insupportable, and alone sufficient to make me hate even

pleasure itself.

I had some scholars likewise among the tradespeople, and, among others,

one who was the indirect cause of a change of relationship, which (as

I have promised to declare all) I must relate in its place. She was the

daughter of a grocer, and was called Mademoiselle de Larnage, a perfect

model for a Grecian statue, and whom I should quote for the handsomest

girl I have ever seen, if true beauty could exist without life or soul.

Her indolence, reserve, and insensibility were inconceivable; it was

equally impossible to please or make her angry, and I am convinced that

had any one formed a design upon her virtue, he might have succeeded,

not through her inclination, but from her stupidity. Her mother, who

would run no risk of this, did not leave her a single moment. In having

her taught to sing and providing a young master, she had hoped to

enliven her, but it all proved ineffectual. While the master was

admiring the daughter, the mother was admiring the master, but this was

equally lost labor. Madam de Larnage added to her natural vivacity that

portion of sprightliness which should have belonged to the daughter. She

was a little, ugly, lively trollop, with small twinkling ferret eyes,

and marked with smallpox. On my arrival in the morning, I always found

my coffee and cream ready, and the mother never failed to welcome me

with a kiss on the lips, which I would willingly have returned the

daughter, to see how she would have received it. All this was done with

such an air of carelessness and simplicity, that even when M. de Larnage

was present, her kisses and caresses were not omitted. He was a good

quiet fellow, the true original of his daughter; nor did his wife

endeavor to deceive him, because there was absolutely no occasion for

it.

I received all these caresses with my usual stupidity, taking them only

for marks of pure friendship, though they were sometimes troublesome;

for the lively Madam Lard was displeased, if, during the day, I passed

the shop without calling; it became necessary, therefore (when I had no

time to spare), to go out of my way through another street, well knowing

it was not so easy to quit her house as to enter it.

Madam Lard thought so much of me, that I could not avoid thinking

something of her. Her attentions affected me greatly; and I spoke of

them to Madam de Warens, without supposing any mystery in the matter,

but had there been one I should equally have divulged it, for to have

kept a secret of any kind from her would have been impossible. My heart

lay as open to Madam de Warens as to Heaven. She did not understand

the matter quite so simply as I had done, but saw advances where I only

discovered friendship. She concluded that Madam Lard would make a point

of not leaving me as great a fool as she found me, and, some way

or other, contrive to make herself understood; but exclusive of the

consideration that it was not just, that another should undertake the

instruction of her pupil, she had motives more worthy of her, wishing to

guard me against the snares to which my youth and inexperience exposed

me. Meantime, a more dangerous temptation offered which I likewise

escaped, but which proved to her that such a succession of dangers

required every preservative she could possibly apply.

The Countess of Menthon, mother to one of my scholars, was a woman

of great wit, and reckoned to possess, at least, an equal share of

mischief, having (as was reported) caused a number of quarrels, and,

among others, one that terminated fatally for the house of D'Antremont.

Madam de Warens had seen enough of her to know her character: for having

(very innocently) pleased some person to whom Madam de Menthon had

pretensions, she found her guilty of the crime of this preference,

though Madam de Warens had neither sought after nor accepted it, and

from that moment endeavored to play her rival a number of ill turns,

none of which succeeded. I shall relate one of the most whimsical, by

way of specimen.

They were together in the country, with several gentlemen of the

neighborhood, and among the rest the lover in question. Madam de Menthon

took an opportunity to say to one of these gentlemen, that Madam de

Warens was a prude, that she dressed ill, and particularly that she

covered her neck like a tradeswoman. "O, for that matter," replied

the person she was speaking to (who was fond of a joke), "she has good

reason, for I know she is marked with a great ugly rat on her bosom, so

naturally, that it even appears to be running." Hatred, as well as love,

renders its votaries credulous. Madam de Menthon resolved to make use

of this discovery, and one day, while Madam de Warens was at cards with

this lady's ungrateful favorite, she contrived, in passing behind her

rival, almost to overset the chair she sat on, and at the same instant,

very dexterously displaced her handkerchief; but instead of this hideous

rat, the gentleman beheld a far different object, which it was not more

easy to forget than to obtain a sight of, and which by no means answered

the intentions of the lady.

I was not calculated to engross the attention of Madam de Menthon,

who loved to be surrounded by brilliant company; notwithstanding she

bestowed some attention on me, not for the sake of my person, which

she certainly did not regard, but for the reputation of wit which I had

acquired, and which might have rendered me convenient to her predominant

inclination. She had a very lively passion for ridicule, and loved to

write songs and lampoons on those who displeased her: had she found me

possessed of sufficient talents to aid the fabrication of her verses,

and complaisance enough to do so, we should presently have turned

Chambery upside down; these libels would have been traced to their

source, Madam de Menthon would have saved herself by sacrificing me,

and I should have been cooped up in prison, perhaps, for the rest of

my life, as a recompense for having figured away as the Apollo of the

ladies. Fortunately, nothing of this kind happened; Madam de Menthon

made me stay for dinner two or three days, to chat with me, and soon

found I was too dull for her purpose. I felt this myself, and was

humiliated at the discovery, envying the talents of my friend Venture;

though I should rather have been obliged to my stupidity for keeping me

out of the reach of danger. I remained, therefore, Madam de Menthon's

daughter's singing-master, and nothing more! but I lived happily, and

was ever well received at Chambery, which was a thousand times more

desirable than passing for a wit with her, and for a serpent with

everybody else.

However this might be, Madam de Warens conceived it necessary to

guard me from the perils of youth by treating me as a man: this she

immediately set about, but in the most extraordinary manner that any

woman, in similar circumstances, ever devised. I all at once observed

that her manner was graver, and her discourse more moral than usual. To

the playful gayety with which she used to intermingle her instructions

suddenly succeeded an uniformity of manner, neither familiar nor severe,

but which seemed to prepare me for some explanation. After having vainly

racked my brain for the reason of this change, I mentioned it to her;

this she had expected and immediately proposed a walk to our garden the

next day. Accordingly we went there the next morning; she had contrived

that we should remain alone the whole day, which she employed in

preparing me for those favors she meant to bestow; not as another

woman would have done, by toying and folly, but by discourses full of

sentiment and reason, rather tending to instruct than seduce, and which

spoke more to my heart than to my senses. Meantime, however excellent

and to the purpose these discourses might be, and though far enough from

coldness or melancholy, I did not listen to them with all the attention

they merited, nor fix them in my memory as I should have done at any

other time. That air of preparation which she had adopted gave me

a degree of inquietude; while she spoke (in spite of myself) I was

thoughtful and absent, attending less to what she said than curious

to know what she aimed at; and no sooner had I comprehended her design

(which I could not easily do) than the novelty of the idea, which,

during all the years I had passed with her, had never once entered my

imagination, took such entire possession of me that I was no longer

capable of minding what she said! I only thought of her; I heard her no

longer.

Thinking to render young minds attentive to reason by proposing some

highly interesting object as the result of it, is an error instructors

frequently run into, and one which I have not avoided in my Umilius. The

young pupil, struck with the object presented to him, is occupied only

with that, and leaping lightly over your preliminary discourses, lights

at once on the point, to which, in his idea, you lead him too tediously.

To render him attentive, he must be prevented from seeing the whole of

your design; and, in this particular, Madam de Warens did not act with

sufficient precaution.

By a singularity which adhered to her systematic disposition, she took

the vain precaution of proposing conditions; but the moment I knew the

purchase, I no longer even heard them, but immediately consented to

everything; and I doubt whether there is a man on the whole earth who

would have been sincere or courageous enough to dispute terms, or one

single woman who would have pardoned such a dispute. By a continuation

of the same whimsicality, she attached a number of the gravest

formalities to the acquisition of her favors, and gave me eight days

to think of them, which I assured her I had no need of, though that

assurance was far from a truth: for to complete this assemblage of

singularities, I was very glad to have this intermission; so much had

the novelty of these ideas struck me, and such disorder did I feel in

mine, that it required time to arrange them.

It will be supposed, that these eight days appeared to me as many

ages; on the contrary, I should have been very glad had the time been

lengthened. I find it difficult to describe the state I found myself in;

it was a strange chaos of fear and impatience, dreading what I desired,

and studying some civil pretext to evade my happiness.

Let the warmth of my constitution be remembered, my age, and my heart

intoxicated with love; let my tender attachment to her be supposed,

which, far from having diminished, had daily gained additional strength;

let it be considered that I was only happy when with her, that my heart

was full, not only of her bounty, of her amiable disposition, but of her

shape, of her person, of herself; in a word, conceive me united to her

by every affinity that could possibly render her dear; nor let it be

supposed, that, being ten or twelve years older than myself, she began

to grow an old woman, or was so in my opinion. From the time the first

sight of her had made such an impression on me, she had really altered

very little, and, in my mind, not at all. To me she was ever charming,

and was still thought so by everyone. She had got something jollier, but

had the same fine eyes, the same clear complexion, the same features,

the same beautiful light hair, the sane gayety, and even the same voice,

whose youthful and silvery sound made so lively an impression on my

heart, that, even to this day, I cannot hear a young woman's voice, that

is at all harmonious, without emotion. It will be seen, that in a more

advanced age, the bare idea of some trifling favors I had to expect from

the person I loved, inflamed me so far, that I could not support, with

any degree of patience, the time necessary to traverse the short space

that separated us; how then, by what miracle, when in the flower of my

youth, had I so little impatience for a happiness I had never tasted

but in idea? How could I see the moment advancing with more pain than

pleasure? Why, instead of transports that should have intoxicated me

with their deliciousness, did I experience only fears and repugnance?

I have no doubt that if I could have avoided this happiness with any

degree of decency, I should have relinquished it with all my heart. I

have promised a number of extravagancies in the history of my attachment

to her; this certainly is one that no idea could be formed of.

The reader (already disgusted) supposes, that being in the situation I

have before described with Claude Anet, she was already degraded in my

opinion by this participation of her favors, and that a sentiment of

disesteem weakened those she had before inspired me with; but he is

mistaken. 'Tis true that this participation gave me a cruel uneasiness,

as well from a very natural sentiment of delicacy, as because it

appeared unworthy both of her and myself; but as to my sentiments for

her, they were still the same, and I can solemnly aver, that I never

loved her more tenderly than when I felt so little propensity to avail

myself of her condescension. I was too well acquainted with the chastity

of her heart and the iciness of her constitution, to suppose a moment

that the gratification of the senses had any influence over her; I was

well convinced that her only motive was to guard me from dangers, which

appeared otherwise inevitable, by this extraordinary favor, which

she did not consider in the same light that women usually do; as will

presently be explained.

The habit of living a long time innocently together, far from weakening

the first sentiments I felt for her, had contributed to strengthen

them, giving a more lively, a more tender, but at the same time a less

sensual, turn to my affection. Having ever accustomed myself to call her

Mama (as formerly observed) and enjoying the familiarity of a son, it

became natural to consider myself as such, and I am inclined to think

this was the true reason of that insensibility with a person I so

tenderly loved; for I can perfectly recollect that my emotions on first

seeing her, though not more lively, were more voluptuous: At Annecy I

was intoxicated, at Chambery I possessed my reason. I always loved her

as passionately as possible, but I now loved her more for herself and

less on my own account; or, at least, I rather sought for happiness than

pleasure in her company. She was more to me than a sister, a mother, a

friend, or even than a mistress, and for this very reason she was not a

mistress; in a word, I loved her too much to desire her.

This day, more dreaded than hoped for, at length arrived. I have before

observed, that I promised everything that was required of me, and I kept

my word: my heart confirmed my engagements without desiring the fruits,

though at length I obtained them. Was I happy? No: I felt I know not

what invincible sadness which empoisoned my happiness, it seemed that I

had committed an incest, and two or three times, pressing her eagerly

in my arms, I deluged her bosom with my tears. On her part, as she had

never sought pleasure, she had not the stings of remorse.

I repeat it, all her failings were the effect of her errors, never of

her passions. She was well born, her heart was pure, her manners noble,

her desires regular and virtuous, her taste delicate; she seemed formed

for that elegant purity of manners which she ever loved, but never

practised, because instead of listening to the dictates of her heart,

she followed those of her reason, which led her astray: for when once

corrupted by false principles it will ever run counter to its natural

sentiments. Unhappily, she piqued herself on philosophy, and the morals

she drew from thence clouded the genuine purity of her heart.

M. Tavel, her first lover, was also her instructor in this philosophy,

and the principles he instilled into her mind were such as tended

to seduce her. Finding her cold and impregnable on the side of her

passions, and firmly attached to her husband and her duty, he attacked

her by sophisms, endeavoring to prove that the list of duties she

thought so sacred, was but a sort of catechism, fit only for children.

That the kind of infidelity she thought so terrible, was, in itself,

absolutely indifferent; that all the morality of conjugal faith

consisted in opinion, the contentment of husbands being the only

reasonable rule of duty in wives; consequently that concealed

infidelities, doing no injury, could be no crime; in a word, he

persuaded her that the sin consisted only in the scandal, that woman

being really virtuous who took care to appear so. Thus the deceiver

obtained his end in the subverting the reason of a girl; whose heart

he found it impossible to corrupt, and received his punishment in

a devouring jealousy, being persuaded she would treat him as he had

prevailed on her to treat her husband.

I don't know whether he was mistaken in this respect: the Minister

Perret passed for his successor; all I know, is, that the coldness of

temperament which it might have been supposed would have kept her from

embracing this system, in the end prevented her from renouncing it. She

could not conceive how so much importance should be given to what seemed

to have none for her; nor could she honor with the name of virtue, an

abstinence which would have cost her little.

She did not, therefore, give in to this false principle on her own

account, but for the sake of others; and that from another maxim almost

as false as the former, but more consonant to the generosity of her

disposition.

She was persuaded that nothing could attach a man so truly to any

woman as an unbounded freedom, and though she was only susceptible of

friendship, this friendship was so tender, that she made use of every

means which depended on her to secure the objects of it, and, which

is very extraordinary, almost always succeeded: for she was so truly

amiable, that an increase of intimacy was sure to discover additional

reasons to love and respect her. Another thing worthy of remark is, that

after her first folly, she only favored the unfortunate. Lovers in a

more brilliant station lost their labor with her, but the man who at

first attracted her pity, must have possessed very few good qualities

if in the end he did not obtain her affection. Even when she made an

unworthy choice, far from proceeding from base inclinations (which were

strangers to her noble heart) it was the effect of a disposition too

generous, humane, compassionate, and sensible, which she did not always

govern with sufficient discernment.

If some false principles misled her, how many admirable ones did she not

possess, which never forsook her! By how many virtues did she atone for

her failings! if we can call by that name errors in which the senses

had so little share. The man who in one particular deceived her so

completely, had given her excellent instructions in a thousand others;

and her passions, being far from turbulent, permitted her to follow the

dictates. She ever acted wisely when her sophisms did not intervene, and

her designs were laudable even in her failings. False principles might

lead her to do ill, but she never did anything which she conceived to

be wrong. She abhorred lying and duplicity, was just, equitable, humane,

disinterested, true to her word, her friends, and those duties which

she conceived to be such; incapable of hatred or revenge, and not even

conceiving there was a merit in pardoning; in fine (to return to those

qualities which were less excusable), though she did not properly value,

she never made a vile commerce of her favors; she lavished, but never

sold them, though continually reduced to expedients for a subsistence:

and I dare assert, that if Socrates could esteem Aspasia, he would have

respected Madam de Warens.

I am well aware that ascribing sensibility of heart with coldness

of temperament to the same person, I shall generally, and with great

appearance of reason, be accused of a contradiction. Perhaps Nature

sported or blundered, and this combination ought not to have existed;

I only know it did exist. All those who know Madam de Warens (a great

number of whom are yet living) have had opportunities of knowing this

was a fact; I dare even aver she had but one pleasure in the world,

which was serving those she loved. Let every one argue on the point as

he pleases, and gravely prove that this cannot be; my business is to

declare the truth, and not to enforce a belief of it.

I became acquainted with the particulars I have just related, in

those conversations which succeeded our union, and alone rendered it

delicious. She was right when she concluded her complaisance would be

useful to me; I derived great advantages from it in point of useful

instruction. Hitherto she had used me as a child, she now began to treat

me as a man, and entertain me with accounts of herself. Everything she

said was so interesting, and I was so sensibly touched with it, that,

reasoning with myself, I applied these confidential relations to my

own improvement and received more instruction from them than from her

teaching. When we truly feel that the heart speaks, our own opens

to receive its instructions, nor can all the pompous morality of

a pedagogue have half the effect that is produced by the tender,

affectionate, and artless conversation of a sensible woman on him who

loves her.

The intimacy in which I lived with Madam de Warens, having placed me

more advantageously in her opinion than formerly, she began to think

(notwithstanding my awkward manner) that I deserved cultivation for

the polite world, and that if I could one day show myself there in an

eligible situation, I should soon be able to make my way. In consequence

of this idea, she set about forming not only my judgment, but my

address, endeavoring to render me amiable, as well as estimable; and if

it is true that success in this world is consistent with strict virtue

(which, for my part, I do not believe), I am certain there is no other

road than that she had taken, and wished to point out to me. For Madam

de Warens knew mankind, and understood exquisitely well the art of

treating all ranks, without falsehood, and without imprudence, neither

deceiving nor provoking them; but this art was rather in her disposition

than her precepts, she knew better how to practise than explain it, and

I was of all the world the least calculated to become master of such an

attainment; accordingly, the means employed for this purpose were nearly

lost labor, as well as the pains she took to procure me a fencing and a

dancing master.

Though very well made, I could never learn to dance a minuet; for being

plagued with corns, I had acquired a habit of walking on my heels, which

Roche, the dancing master, could never break me of. It was still worse

at the fencing-school, where, after three months' practice, I made but

very little progress, and could never attempt fencing with any but my

master. My wrist was not supple enough, nor my arm sufficiently firm to

retain the foil, whenever he chose to make it fly out of my hand. Add to

this, I had a mortal aversion both to the art itself and to the person

who undertook to teach it to me, nor should I ever have imagined, that

anyone could have been so proud of the science of sending men out of the

world. To bring this vast genius within the compass of my comprehension,

he explained himself by comparisons drawn from music, which he

understood nothing of. He found striking analogies between a hit in

'quarte' or 'tierce' with the intervals of music which bears those

names: when he made a feint he cried out, "take care of this 'diesis',"

because anciently they called the 'diesis' a feint: and when he had made

the foil fly from my hand, he would add, with a sneer, that this was a

pause: in a word, I never in my life saw a more insupportable pedant.

I made, therefore, but little progress in my exercises, which I

presently quitted from pure disgust; but I succeeded better in an art

of a thousand times more value, namely, that of being content with my

situation, and not desiring one more brilliant, for which I began to be

persuaded that Nature had not designed me. Given up to the endeavor of

rendering Madam de Warens happy, I was ever best pleased when in her

company, and, notwithstanding my fondness for music, began to grudge the

time I employed in giving lessons to my scholars.

I am ignorant whether Anet perceived the full extent of our union; but

I am inclined to think he was no stranger to it. He was a young man of

great penetration, and still greater discretion; who never belied his

sentiments, but did not always speak them: without giving me the least

hint that he was acquainted with our intimacy, he appeared by his

conduct to be so; nor did this moderation proceed from baseness of soul,

but, having entered entirely into the principles of his mistress, he

could not reasonably disapprove of the natural consequences of them.

Though as young as herself, he was so grave and thoughtful, that he

looked on us as two children who required indulgence, and we regarded

him as a respectable man, whose esteem we had to preserve. It was not

until after she was unfaithful to Anet, that I learned the strength of

her attachment to him. She was fully sensible that I only thought, felt,

or lived for her; she let me see, therefore, how much she loved Anet,

that I might love him likewise, and dwell less on her friendship, than

on her esteem, for him, because this was the sentiment that I could

most fully partake of. How often has she affected our hearts and made

us embrace with tears, by assuring us that we were both necessary to her

happiness! Let not women read this with an ill-natured smile; with the

temperament she possessed, this necessity was not equivocal, it was only

that of the heart.

Thus there was established, among us three, a union without example,

perhaps, on the face of the earth. All our wishes, our cares, our very

hearts, were for each other, and absolutely confined to this little

circle. The habit of living together, and living exclusively from the

rest of the world, became so strong, that if at our repasts one of

the three was wanting, or a fourth person came in, everything seemed

deranged; and, notwithstanding our particular attachments, even our

tete-a-tete were less agreeable than our reunion. What banished every

species of constraint from our little community, was a lively reciprocal

confidence, and dulness or insipidity could find no place among

us, because we were always fully employed. Madam de Warens always

projecting, always busy, left us no time for idleness, though, indeed,

we had each sufficient employment on our own account. It is my maxim,

that idleness is as much the pest of society as of solitude. Nothing

more contracts the mind, or engenders more tales, mischief, gossiping,

and lies, than for people to be eternally shut up in the same apartment

together, and reduced, from the want of employment, to the necessity

of an incessant chat. When every one is busy (unless you have really

something to say), you may continue silent; but if you have nothing to

do, you must absolutely speak continually, and this, in my mind, is the

most burdensome and the most dangerous constraint. I will go further,

and maintain, that to render company harmless, as well as agreeable,

it is necessary, not only that they should have something to do, but

something that requires a degree of attention.

Knitting, for instance, is absolutely as bad as doing nothing; you must

take as much pains to amuse a woman whose fingers are thus employed,

as if she sat with her arms crossed; but let her embroider, and it is

a different matter; she is then so far busied, that a few intervals

of silence may be borne with. What is most disgusting and ridiculous,

during these intermissions of conversation, is to see, perhaps, a dozen

over-grown fellows, get up, sit down again, walk backwards and forwards,

turn on their heels, play with the chimney ornaments, and rack their

brains to maintain an inexhaustible chain of words: what a charming

occupation! Such people, wherever they go, must be troublesome both to

others and themselves. When I was at Motiers, I used to employ myself in

making laces with my neighbors, and were I again to mix with the world,

I would always carry a cup-and-ball in my pocket; I should sometimes

play with it the whole day, that I might not be constrained to speak

when I had nothing to discourse about; and I am persuaded, that if every

one would do the same, mankind would be less mischievous, their company

would become more rational, and, in my opinion, a vast deal more

agreeable; in a word, let wits laugh if they please, but I maintain,

that the only practical lesson of morality within the reach of the

present age, is that of the cup-and-ball.

At Chambery they did not give us the trouble of studying expedients to

avoid weariness, when by ourselves, for a troop of important visitors

gave us too much by their company, to feel any when alone. The annoyance

they formerly gave me had not diminished; all the difference was, that I

now found less opportunity to abandon myself to my dissatisfaction.

Poor Madam de Warens had not lost her old predilection for schemes and

systems; on the contrary, the more she felt the pressure of her domestic

necessities, the more she endeavored to extricate herself from them by

visionary projects; and, in proportion to the decrease of her present

resources, she contrived to enlarge, in idea, those of the future.

Increase of years only strengthened this folly: as she lost her

relish for the pleasures of the world and youth, she replaced it by an

additional fondness for secrets and projects; her house was never clear

of quacks, contrivers of new manufactures, alchemists, projects of all

kinds and of all descriptions, whose discourses began by a distribution

of millions and concluded by giving you to understand that they were

in want of a crown-piece. No one went from her empty-handed; and what

astonished me most was, how she could so long support such profusion,

without exhausting the source or wearying her creditors.

Her principal project at the time I am now speaking of was that of

establishing a Royal Physical Garden at Chambery, with a Demonstrator

attached to it; it will be unnecessary to add for whom this office was

designed. The situation of this city, in the midst of the Alps, was

extremely favorable to botany, and as Madam de Warens was always for

helping out one project with another, a College of Pharmacy was to be

added, which really would have been a very useful foundation in so poor

a country, where apothecaries are almost the only medical practitioners.

The retreat of the chief physician, Grossi, to Chambery, on the demise

of King Victor, seemed to favor this idea, or perhaps, first suggest it;

however this may be, by flattery and attention she set about managing

Grossi, who, in fact, was not very manageable, being the most caustic

and brutal, for a man who had any pretensions to the quality of a

gentleman, that ever I knew. The reader may judge for himself by two or

three traits of character, which I shall add by way of specimen.

He assisted one day at a consultation with some other doctors, and among

the rest, a young gentleman from Annecy, who was physician in ordinary

to the sick person. This young man, being but indifferently taught for

a doctor, was bold enough to differ in opinion from M. Grossi, who only

answered him by asking him when he should return, which way he meant

to take, and what conveyance he should make use of? The other, having

satisfied Grossi in these particulars, asked him if there was anything

he could serve him in? "Nothing, nothing," answered he, "only I shall

place myself at a window in your way, that I may have the pleasure of

seeing an ass ride on horseback." His avarice equalled his riches and

want of feeling. One of his friends wanted to borrow some money of him,

on good security. "My friend," answered he, shaking him by the arm, and

grinding his teeth, "Should St. Peter descend from heaven to borrow ten

pistoles of me, and offer the Trinity as securities, I would not lend

them." One day, being invited to dinner with Count Picon, Governor of

Savoy, who was very religious, he arrived before it was ready, and found

his excellency busy with his devotions, who proposed to him the same

employment; not knowing how to refuse, he knelt down with a frightful

grimace, but had hardly recited two Ave-Marias, when, not being able to

contain himself any longer, he rose hastily, snatched his hat and cane,

and without speaking a word, was making toward the door; Count Picon ran

after him, crying, "Monsieur Grossi! Monsieur Grossi! stop, there's

a most excellent ortolan on the spit for you." "Monsieur le Count,"

replied the other, turning his head, "though you should give me a

roasted angel, I would not stay." Such was M. Grossi, whom Madam de

Warens undertook and succeeded in civilizing. Though his time was very

much occupied, he accustomed himself to come frequently to her house,

conceived a friendship for Anet, seemed to think him intelligent, spoke

of him with esteem, and, what would not have been expected of such

a brute, affected to treat him with respect, wishing to efface the

impressions of the past; for though Anet was no longer on the footing of

a domestic, it was known that he had been one, and nothing less than the

countenance and example of the chief physician was necessary to set an

example of respect which would not otherwise have been paid him. Thus

Claude Anet, with a black coat, a well-dressed wig, a grave, decent

behavior, a circumspect conduct, and a tolerable knowledge in medical

and botanical matters, might reasonably have hoped to fill, with

universal satisfaction, the place of public demonstrator, had the

proposed establishment taken place. Grossi highly approved the plan, and

only waited an opportunity to propose it to the administration, whenever

a return of peace should permit them to think of useful institutions,

and enable them to spare the necessary pecuniary supplies.

But this project, whose execution would probably have plunged me into

botanical studies, for which I am inclined to think Nature designed

me, failed through one of those unexpected strokes which frequently

overthrow the best concerted plans. I was destined to become an example

of human misery; and it might be said that Providence, who called me by

degrees to these extraordinary trials, disconcerted every opportunity

that could prevent my encountering them.

In an excursion which Anet made to the top of the mountain to seek for

genipi, a scarce plant that grows only on the Alps, and which Monsieur

Grossi had occasion for, unfortunately he heated himself so much, that

he was seized with a pleurisy, which the genipi could not relieve,

though said to be specific in that disorder; and, notwithstanding all

the art of Grossi (who certainly was very skillful), and all the care of

his good mistress and myself, he died the fifth day of his disorder, in

the most cruel agonies. During his illness he had no exhortations but

mine, bestowed with such transports of grief and zeal, that had he been

in a state to understand them, they must have been some consolation

to him. Thus I lost the firmest friend I ever had; a man estimable and

extraordinary; in whom Nature supplied the defects of education, and who

(though in a state of servitude) possessed all the virtues necessary to

form a great man, which, perhaps, he would have shown himself, and been

acknowledged, had he lived to fill the situation he seemed so perfectly

adapted to.

The next day I spoke of him to Madam de Warens with the most sincere and

lively affection; when, suddenly, in the midst of our conversation, the

vile, ungrateful thought occurred, that I should inherit his wardrobe,

and particularly a handsome black coat, which I thought very becoming.

As I thought this, I consequently uttered it; for when with her, to

think and to speak was the same thing. Nothing could have made her feel

more forcibly the loss she had sustained, than this unworthy and odious

observation; disinterestedness and greatness of soul being qualities

that poor Anet had eminently possessed. The generous Madam de Warens

turned from me, and (without any reply) burst into tears. Dear and

precious tears! your reprehension was fully felt; ye ran into my very

heart, washing from thence even the smallest traces of such despicable

and unworthy sentiments, never to return.

This loss caused Madam de Warens as much inconvenience as sorrow,

since from this moment her affairs were still more deranged. Anet

was extremely exact, and kept everything in order; his vigilance was

universally feared, and this set some bounds to that profusion they were

too apt to run into; even Madam de Warens, to avoid his censure, kept

her dissipation within bounds; his attachment was not sufficient, she

wished to preserve his esteem, and avoid the just remonstrances he

sometimes took the liberty to make her, by representing that she

squandered the property of others as well as her own. I thought as he

did, nay, I even sometimes expressed myself to the same effect, but had

not an equal ascendancy over her, and my advice did not make the same

impression. On his decease, I was obliged to occupy his place, for which

I had as little inclination as abilities, and therefore filled it ill.

I was not sufficiently careful, and so very timid, that though I

frequently found fault to myself, I saw ill-management without taking

courage to oppose it; besides, though I acquired an equal share

of respect, I had not the same authority. I saw the disorder that

prevailed, trembled at it, sometimes complained, but was never attended

to. I was too young and lively to have any pretensions to the exercise

of reason, and when I would have acted the reformer, Madam de Warens

calling me her little Mentor, with two or three playful slaps on the

cheek, reduced me to my natural thoughtlessness. Notwithstanding, an

idea of the certain distress in which her ill-regulated expenses, sooner

or later, must necessarily plunge her, made a stronger impression on

me since I had become the inspector of her household, and had a better

opportunity of calculating the inequality that subsisted between her

income and her expenses. I even date from this period the beginning of

that inclination to avarice which I have ever since been sensible of. I

was never foolishly prodigal, except by intervals; but till then I was

never concerned whether I had much or little money. I now began to

pay more attention to this circumstance, taking care of my purse, and

becoming mean from a laudable motive; for I only sought to insure Madam

de Warens some resources against that catastrophe which I dreaded the

approach of. I feared her creditors would seize her pension or that it

might be discontinued and she reduced to want, when I foolishly imagined

that the trifle I could save might be of essential service to her; but

to accomplish this, it was necessary I should conceal what I meant to

make a reserve of; for it would have been an awkward circumstance,

while she was perpetually driven to expedients, to have her know that I

hoarded money. Accordingly, I sought out some hiding-place, where I laid

up a few louis, resolving to augment this stock from time to time, till

a convenient opportunity to lay it at her feet; but I was so incautious

in the choice of my repositories, that she always discovered them, and,

to convince me that she did so, changed the louis I had concealed for a

larger sum in different pieces of coin. Ashamed of these discoveries,

I brought back to the common purse my little treasure, which she never

failed to lay out in clothes, or other things for my use, such as a

silver hilted sword, watch, etc. Being convinced that I should never

succeed in accumulating money, and that what I could save would furnish

but a very slender resource against the misfortune I dreaded, made me

wish to place myself in such a situation that I might be enabled to

provide for her, whenever she might chance to be reduced to want.

Unhappily, seeking these resources on the side of my inclinations, I

foolishly determined to consider music as my principal dependence; and

ideas of harmony rising in my brain, I imagined, that if placed in a

proper situation to profit by them, I should acquire celebrity, and

presently become a modern Orpheus, whose mystic sounds would attract all

the riches of Peru.

As I began to read music tolerably well, the question was, how I should

learn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good master,

for, with the assistance of my Rameau alone, I despaired of ever being

able to accomplish it; and, since the departure of M. le Maitre,

there was nobody in Savoy who understood anything of the principles of

harmony.

I am now about to relate another of those inconsequences, which my life

is full of, and which have so frequently carried me directly from my

designs, even when I thought myself immediately within reach of them.

Venture had spoken to me in very high terms of the Abbe Blanchard, who

had taught him composition; a deserving man, possessed of great talents,

who was music-master to the cathedral at Besancon, and is now in that

capacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I therefore determined to go to

Besancon, and take some lessons from the Abbe Blanchard, and the idea

appeared so rational to me, that I soon made Madam de Warens of the same

opinion, who immediately set about the preparations for my journey, in

the same style of profusion with which all her plans were executed. Thus

this project for preventing a bankruptcy, and repairing in future the

waste of dissipation, began by causing her to expend eight hundred

livres; her ruin being accelerated that I might be put in a condition

to prevent it. Foolish as this conduct may appear, the illusion was

complete on my part, and even on hers, for I was persuaded I should

labor for her emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine.

I expected to find Venture still at Annecy, and promised myself to

obtain a recommendatory letter from him to the Abbe Blanchard; but he

had left that place, and I was obliged to content myself in the room of

it, with a mass in four parts of his composition, which he had left with

me. With this slender recommendation I set out for Besancon by the way

of Geneva, where I saw my relations; and through Nion, where I saw my

father, who received me in his usual manner, and promised to forward

my portmanteau, which, as I travelled on horseback, came after me. I

arrived at Besancon, and was kindly received by the Abbe Blanchard,

who promised me his instruction, and offered his services in any other

particular. We had just set about our music, when I received a letter

from my father, informing me that my portmanteau had been seized and

confiscated at Rousses, a French barrier on the side of Switzerland.

Alarmed at the news, I employed the acquaintance I had formed at

Besancon, to learn the motive of this confiscation. Being certain there

was nothing contraband among my baggage, I could not conceive on what

pretext it could have been seized on; at length, however, I learned the

rights of the story, which (as it is a very curious one) must not be

omitted.

I became acquainted at Chambery with a very worthy old man, from Lyons,

named Monsieur Duvivier, who had been employed at the Visa, under the

regency, and for want of other business, now assisted at the Survey. He

had lived in the polite world, possessed talents, was good-humored, and

understood music. As we both wrote in the same chamber, we preferred

each other's acquaintance to that of the unlicked cubs that surrounded

us. He had some correspondents at Paris, who furnished him with those

little nothings, those daily novelties, which circulate one knows not

why, and die one cares not when, without any one thinking of them longer

than they are heard. As I sometimes took him to dine with Madam de

Warens, he in some measure treated me with respect, and (wishing to

render himself agreeable) endeavored to make me fond of these trifles,

for which I naturally had such a distaste, that I never in my life read

any of them. Unhappily one of these cursed papers happened to be in the

waistcoat pocket of a new suit, which I had only worn two or three times

to prevent its being seized by the commissioners of the customs. This

paper contained an insipid Jansenist parody on that beautiful scene

in Racine's Mithridates: I had not read ten lines of it, but by

forgetfulness left it in my pocket, and this caused all my necessaries

to be confiscated. The commissioners at the head of the inventory of my

portmanteau, set a most pompous verbal process, in which it was taken

for granted that this most terrible writing came from Geneva for the

sole purpose of being printed and distributed in France, and then ran

into holy invectives against the enemies of God and the Church, and

praised the pious vigilance of those who had prevented the execution

of these most infernal machinations. They doubtless found also that my

spirits smelt of heresy, for on the strength of this dreadful paper,

they were all seized, and from that time I never received any account of

my unfortunate portmanteau. The revenue officers whom I applied to for

this purpose required so many instructions, informations, certificates,

memorials, etc., etc., that, lost a thousand times in the perplexing

labyrinth, I was glad to abandon them entirely. I feel a real regret for

not having preserved this verbal process from the office of Rousses, for

it was a piece calculated to hold a distinguished rank in the collection

which is to accompany this Work.

The loss of my necessities immediately brought me back to Chambery,

without having learned anything of the Abbe Blanchard. Reasoning with

myself on the events of this journey, and seeing that misfortunes

attended all my enterprises, I resolved to attach myself entirely to

Madam de Warens, to share her fortune, and distress myself no longer

about future events, which I could not regulate. She received me as if I

had brought back treasures, replaced by degrees my little wardrobe, and

though this misfortune fell heavy enough on us both, it was forgotten

almost as suddenly as it arrived.

Though this mischance had rather dampened my musical ardor, I did not

leave off studying my Rameau, and, by repeated efforts, was at length

able to understand it, and to make some little attempts at composition,

the success of which encouraged me to proceed. The Count de Bellegarde,

son of the Marquis of Antremont, had returned from Dresden after the

death of King Augustus. Having long resided at Paris, he was fond

of music, and particularly that of Rameau. His brother, the Count of

Nangis, played on the violin; the Countess la Tour, their sister, sung

tolerably: this rendered music the fashion at Chambery, and a kind of

public concert was established there, the direction of which was at

first designed for me, but they soon discovered I was not competent to

the undertaking, and it was otherwise arranged. Notwithstanding this, I

continued writing a number of little pieces, in my own way, and, among

others, a cantata, which gained great approbation; it could not, indeed,

be called a finished piece, but the airs were written in a style of

novelty, and produced a good effect, which was not expected from me.

These gentlemen could not believe that, reading music so indifferently,

it was possible I should compose any that was passable, and made no

doubt that I had taken to myself the credit of some other person's

labors. Monsieur de Nangis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me

one morning with a cantata of Clerambault's which he had transposed as

he said, to suit his voice, and to which another bass was necessary,

the transposition having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable. I

answered, it required considerable labor, and could not be done on the

spot. Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at

least the bass to a recitative: I did so, not well, doubtless, because

to attempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom, but

I did it at least according to rule, and he being present, could

not doubt but I understood the elements of composition. I did not,

therefore, lose my scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should

be a concert at Chambery in which I was not necessary.

About this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed the

Alps. Several officers came to visit Madam de Warens, and among

others the Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, since

Plenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom

she presented me. On her recommendation, he appeared to interest himself

greatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never remembered

till the last year of his life, when I no longer stood in need of his

assistance. The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father was then

ambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same time, and dined

one day at M. de Menthon's, when I happened to be among the guests.

After dinner; the discourse turned on music, which the marquis

understood extremely well. The opera of 'Jephtha' was then new; he

mentioned this piece, it was brought him, and he made me tremble

by proposing to execute it between us. He opened the book at that

celebrated double chorus,

La Terra, l'Enfer, le Ciel meme,

Tout tremble devant le Seigneur!

[The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself,

tremble before the Lord!]

He said, "How many parts will you take? I will do these six." I had

not yet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and though

acquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man could

undertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time. Nothing

has cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from one part to

another, and have the eye at once on a whole division. By the manner in

which I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined to believe I did

not understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy himself in this

particular that he proposed my noting a song for Mademoiselle de

Menthon, in such a manner that I could not avoid it. He sang this song,

and I wrote from his voice, without giving him much trouble to repeat

it. When finished he read my performance, and said (which was very true)

that it was very correctly noted. He had observed my embarrassment, and

now seemed to enhance the merit of this little success. In reality, I

then understood music very well, and only wanted that quickness at first

sight which I possess in no one particular, and which is only to be

acquired in this art by long and constant practice. Be that as it may,

I was fully sensible of his kindness in endeavoring to efface from

the minds of others, and even from my own, the embarrassment I had

experienced on this occasion. Twelve or fifteen years afterwards,

meeting this gentleman at several houses in Paris, I was tempted to make

him recollect this anecdote, and show him I still remembered it; but

he had lost his sight since that time; I feared to give him pain by

recalling to his memory how useful it formerly had been to him, and was

therefore silent on that subject.

I now touch on the moment that binds my past existence to the present,

some friendships of that period, prolonged to the present time, being

very dear to me, have frequently made me regret that happy obscurity,

when those who called themselves my friends were really so; loved me

for myself, through pure good will, and not from the vanity of being

acquainted with a conspicuous character, perhaps for the secret purpose

of finding more occasions to injure him.

From this time I date my first acquaintance with my old friend

Gauffecourt, who, notwithstanding every effort to disunite us, has still

remained so.--Still remained so!--No, alas! I have just lost him!--but

his affection terminated only with his life--death alone could put a

period to our friendship. Monsieur de Gauffecourt was one of the most

amiable men that ever existed; it was impossible to see him without

affection, or to live with him without feeling a sincere attachment. In

my life I never saw features more expressive of goodness and serenity,

or that marked more feeling, more understanding, or inspired greater

confidence. However reserved one might be, it was impossible even

at first sight to avoid being as free with him as if he had been an

acquaintance of twenty years; for myself, who find so much difficulty

to be at ease among new faces, I was familiar with him in a moment. His

manner, accent, and conversation, perfectly suited his features: the

sound of his voice was clear, full and musical; it was an agreeable

and expressive bass, which satisfied the ear, and sounded full upon the

heart. It was impossible to possess a more equal and pleasing vivacity,

or more real and unaffected gracefulness, more natural talents, or

cultivated with greater taste; join to all these good qualities an

affectionate heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing his

favors with too little caution; serving his friends with zeal, or rather

making himself the friend of every one he could serve, yet contriving

very dexterously to manage his own affairs, while warmly pursuing the

interests of others.

Gauffecourt was the son of a clock-maker, and would have been a

clock-maker himself had not his person and desert called him to a

superior situation. He became acquainted with M. de la Closure, the

French Resident at Geneva, who conceived a friendship for him, and

procured him some connections at Paris, which were useful, and through

whose influence he obtained the privilege of furnishing the salts of

Valais, which was worth twenty thousand livres a year. This very amply

satisfied his wishes with respect to fortune, but with regard to women

he was more difficult; he had to provide for his own happiness, and did

what he supposed most conducive to it. What renders his character most

remarkable, and does him the greatest honor, is, that though connected

with all conditions, he was universally esteemed and sought after

without being envied or hated by any one, and I really believe he passed

through life without a single enemy.--Happy man!

He went every year to the baths of Aix, where the best company from the

neighboring countries resorted, and being on terms of friendship with

all the nobility of Savoy, came from Aix to Chambery to see the young

Count de Bellegarde and his father the Marquis of Antremont. It was

here Madam de Warens introduced me to him, and this acquaintance, which

appeared at that time to end in nothing, after many years had elapsed,

was renewed on an occasion which I should relate, when it became a real

friendship. I apprehend I am sufficiently authorized in speaking of a

man to whom I was so firmly attached, but I had no personal interest

in what concerned him; he was so truly amiable, and born with so many

natural good qualities that, for the honor of human nature, I should

think it necessary to preserve his memory. This man, estimable as he

certainly was, had, like other mortals, some failings, as will be seen

hereafter; perhaps had it not been so, he would have been less amiable,

since, to render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he

should sometimes act in such a manner as to require a small portion of

indulgence.

Another connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished, and

continues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness, which it is

so difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieur de Conzie,

a Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a fancy to learn

music, or rather to be acquainted with the person who taught it. With

great understanding and taste for polite acquirements, M. de Conzie

possessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him extremely

attractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it found a

counterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of literature

and philosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and only waited

for culture and emulation to spring up, found in him exactly what was

wanting to render them prolific. M. de Conzie had no great inclination

to music, and even this was useful to me, for the hours destined for

lessons were passed anyhow rather than musically; we breakfasted,

chatted, and read new publications, but not a word of music.

The correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of Prussia,

then made a noise in the world, and these celebrated men were frequently

the subject of our conversation, one of whom recently seated on a

throne, already indicated what he would prove himself hereafter, while

the other, as much disgraced as he is now admired, made us sincerely

lament the misfortunes that seemed to pursue him, and which are so

frequently the appendage of superior talents. The Prince of Prussia had

not been happy in his youth, and it appeared that Voltaire was formed

never to be so. The interest we took in both parties extended to all

that concerned them, and nothing that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The

inclination I felt for these performances inspired me with a desire to

write elegantly, and caused me to endeavor to imitate the colorings of

that author, with whom I was so much enchanted. Some time after, his

philosophical letters (though certainly not his best work) greatly

augmented my fondness for study; it was a rising inclination, which,

from that time, has never been extinguished.

But the moment was not yet arrived when I should give into it entirely;

my rambling disposition (rather contracted than eradicated) being

kept alive by our manner of living at Madam de Warens, which was too

unsettled for one of my solitary temper. The crowd of strangers who

daily swarmed about her from all parts, and the certainty I was in

that these people sought only to dupe her, each in his particular mode,

rendered home disagreeable. Since I had succeeded Anet in the confidence

of his mistress, I had strictly examined her circumstances, and saw

their evil tendency with horror. I had remonstrated a hundred times,

prayed, argued, conjured, but all to no purpose. I had thrown myself at

her feet, and strongly represented the catastrophe that threatened her,

had earnestly entreated that she would reform her expenses, and begin

with myself, representing that it was better to suffer something while

she was yet young, than by multiplying her debts and creditors, expose

her old age to vexation and misery.

Sensible of the sincerity of my zeal, she was frequently affected, and

would then make the finest promises in the world: but only let an

artful schemer arrive, and in an instant all her good resolutions

were forgotten. After a thousand proofs of the inefficacy of my

remonstrances, what remained but to turn away my eyes from the ruin I

could not prevent; and fly myself from the door I could not guard! I

made therefore little journeys to Geneva and Lyons, which diverted my

mind in some measure from this secret uneasiness, though it increased

the cause by these additional expenses. I can truly aver that I should

have acquiesed with pleasure in every retrenchment, had Madam de Warens

really profited by it, but being persuaded that what I might refuse

myself would be distributed among a set of interested villains, I

took advantage of her easiness to partake with them, and, like the dog

returning from the shambles, carried off a portion of that morsel which

I could not protect.

Pretences were not wanting for all these journeys; even Madam de Warens

would alone have supplied me with more than were necessary, having

plenty of connections, negotiations, affairs, and commissions, which she

wished to have executed by some trusty hand. In these cases she usually

applied to me; I was always willing to go, and consequently found

occasions enough to furnish out a rambling kind of life. These

excursions procured me some good connections, which have since been

agreeable or useful to me. Among others, I met at Lyons, with M.

Perrichon, whose friendship I accuse myself with not having sufficiently

cultivated, considering the kindness he had for me; and that of the good

Parisot, which I shall speak of in its place, at Grenoble, that of

Madam Deybens and Madam la Presidente de Bardonanche, a woman of great

understanding, and who would have entertained a friendship for me had

it been in my power to have seen her oftener; at Geneva, that of M. de

Closure, the French Resident, who often spoke to me of my mother, the

remembrance of whom neither death nor time had erased from his heart;

likewise those of the two Barillots, the father, who was very amiable,

a good companion, and one of the most worthy men I ever met, calling me

his grandson. During the troubles of the republic, these two citizens

took contrary sides, the son siding with the people, the father with the

magistrates. When they took up arms in 1737, I was at Geneva, and saw

the father and son quit the same house armed, the one going to the

townhouse, the other to his quarters, almost certain to meet face to

face in the course of two hours, and prepared to give or receive death

from each other. This unnatural sight made so lively an impression

on me, that I solemnly vowed never to interfere in any civil war, nor

assist in deciding our internal dispute by arms, either personally or

by my influence, should I ever enter into my rights as a citizen. I can

bring proofs of having kept this oath on a very delicate occasion, and

it will be confessed (at least I should suppose so) that this moderation

was of some worth.

But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which the

first sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as may be

conjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my advantage,

which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which ought not to be

omitted.

My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some years

in the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan of. My

poor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt lost,

nearly at the same period, her son and husband. These losses reanimated

in some measure her affection for the nearest relative she had

remaining, which was myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned her house

my home, and amused myself with rummaging and turning over the books and

papers my uncle had left. Among them I found some curious ones, and

some letters which they certainly little thought of. My aunt, who set no

store by these dusty papers, would willingly have given the whole to me,

but I contented myself with two or three books, with notes written by

the Minister Bernard, my grandfather, and among the rest, the posthumous

works of Rohault in quarto, the margins of which were full of excellent

commentaries, which gave me an inclination to the mathematics. This book

remained among those of Madam de Warens, and I have since lamented

that I did not preserve it. To these I added five or six memorials in

manuscript, and a printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, a

man of considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but too

much, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly treated

by the magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the fortress of Arberg,

where he had been confined many years, for being, as it was said,

concerned in the conspiracy of Berne.

This memorial was a judicious critique on the extensive but ridiculous

plan of fortification, which had been adopted at Geneva, though censured

by every person of judgment in the art, who was unacquainted with the

secret motives of the council, in the execution of this magnificent

enterprise. Monsieur de Micheli, who had been excluded from the

committee of fortification for having condemned this plan, thought that,

as a citizen, and a member of the two hundred, he might give his advice,

at large, and therefore, did so in this memorial, which he was imprudent

enough to have printed, though he never published it, having only those

copies struck off which were meant for the two hundred, and which were

all intercepted at the post-house by order of the Senate.

[The grand council of Geneva in December, 1728, pronounced this

paper highly disrespectful to the councils, and injurious to the

committee of fortification.]

I found this memorial among my uncle's papers, with the answer he had

been ordered to make to it, and took both. This was soon after I had

left my place at the survey, and I yet remained on good terms with the

Counsellor de Coccelli, who had the management of it. Some time after,

the director of the custom-house entreated me to stand godfather to

his child, with Madam Coccelli, who was to be godmother: proud of being

placed on such terms of equality with the counsellor, I wished to assume

importance, and show myself worthy of that honor.

Full of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show him

Micheli's memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove I

was connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were intrusted

with the secrets of the state, yet by a kind of reserve which I should

find it difficult to account for, I did not show him my uncle's answer,

perhaps, because it was manuscript, and nothing less than print was

worthy to approach the counsellor. He understood, however, so well the

importance of this paper, which I had the folly to put into his hands,

that I could never after get it into my possession, and being convinced

that every effort for that purpose would be ineffectual, I made a merit

of my forbearance, transforming the theft into a present. I made no

doubt that this writing (more curious, however, than useful) answered

his purpose at the court of Turin, where probably he took care to be

reimbursed in some way or other for the expense which the acquisition

of it might be supposed to have cost him. Happily, of all future

contingencies, the least probable, is, that ever the King of Sardina

should besiege Geneva, but as that event is not absolutely impossible,

I shall ever reproach my foolish vanity with having been the means

of pointing out the greatest defects of that city to its most ancient

enemy.

I passed two or three years in this manner, between music, study,

projects, and journeys, floating incessantly from one object to another,

and wishing to fix though I knew not on what, but insensibly inclining

towards study. I was acquainted with men of letters, I had heard them

speak of literature, and sometimes mingled in the conversation, yet

rather adopted the jargon of books, than the knowledge they contained.

In my excursions to Geneva, I frequently called on my good old friend

Monsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising emulation by fresh news

from the republic of letters, extracted from Baillet or Colomies. I

frequently saw too, at Chambery, a Dominican professor of physic, a

good kind of friar, whose name I have forgotten, who often made little

chemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, I

attempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose

more than half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water, the

effervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to unstop the

bottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the attempt, it burst

in my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of the orpiment and

lime, that it nearly cost me my life. I remained blind for six weeks,

and by the event of this experiment learned to meddle no more with

experimental Chemistry while the elements were unknown to me.

This adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for

some time past, had been visibly on the decline. This was rather

extraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it have

been expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rather

capacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was short

breathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily, had

palpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with a

lingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome. How is it

possible to fall into such a state in the flower of one's age, without

any inward decay, or without having done anything to destroy health?

It is sometimes said, "the sword wears the scabbard," this was truly

the case with me: the violence of my passions both kept me alive and

hastened my dissolution. What passions? will be asked: mere nothings:

the most trivial objects in nature, but which affected me as forcibly

as if the acquisition of a Helen, or the throne of the universe were

at stake. My senses, for instance, were at ease with one woman, but my

heart never was, and the necessities of love consumed me in the very

bosom of happiness. I had a tender, respected and lovely friend, but I

sighed for a mistress; my prolific fancy painted her as such, and gave

her a thousand forms, for had I conceived that my endearments had been

lavished on Madam de Warens, they would not have been less tender,

though infinitely more tranquil. But is it possible for man to taste,

in their utmost extent, the delights of love? I cannot tell, but I am

persuaded my frail existence would have sunk under the weight of them.

I was, therefore, dying for love without an object, and this state,

perhaps, is, of all others, the most dangerous. I was likewise uneasy,

tormented at the bad state of poor Madam de Warens' circumstances, and

the imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring them, in

a short time, to total ruin. My tortured imagination (which ever paints

misfortunes in the extremity) continually beheld this in its utmost

excess, and in all the horror of its consequences. I already saw myself

forced by want to quit her--to whom I had consecrated my future life,

and without whom I could not hope for happiness: thus was my soul

continually agitated, and hopes and fears devoured me alternately.

Music was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming, from the

ardor with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of the

obscure books of Rameau; by an invincible resolution to charge my memory

with rules it could not contain; by continual application, and by long

and immense compilations which I frequently passed whole nights in

copying: but why dwell on these particularly, while every folly that

took possession of my wandering brain, the most transient ideas of a

single day, a journey, a concert, a supper, a walk, a novel to read, a

play to see, things in the world the least premeditated in my pleasures

or occupation became for me the most violent passions, which by their

ridiculous impetuosity conveyed the most serious torments; even the

imaginary misfortunes of Cleveland, read with avidity and frequent

interruption, have, I am persuaded, disordered me more than my own.

There was a Genevese, named Bagueret, who had been employed under Peter

the Great, of the court of Russia, one of the most worthless, senseless

fellows I ever met with; full of projects as foolish as himself, which

were to rain down millions on those who took part in them. This man,

having come to Chambery on account of some suit depending before the

senate, immediately got acquainted with Madam de Warens, and with great

reason on his side, since for those imaginary treasures that cost him

nothing, and which he bestowed with the utmost prodigality, he gained,

in exchange, the unfortunate crown pieces one by one out of her pocket.

I did not like him, and he plainly perceived this, for with me it is

not a very difficult discovery, nor did he spare any sort of meanness to

gain my good will, and among other things proposed teaching me to play

at chess, which game he understood something of. I made an attempt,

though almost against my inclination, and after several efforts, having

learned the moves, my progress was so rapid, that before the end of the

first sitting I gave him the rook, which in the beginning he had given

me. Nothing more was necessary; behold me fascinated with chess! I buy

a board, with the rest of the apparatus, and shutting myself up in my

chamber, pass whole days and nights in studying all the varieties of the

game, being determined by playing alone, without end or relaxation,

to drive them into my head, right or wrong. After incredible efforts,

during two or three months passed in this curious employment, I go to

the coffee-house, thin, sallow, and almost stupid; I seat myself, and

again attack M. Bagueret: he beats me, once, twice, twenty times; so

many combinations were fermenting in my head, and my imagination was so

stupefied, that all appeared confusion. I tried to exercise myself with

Philidor's or Stamina's book of instructions, but I was still equally

perplexed, and, after having exhausted myself with fatigue, was further

to seek than ever, and whether I abandoned my chess for a time, or

resolved to surmount every difficulty by unremitted practice, it was the

same thing. I could never advance one step beyond the improvement of

the first sitting, nay, I am convinced that had I studied it a thousand

ages, I should have ended by being able to give Bagueret the rook and

nothing more.

It will be said my time was well employed, and not a little of it passed

in this occupation, nor did I quit my first essay till unable to persist

in it, for on leaving my apartment I had the appearance of a corpse,

and had I continued this course much longer I should certainly have been

one.

Any one will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially

in the ardor of youth, that such a head should suffer the body to enjoy

continued health; the alteration of mine had an effect on my temper,

moderating the ardor of my chimerical fancies, for as I grew weaker

they became more tranquil, and I even lost, in some measure, my rage

for travelling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy; vapors

succeeded passions, languor became sorrow: I wept and sighed without

cause, and felt my life ebbing away before I had enjoyed it. I only

trembled to think of the situation in which I should leave my dear Madam

de Warens; and I can truly say, that quitting her, and leaving her in

these melancholy circumstances, was my only concern. At length I fell

quite ill, and was nursed by her as never mother nursed a child.

The care she took of me was of real utility to her affairs, since it

diverted her mind from schemes, and kept projectors at a distance. How

pleasing would death have been at that time, when, if I had not tasted

many of the pleasures of life, I had felt but few of its misfortunes.

My tranquil soul would have taken her flight, without having experienced

those cruel ideas of the injustice of mankind which embitters both life

and death. I should have enjoyed the sweet consolation that I still

survived in the dearer part of myself: in the situation I then was, it

could hardly be called death; and had I been divested of my uneasiness

on her account, it would have appeared but a gentle sleep; yet even

these disquietudes had such an affectionate and tender turn, that their

bitterness was tempered by a pleasing sensibility. I said to her, "You

are the depository of my whole being, act so that I may be happy."

Two or three times, when my disorder was most violent, I crept to her

apartment to give her my advice respecting her future conduct; and I

dare affirm these admonitions were both wise and equitable, in which the

interest I took in her future concerns was strongly marked. As if tears

had been both nourishment and medicine, I found myself the better for

those I shed with her, while seated on her bed-side, and holding her

hands between mine. The hours crept insensibly away in these nocturnal

discourses; I returned to my chamber better than I had quitted it, being

content and calmed by the promises she made, and the hopes with which

she had inspired me: I slept on them with my heart at peace, and fully

resigned to the dispensations of Providence. God grant, that after

having had so many reasons to hate life, after being agitated with so

many storms, after it has even become a burden, that death, which must

terminate all, may be no more terrible than it would have been at that

moment!

By inconceivable care and vigilance, she saved my life; and I am

convinced she alone could have done this. I have little faith in the

skill of physicians, but depend greatly on the assistance of real

friends, and am persuaded that being easy in those particulars on which

our happiness depends, is more salutary than any other application. If

there is a sensation in life peculiarly delightful, we experienced it

in being restored to each other; our mutual attachment did not increase,

for that was impossible, but it became, I know not how, more exquisitely

tender, fresh softness being added to its former simplicity. I became

in a manner her work; we got into the habit, though without design, of

being continually with each other, and enjoying, in some measure, our

whole existence together, feeling reciprocally that we were not

only necessary, but entirely sufficient for each other's happiness.

Accustomed to think of no subject foreign to ourselves, our happiness

and all our desires were confined to that pleasing and singular union,

which, perhaps, had no equal, which is not, as I have before observed,

love, but a sentiment inexpressibly more intimate, neither depending

on the senses, age, nor figure, but an assemblage of every endearing

sensation that composes our rational existence and which can cease only

with our being.

How was it that this delightful crisis did not secure our mutual

felicity for the remainder of her life and mine? I have the consoling

conviction that it was not my fault; nay, I am persuaded, she did not

wilfully destroy it; the invincible peculiarity of my disposition was

doomed soon to regain its empire; but this fatal return was not suddenly

accomplished, there was, thank Heaven, a short but precious interval,

that did not conclude by my fault, and which I cannot reproach myself

with having employed amiss.

Though recovered from my dangerous illness, I did not regain my

strength; my stomach was weak, some remains of the fever kept me in a

languishing condition, and the only inclination I was sensible of, was

to end my days near one so truly dear to me; to confirm her in those

good resolutions she had formed; to convince her in what consisted the

real charms of a happy life, and, as far as depended on me, to render

hers so; but I foresaw that in a gloomy, melancholy house, the continual

solitude of our tete-a-tetes would at length become too dull and

monotonous: a remedy presented itself: Madam de Warens had prescribed

milk for me, and insisted that I should take it in the country; I

consented, provided she would accompany me; nothing more was necessary

to gain her compliance, and whither we should go was all that remained

to be determined on. Our garden (which I have before mentioned) was not

properly in the country, being surrounded by houses and other gardens,

and possessing none of those attractions so desirable in a rural

retreat; besides, after the death of Anet, we had given up this place

from economical principles, feeling no longer a desire to rear plants,

and other views making us not regret the loss of that little retreat.

Improving the distaste I found she began to imbibe for the town, I

proposed to abandon it entirely, and settle ourselves in an agreeable

solitude, in some small house, distant enough from the city to avoid the

perpetual intrusion of her hangers-on. She followed my advice, and this

plan, which her good angel and mine suggested, might fully have secured

our happiness and tranquility till death had divided us--but this was

not the state we were appointed to; Madam de Warens was destined to

endure all the sorrows of indigence and poverty, after having passed the

former part of her life in abundance, that she might learn to quit it

with the less regret; and myself, by an assemblage of misfortunes of all

kinds, was to become a striking example to those who, inspired with

a love of justice and the public good, and trusting too implicitly

to their own innocence, shall openly dare to assert truth to mankind,

unsupported by cabals, or without having previously formed parties to

protect them.

An unhappy fear furnished some objections to our plan: she did not dare

to quit her ill-contrived house, for fear of displeasing the proprietor.

"Your proposed retirement is charming," said she, "and much to my taste,

but we are necessitated to remain here, for, on quitting this dungeon,

I hazard losing the very means of life, and when these fail us in the

woods, we must again return to seek them in the city. That we may have

the least possible cause for being reduced to this necessity, let us

not leave this house entirely, but pay a small pension to the Count

of Saint-Laurent, that he may continue mine. Let us seek some little

habitation, far enough from the town to be at peace, yet near enough to

return when it may appear convenient."

This mode was finally adopted; and after some small search, we fixed

at Charmettes, on an estate belonging to M. de Conzie, at a very small

distance from Chambery; but as retired and solitary as if it had been a

hundred leagues off. The spot we had concluded on was a valley between

two tolerably high hills, which ran north and south; at the bottom,

among the trees and pebbles, ran a rivulet, and above the declivity,

on either side, were scattered a number of houses, forming altogether a

beautiful retreat for those who love a peaceful romantic asylum. After

having examined two or three of these houses, we chose that which we

thought the most pleasing, which was the property of a gentleman of the

army, called M. Noiret. This house was in good condition, before it a

garden, forming a terrace; below that on the declivity an orchard, and

on the ascent, behind the house, a vineyard: a little wood of chestnut

trees opposite; a fountain just by, and higher up the hill, meadows

for the cattle; in short, all that could be thought necessary for

the country retirement we proposed to establish. To the best of my

remembrance, we took possession of it toward the latter end of the

summer of 1736. I was delighted on going to sleep there--"Oh!" said I,

to this dear friend, embracing her with tears of tenderness and delight,

"this is the abode of happiness and innocence; if we do not find them

here together it will be in vain to seek them elsewhere."