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 Warrens.
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 Warrens (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 Warrens, 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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.