A few words respecting Jean Jacques Rousseau--The comtesse du Barry
is desirous of his acquaintance--The countess visits Jean Jacques
Rousseau--His household furniture--His portrait--Thérèse--second visit
from madame du Barry to Jean Jacques Rousseau--The countess relates her
visit to the king--Billet from J. J. Rousseau to madame du Barry--The
two duchesses d'Aiguillon
Spite of the little estimation in which I held men of letters, generally
speaking, you must not take it for granted that I entertained an equal
indifference for all these gentlemen. I have already, I fear, tired your
patience when dwelling upon my ardent admiration of M. de Voltaire; I
have now to speak to you of that with which his illustrious rival, Jean
Jacques Rousseau, inspired me--the man who, after a life so filled
with constant trouble and misfortunes, died a few years since in so
deplorable a manner. At the period of which I am now speaking this man,
who had filled Europe with his fame, was living at Paris, in a state
bordering upon indigence. I must here mention, that it was owing to
my solicitation that he had been permitted to return from his exile,
I having successfully interceded for him with the chancellor and the
attorney-general. M. Seguier made no difficulty to my request, because
he looked upon Jean Jacques Rousseau as the greatest enemy to a set of
men whom he mortally hated--the philosophers. Neither did M. de Maupeou,
from the moment he effected the overthrow of the parliament, see any
objection to bestowing his protection upon a man whom the parliaments
had exiled. In this manner, therefore, without his being aware of it,
Rousseau owed to me the permission to re-enter Paris. Spite of the
mortifying terms in which this celebrated writer had spoken of the
king's mistresses, I had a lively curiosity to know him; all that his
enemies repeated of his uncouthness, and even of his malicious nature,
far from weakening the powerful interest with which he inspired me,
rather augmented it, by strengthening the idea I had previously formed
of his having been greatly calumniated. The generous vengeance which
he had recently taken for the injuries he had received from Voltaire
particularly charmed me.* I thought only how I could effect my design
of seeing him by one means or another, and in this resolution I was
confirmed by an accident which befell me one day.
*Jean Jacques Rousseau in his journey through
Lyons in June 1770 subscribed for the statue
of Voltaire.--author
It was the commencement of April, 1771, I was reading for the fourth
time, the "_Nouvelle Heloise_," and for the tenth, or, probably, twelfth,
the account of the party on the lake, when the maréchale de Mirepoix
entered the room. I laid my open volume on the mantel-piece, and the
maréchale, glancing her eye upon the book I had just put down, smilingly
begged my pardon for disturbing my grave studies, and taking it in her
hand, exclaimed,
"Ah! I see you have been perusing '_La Nouvelle Heloise_'; I have just
been having more than an hour's conversation respecting its author."
"What were you saying of him?" asked I.
"Why, my dear, I happened to be at the house of madame de Luxembourg,
where I met with the comtesse de Boufflers."
"Yes, I remember," said I, "the former of these ladies was the
particular friend of Jean Jacques Rousseau."
"And the second also," answered she; "and I can promise you, that
neither the one or the other spoke too well of him."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed I, with a warmth I could not repress.
"The duchess," resumed madame de Mirepoix, "says he is an ill-bred
and ungrateful man, and the countess insists upon it he is a downright
pedant."
"Shameful, indeed," cried I; "but can you, my dear friend, account for
the ill-nature with which these ladies speak of poor Rousseau?"
"Oh! Yes," replied the maréchale, "their motives are easily explained,
and I will tell you a little secret, for the truth of which I can vouch.
Madame de Luxembourg had at one time conceived the most lively passion
for Jean Jacques."
"Indeed!" cried I; "and he--"
"Did not return it. As for madame de Bouffiers, the case was exactly
reversed; and Rousseau has excited her resentment by daring long to
nurse a hopeless flame, of which she was the object: this presumption on
the part of the poet our dignified countess could never pardon. However,
I entreat of you not to repeat this; remember, I tell you in strictest
secrecy."
"Oh, be assured of my discretion," said I; "I promise you not to publish
your secret" (which, by the way, I was very certain was not communicated
for the first time when told to me).
This confidence on the part of the maréchale had, in some unaccountable
manner, only increased the ardent desire I felt to see the author of the
"_Nouvelle Heloise_"; and I observed to madame de Mirepoix, that I had a
great curiosity to be introduced to Rousseau.
"I fear," said she, "you will never be able to persuade him to visit at
the château."
"How then can I accomplish my desire of seeing this celebrated man?"
"By one simple method; if he will not come to you, you must go to him.
I would willingly accompany you, but he knows me, and my presence would
spoil all. The best thing you can do is to dress yourself quite
plainly, as a lady from the country, taking with you one of your female
attendants. You may take as a pretext for your visit some music you
would wish to have copied. Be sure to treat M. de Rousseau as a mere
copyist, and appear never to have heard of his superior inerit: do this,
and you will receive the best possible reception."
I greatly approved of the maréchale 's advice, which I assured her I
would delay no longer than till the following day to put into practice;
and, after some further conversation upon J. J. Rousseau, we parted.
Early the next day I set out for Paris accompanied by Henriette; there,
in pursuance of the suggestion of madame de Mirepoix, I dressed myself
as a person recently arrived from the country, and Henriette, who was
to accompany me, disguised herself as a villager. I assure you, our
personal attractions lost nothing by the change of our attire. From
the rue de la Jussienne to the rue Platriere is only a few steps;
nevertheless, in the fear of being recognised, I took a hired carriage.
Having reached our place of destination, we entered, by a shabby door,
the habitation of Jean Jacques Rousseau: his apartments were on the
fifth floor. I can scarcely describe to you, my friend, the emotions I
experienced as I drew nearer and nearer to the author of "Heloise." At
each flight of stairs I was compelled to pause to collect my ideas,
and my poor heart beat as though I had been keeping an assignation. At
length, however, we reached the fifth story; thereafter having rested a
few minutes to recover myself, I was about to knock at a door which was
opposite to me, when, as I approached, I heard a sweet but tremulous
voice singing a melancholy air, which I have never since heard anywhere;
the same voice repeated the romance to which I was listening several
times. When it had entirely ceased I profited by the silence to tap with
my knuckles against the door, but so feeble was the signal, that even
Henriette, who was close behind me, could not hear it. She begged I
would permit her to ring a bell which hung near us; and, having done so,
a step was heard approaching the door, and, in a minute or two, it was
opened by a man of about sixty years of age, who, seeing two females,
took off his cap with a sort of clumsy gallantry, at which I affected to
be much flattered.
"Pray, sir," said I, endeavouring to repress my emotion, "does a person
named Rousseau, a copier of music, live here?"
"Yes, madam; I am he. What is your pleasure?"
"I have been told, sir, that you are particularly skilful in copying
music cheaply; I should be glad if you would undertake to copy these
airs I have brought with me."
"Have the goodness to walk in, madam."
We crossed a small obscure closet, which served as a species of
antechamber, and entered the sitting-room of M. de Rousseau, who seated
me in an arm-chair, and motioning to Henriette to sit down, once more
inquired my wishes respecting the music.
"Sir," said I, "as I live in the country, and but very rarely visit
Paris, I should be obliged to you to get it done as early as possible."
"Willingly, madam; I have not much upon my hands just now."
I then gave to Jean Jacques Rousseau the roll of music I had brought. He
begged I would continue seated, requested permission to keep on his cap,
and went to a little table to examine the music I had brought.
Upon my first entrance I had perceived a close and confined smell in
these miserable apartments, but, by degrees, I became accustomed to
it, and began to examine the chamber in which I sat with as strict a
scrutiny as though I had intended making an inventory of its contents.
Three old elbow-chairs, some rickety stools, a writing-table, on
which were two or three volumes of music, some dried plants laid on
white-brown paper; beside the table stood an old spinet, and, close to
the latter article of furniture, sat a fat and well-looking cat. Over
the chimney hung an old silver watch; the walls of the room were
adorned with about half a dozen views of Switzerland and some inferior
engravings, two only, which occupied the most honourable situations,
struck me; one represented Frederick II, and under the picture were
written some lines (which I cannot now recollect) by Rousseau himself;
the other engraving, which hung opposite, was the likeness of a very
tall, thin, old man, whose dress was nearly concealed by the dirt which
had been allowed to accumulate upon it; I could only distinguish that
it was ornamented with a broad riband. When I had sufficiently surveyed
this chamber, the simplicity of which, so closely bordering on want
and misery, pained me to the heart, I directed my attention to the
extraordinary man who was the occasion of my visit. He was of middle
height, slightly bent by age, with a large and expansive chest; his
features were common in their cast, but possessed of the most perfect
regularity. His eyes, which he from time to time raised from the music
he was considering, were round and sparkling but small, and the heavy
brows which hung over them, conveyed an idea of gloom and severity; but
his mouth, which was certainly the most beautiful and fascinating in
its expression I ever saw, soon removed this unfavourable impression.
Altogether there belonged to his countenance a smile of mixed sweetness
and sadness, which bestowed on it an indescribable charm.
To complete my description, I must not forget to add his dress, which
consisted of a dirty cotton cap, to which were fixed strings of a
riband that had once been scarlet; a pelisse with arm-holes, a flannel
waistcoat, snuff-coloured breeches, gray stockings, and shoes slipped
down at the heel, after the fashion of slippers. Such was the portrait,
and such the abode of the man who believed himself to be one of the
potentates of the earth and who, in fact, had once owned his little
court and train of courtiers; for, in the century in which he lived,
talent had become as arbitrary as sovereign power--thanks to the
stupidity of some of our grandees and the caprice of Frederick of
Prussia.
Meanwhile my host, undisturbed by my reflections, had quietly gone over
his packet of music. He found amongst it an air from "_Le Devin du
Village_," which I had purposely placed there; he half turned towards
me and looking steadfastly at me, as if he would force the truth from my
lips.
"Madam," said he, "do you know the author of this little composition?"
"Yes," replied I, with an air of as great simplicity as I could assume,
"it is written by a person of the same name as yourself, who writes
books and composes operas. Is he any relation to you?"
My answer and question disarmed the suspicions of Jean Jacques, who
was about to reply, but stopped himself, as if afraid of uttering a
falsehood, and contented himself with smiling and casting down his eyes.
Taking courage from his silence, I ventured to add,--"The M. de Rousseau
who composed this pretty air has written much beautiful music and many
very clever works. Should I ever know the happiness of becoming a mother
I shall owe to him the proper care and education of my child." Rousseau
made no reply, but he turned his eyes towards me, and at this moment
the expression of his countenance was perfectly celestial, and I could
readily imagine how easily he might have inspired a warmer sentiment
than that of admiration.
Whilst we were conversing in this manner, a female, between the age of
forty and fifty, entered the room. She saluted me with great affectation
of politeness, and then, without speaking to Rousseau, went and seated
herself familiarly upon a chair on the other side of the table: this was
Thérèse, a sort of factotum, who served the master of these apartments
both as servant and mistress. I could not help regarding this woman with
a feeling of disgust; she had a horrible cough, which she told us was
more than usually troublesome on that day. I had heard of her
avarice; therefore to prevent the appearance of having called upon an
unprofitable errand, I inquired of Jean Jacques Rousseau how much the
music would cost.
"Six sous a page, madam," replied he, "is the usual price."
"Shall I, sir," asked I, "leave you any cash in hand for the purchase of
what paper you will require?"
"No, I thank you, madam," replied Rousseau, smiling; "thank God! I
am not yet so far reduced that I cannot purchase it for you. I have a
trifling annuity--"
"And you would be a much richer man," screamed Thérèse, "if you would
insist upon those people at the opera paying you what they owe you."
These words were accompanied with a shrug of the shoulders, intended to
convey a vast idea of her own opinion.
Rousseau made no reply; indeed he appeared to me like a frightened child
in the presence of its nurse; and I could quickly see, that from the
moment of her entering the room he had become restless and dejected,
he fidgeted on his seat, and seemed like a person in excessive pain.
At length he rose, and requesting my pardon for absenting himself, he
added, "My wife will have the honour to entertain you whilst I am away."
With these words he opened a small glass-door, and disappeared in the
neighbouring room.
When we were alone with Thérèse, she lost no time in opening the
conversation.
"Madam," cried she, "I trust you will have the goodness to excuse M.
Rousseau; he is very unwell; it is really extremely vexatious."
I replied that M. Rousseau had made his own excuses. Just then Thérèse,
wishing to give herself the appearance of great utility, cried out,
"Am I wanted there, M. Rousseau?"
"No, no, no," replied Jean Jacques, in a faint voice, which died away as
if at a distance.
He soon after re-entered the room.
"Madam," said he, "have the kindness to place your music in other hands
to copy; I am truly concerned that I cannot execute your wishes, but I
feel too ill to set about it directly."
I replied, that I was in no hurry; that I should be in Paris some time
yet, and that he might copy it at his leisure. It was then settled that
it should be ready within a week from that time; upon which I rose,
and ceremoniously saluting Thérèse, was conducted to the door by M.
Rousseau, whose politeness led him to escort me thither, holding his cap
in his hand. I retired, filled with admiration, respect, and pity.
When next I saw the duc d'Aiguillon, I could not refrain from relating
to him all that had happened. My recital inspired him with the most
lively curiosity to see Rousseau, whom he had never met in society. It
was then agreed, that when I went to fetch my music he should accompany
me, disguised in a similar manner to myself, and that I should pass him
off as my uncle. At the end of the eight days I repaired early as
before to Paris; the duke was not long in joining me there. He was so
inimitably well disguised, that no person would ever have detected the
most elegant nobleman of the court of France beneath the garb of a plain
country squire. We set out laughing like simpletons at the easy air with
which he wore his new costume; nevertheless our gaiety disappeared as
we reached the habitation of J. J. Rousseau. Spite of ourselves we
were compelled to honour and respect the man of talent and genius, who
preferred independence of ideas to riches, and before whom rank and
power were compelled to lay aside their unmeaning trappings ere they
could reach his presence. When we reached the fifth landing-place
I rang, and this time the door was opened by Thérèse, who told us M
Rousseau was out.
"But, madam," answered I, "I am here by the direction of your husband to
fetch away the music he has been engaged in copying for me."
"Ah, madam," exclaimed she, "is it you? I did not recollect you again;
pray walk in. M. Rousseau will be sure to be at home for you."
"So, then," thought I, "even genius has its visiting lists." We entered;
Jean Jacques formally saluted us, and invited us to be seated. He then
gave me my music; I inquired what it came to; he consulted a little
memorandum which lay upon the table, and replied, "So many pages, so
much paper, eighteen livres twelve sous;" which, of course, I instantly
paid. The duc d'Aiguillon, whom I styled my uncle, was endeavoring to
lead Rousseau into conversation, when the outer bell rang. Thérèse went
to open the door, and a gentleman entered, of mature age, although
still preserving his good looks. The duke regarded him in silence and
immediately made signs for me to hasten our departure; I obeyed, and
took leave of Rousseau, with many thanks his punctuality. He accompanied
us as before to door, and there I quitted him never to see him more. As
we were descending the staircase, M. d'Aiguillon told me that the person
who had so hastened our departure was Duclas, and that his hurry to quit
Rousseau arose from his dread of being recognised by him. Although M.
Duclas was a very excellent man, I must own that I owed no small grudge
for a visit which had thus abridged ours.
In the evening the duc d'Aiguillon and myself related to the king our
morning's pilgrimage. I likewise recounted my former visit, which I had
concealed until now. Louis XV seemed greatly interested with the recital
of it; he asked me a thousand questions, and would fain hear the most
trifling particulars.
"I shall never forget," said Louis XV, "the amazing success obtained by
his '_Devin du Village._' There certainly were some beautiful airs", and
the king began to hum over the song of
"_J'ai perdu tout mon bonheur._"
"Yes, madam," continued his majesty, "I promise you, that had Rousseau
after his success chosen to step forward as a candidate for public
favour, he would soon have overthrown Voltaire."
"Pardon me," replied I; "but I cannot believe that would have been
possible under any circumstances."
"And why not?" asked the king; "he was a man of great talent."
"Doubtless, sire, but not of the kind to compete with Voltaire."
The king then changed the conversation to Thérèse, inquiring whether she
possessed any attractions?
"None whatever, sire," replied the duke; "at least none that we could
perceive."
"In that case," rejoined his majesty, "she must have charmed her master
by some of those unseen perfections which take the deepest hold of the
heart; besides I know not why we should think it strange that others see
with different eyes to ourselves."
I made no secret with the comte Jean of my visit, and he likewise
expressed his desire to know a man so justly celebrated, and, in its
proper place, you, may hear how he managed to effect this, and what
befell him in consequence--but, to finish for the present with Rousseau,
for I will not promise that I shall not again indulge in speaking of
him. I will just say, that after the lapse of two or three days from the
time of my last visit, the idea occurred to me of sending him a thousand
crowns in an Indian casket. This I sent by a servant out of livery, whom
I strictly enjoined not to name me but to say simply that he came from
a lady. He brought back the casket to me unopened, and the following
billet from Rousseau:--
"MADAM,--I send back the present you would force upon my acceptance in
so concealed a manner; if it be offered as a testimony of your esteem I
may possibly accept it, when you permit me to know the hand from which
it comes. Be assured, madam, that there is much truth in the assertion
of its being more easy to give than to receive.
"I have the honour to remain, madam, yours, etc., etc.,
"J. J. ROUSSEAU."
This was rather an uncouth manner of refusing; nevertheless, when at
this distance of time I review the transaction, I cannot help admitting
that I well deserved it. Perhaps when it first occurred I might have
felt piqued, but since I have quitted the court I have again read over
the works of J. J. Rousseau, and I now speak of him, as you see, without
one particle of resentment.
I must now speak to you of a new acquaintance I made about this
Period--that of the two duchesses d'Aiguillon. From my first entrance
into the château until the close of 1770, madame d'Aiguillon, the
daughter-in-law, observed a sort of armed neutrality towards me; true,
she never visited me, but she always met me with apparent satisfaction
at the houses of others; thus she managed to steer clear of one
dangerous extreme or the other till the downfall of the des Choiseuls;
when the duc d'Aiguillon having been nominated to the ministry, she
perceived that she could not, without great ingratitude, omit calling
to offer me her acknowledgments, and accordingly she came. On my side, I
left no means untried of rendering myself agreeable to her; and so
well did I succeed, that from that moment her valuable friendship was
bestowed on me with a sincerity which even my unfortunate reverses have
been unable to shake; and we are to this day the same firm and true
friends we were in the zenith of my power. Not that I would seek
to justify the injury she sought to do our queen, but I may and do
congratulate myself, that the same warmth which pervades her hatreds
likewise influences her friendships.
I cannot equally boast of the treatment I received from the duchess
dowager d'Aiguillon, who, as well as her daughter-in-law, came to see me
upon the promotion of her son. She overloaded me with caresses, and even
exceeded her daughter-in-law in protestations of devotion and gratitude.
You should have heard her extol my beauty, wit, and sweetness of
disposition; she, in fact, so overwhelmed me with her surfeiting
praises, that at last I became convinced that, of the thousand
flattering things she continually addressed to me, not one was her
candid opinion; and I was right, for I soon learned, that in her circle
of intimates at the houses of the Beauffremons, the Brionnes, and above
all, the marquise du Deffant, she justified her acquaintance with me, by
saying it was a sacrifice made to the interests of her son, and
amused these ladies by censuring my every word and look. The dowager's
double-dealing greatly annoyed me; nevertheless, not wishing to vex
her son, or her daughter-in-law, I affected to be ignorant of her
dishonourable conduct. However, I could not long repress my indignation,
and one day that she was praising me most extravagantly, I exclaimed,
"Ah, madam, how kind it would be of you to reserve one of these pretty
speeches to repeat at madame du Deffant's." This blow, so strong yet
just, rather surprised her; but, quickly rallying her courage, she
endeavoured to persuade me that she always spoke of me in the same
terms. "It may be so," replied I; "but I fear that you say so many
flattering things to me, that you have not one left when out of my
sight."
The maréchale de Mirepoix used to say, that a caress from madame
d'Aiguillon was not less to be dreaded than the bite of M. d'Ayen. Yet
the duchess dowager has obtained a first-rate reputation for goodness;
every one styled her _the good duchesse d'Aiguillon_. And why, do you
suppose? Because she was one of those fat, fresh, portly-looking dames
of whom you would have said, her very face and figure bespoke the
contented goodness of her disposition; for who would ever suspect malice
could lurk in so much _embonpoint_? I think I have already told you that
this lady expired whilst bathing, of an attack of apoplexy, in the month
of June, 1772. Her son shed many tears at her loss, whilst I experienced
but a very moderate share of grief.
Adieu, my friend; if you are not already terrified at the multiplicity
of the letters which compose my journal, I have yet much to say; and I
flatter myself the continuance of my adventures will be found no less
interesting than those you have perused.