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 Warrens, 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 three or four years in this manner, between music, magestry,
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 Warrens, 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 Warrens' 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 Warrens, 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 march, 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
Phitidor'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 Warrens; 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 Warrens 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 Warrens 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."