Produced by David Widger
THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)
Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society
London, 1903
BOOK II.
The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more
terrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeared
delightful. To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,
in the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of my
business to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger:
to expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all the
temptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,
misfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evils
than those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn, the
natural consequence of my hazardous enterprise. How different was the
idea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess was the
sole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty, I thought
everything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast theatre of
the world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I expected to
find amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to serve, and
mistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and the whole
universe would be interested in my concerns; not but I could have been
content with something less; a charming society, with sufficient means,
might have satisfied me. My moderation was such, that the sphere in
which I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but then it was to
possess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself the principal
object. A single castle, for instance, might have bounded my ambition;
could I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the daughter's
lover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I might have
been tolerably content, and sought no further.
In expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in the
environs of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, who
received me with more kindness than I should have met with in town; they
welcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live on
charity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance of
superiority to furnish out the idea.
I rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, at
about two leagues distance from Geneva. The vicar was called M. de
Pontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught my
attention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of the
gentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this M. de
Pontverre, and was received with great civility.
He spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holy
mother church, and then invited me to dinner. I had little to object to
arguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined to
believe that priests, who gave such excellent dinners, might be as good
as our ministers. Notwithstanding M. de Pontverre's pedigree, I
certainly possessed most learning; but I rather sought to be a good
companion than an expert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which I thought
delicious, argued so powerfully on his side, that I should have blushed
at silencing so kind a host; I, therefore, yielded him the victory, or
rather declined the contest. Any one who had observed my precaution,
would certainly have pronounced me a dissembler, though, in fact, I was
only courteous.
Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice in young people;
'tis oftener a virtue. When treated with kindness, it is natural to feel
an attachment for the person who confers the obligation; we do not
acquiesce because we wish to deceive, but from dread of giving
uneasiness, or because we wish to avoid the ingratitude of rendering evil
for good. What interest had M. de Pontverre in entertaining, treating
with respect, and endeavoring to convince me? None but mine; my young
heart told me this, and I was penetrated with gratitude and respect for
the generous priest; I was sensible of my superiority, but scorned to
repay his hospitality by taking advantage of it. I had no conception of
hypocrisy in this forbearance, or thought of changing my religion, nay,
so far was the idea from being familiar to me, that I looked on it with a
degree of horror which seemed to exclude the possibility of such an
event; I only wished to avoid giving offence to those I was sensible
caressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivate their good opinion,
and meantime leave them the hope of success by seeming less on my guard
than I really was. My conduct in this particular resembled the coquetry
of some very honest women, who, to obtain their wishes, without
permitting or promising anything, sometimes encourage hopes they never
mean to realize.
Reason, piety, and love of order, certainly demanded that instead of
being encouraged in my folly, I should have been dissuaded from the ruin
I was courting, and sent back to my family; and this conduct any one that
was actuated by genuine virtue would have pursued; but it should be
observed that though M. de Pontverre was a religious man, he was not a
virtuous one, but a bigot, who knew no virtue except worshipping images
and telling his beads, in a word, a kind of missionary, who thought the
height of merit consisted in writing libels against the ministers of
Geneva. Far from wishing to send me back, he endeavored to favor my
escape, and put it out of my power to return even had I been so disposed.
It was a thousand to one but he was sending me to perish with hunger, or
become a villain; but all this was foreign to his purpose; he saw a soul
snatched from heresy, and restored to the bosom of the church: whether I
was an honest man or a knave was very immaterial, provided I went to
mass.
This ridiculous mode of thinking is not peculiar to Catholics; it is the
voice of every dogmatical persuasion where merit consists in belief, and
not in virtue.
"You are called by the Almighty," said M. de Pontverre; "go to Annecy,
where you will find a good and charitable lady, whom the bounty of the
king enables to turn souls from those errors she has happily renounced."
He spoke of a Madam de Warrens, a new convert, to whom the priests
contrived to send those wretches who were disposed to sell their faith,
and with these she was in a manner constrained to share a pension of two
thousand francs bestowed on her by the King of Sardinia. I felt myself
extremely humiliated at being supposed to want the assistance of a good
and charitable lady. I had no objection to be accommodated with
everything I stood in need of, but did not wish to receive it on the
footing of charity and to owe this obligation to a devotee was still
worse; notwithstanding my scruples the persuasions of M. de Pontverre,
the dread of perishing with hunger, the pleasures I promised myself from
the journey, and hope of obtaining some desirable situation, determined
me; and I set out though reluctantly, for Annecy. I could easily have
reached it in a day, but being in no great haste to arrive there, it took
me three. My head was filled with the ideas of adventures, and I
approached every country-seat I saw in my way, in expectation of having
them realized. I had too much timidity to knock at the doors, or even
enter if I saw them open, but I did what I dared--which was to sing under
those windows that I thought had the most favorable appearance; and was
very much disconcerted to find I wasted my breath to no purpose, and that
neither old nor young ladies were attracted by the melody of my voice, or
the wit of my poetry, though some songs my companions had taught me I
thought excellent and that I sung them incomparably. At length I arrived
at Annecy, and saw Madam de Warrens.
As this period of my life, in a great measure, determined my character,
I could not resolve to pass it lightly over. I was in the middle of my
sixteenth year, and though I could not be called handsome, was well made
for my height; I had a good foot, a well turned leg, and animated
countenance; a well proportioned mouth, black hair and eyebrows, and my
eyes, though small and rather too far in my head, sparkling with
vivacity, darted that innate fire which inflamed my blood; unfortunately
for me, I knew nothing of all this, never having bestowed a single
thought on my person till it was too late to be of any service to me.
The timidity common to my age was heightened by a natural benevolence,
which made me dread the idea of giving pain. Though my mind had received
some cultivation, having seen nothing of the world, I was an absolute
stranger to polite address, and my mental acquisitions, so far from
supplying this defect, only served to increase my embarrassment, by
making me sensible of every deficiency.
Depending little, therefore, on external appearances, I had recourse to
other expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling all
the flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books with the phrases
of an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the attention, and insure the
good will of Madam de Warrens. I enclosed M. de Pontverre's letter in my
own and waited on the lady with a heart palpitating with fear and
expectation. It was Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I was informed she
was that moment gone to church; I hasten after her, overtake, and speak
to her.--The place is yet fresh in my memory--how can it be otherwise?
often have I moistened it with my tears and covered it with kisses.--Why
cannot I enclose with gold the happy spot, and render it the object of
universal veneration? Whoever wishes to honor monuments of human
salvation would only approach it on their knees.
It was a passage at the back of the house, bordered on the left hand by a
little rivulet, which separated it from the garden, and, on the right, by
the court yard wall; at the end was a private door which opened into the
church of the Cordeliers. Madam de Warrens was just passing this door;
but on hearing my voice, instantly turned about. What an effect did the
sight of her produce! I expected to see a devout, forbidding old woman;
M. de Pontverre's pious and worthy lady could be no other in my
conception; instead of which, I see a face beaming with charms, fine blue
eyes full of sweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzled the sight,
the form of an enchanting neck, nothing escaped the eager eye of the
young proselyte; for that instant I was hers!--a religion preached by
such missionaries must lead to paradise!
My letter was presented with a trembling hand; she took it with a smile
--opened it, glanced an eye over M. de Pontverre's and again returned to
mine, which she read through and would have read again, had not the
footman that instant informed her that service was beginning--"Child,"
said she, in a tone of voice which made every nerve vibrate, "you are
wandering about at an early age--it is really a pity!"--and without
waiting for an answer, added--"Go to my house, bid them give you
something for breakfast, after mass, I will speak to you."
Louisa--Eleanora de Warrens was of the noble and ancient family of La
Tour de Pit, of Vevay, a city in the country of the Vaudois. She was
married very young to a M. de Warrens, of the house of Loys, eldest son
of M. de Villardin, of Lausanne; there were no children by this marriage,
which was far from being a happy one. Some domestic uneasiness made
Madam de Warrens take the resolution of crossing the Lake, and throwing
herself at the feet of Victor Amadeus, who was then at Evian; thus
abandoning her husband, family, and country by a giddiness similar to
mine, which precipitation she, too, has found sufficient time and reason
to lament.
The king, who was fond of appearing a zealous promoter of the Catholic
faith, took her under his protection, and complimented her with a pension
of fifteen hundred livres of Piedmont, which was a considerable
appointment for a prince who never had the character of being generous;
but finding his liberality made some conjecture he had an affection for
the lady, he sent her to Annecy escorted by a detachment of his guards,
where, under the direction of Michael Gabriel de Bernex, titular bishop
of Geneva, she abjured her former religion at the Convent of the
Visitation.
I came to Annecy just six years after this event; Madam de Warrens was
then eight--and--twenty, being born with the century. Her beauty,
consisting more in the expressive animation of the countenance, than a
set of features, was in its meridian; her manner soothing and tender; an
angelic smile played about her mouth, which was small and delicate; she
wore her hair (which was of an ash color, and uncommonly beautiful) with
an air of negligence that made her appear still more interesting; she was
short, and rather thick for her height, though by no means disagreeably
so; but there could not be a more lovely face, a finer neck, or hands and
arms more exquisitely formed.
Her education had been derived from such a variety of sources, that it
formed an extraordinary assemblage. Like me, she had lost her mother at
her birth, and had received instruction as it chanced to present itself;
she had learned something of her governess, something of her father, a
little of her masters, but copiously from her lovers; particularly a M.
de Tavel, who, possessing both taste and information, endeavored to adorn
with them the mind of her he loved. These various instructions, not
being properly arranged, tended to impede each other, and she did not
acquire that degree of improvement her natural good sense was capable of
receiving; she knew something of philosophy and physic, but not enough to
eradicate the fondness she had imbibed from her father for empiricism and
alchemy; she made elixirs, tinctures, balsams, pretended to secrets, and
prepared magestry; while quacks and pretenders, profiting by her
weakness, destroyed her property among furnaces, drugs and minerals,
diminishing those charms and accomplishments which might have been the
delight of the most elegant circles. But though these interested
wretches took advantage of her ill-applied education to obscure her
natural good sense, her excellent heart retained its purity; her amiable
mildness, sensibility for the unfortunate, inexhaustible bounty, and
open, cheerful frankness, knew no variation; even at the approach of old
age, when attacked by various calamities, rendered more cutting by
indigence, the serenity of her disposition preserved to the end of her
life the pleasing gayety of her happiest days.
Her errors proceeded from an inexhaustible fund of activity, which
demanded perpetual employment. She found no satisfaction in the
customary intrigues of her sex, but, being formed for vast designs,
sought the direction of important enterprises and discoveries. In her
place Madam de Longueville would have been a mere trifler, in Madam de
Longueville's situation she would have governed the state. Her talents
did not accord with her fortune; what would have gained her distinction
in a more elevated sphere, became her ruin. In enterprises which suited
her disposition, she arranged the plan in her imagination, which was ever
carried of its utmost extent, and the means she employed being
proportioned rather to her ideas than abilities, she failed by the
mismanagement of those upon whom she depended, and was ruined where
another would scarce have been a loser. This active disposition, which
involved her in so many difficulties, was at least productive of one
benefit as it prevented her from passing the remainder of her life in the
monastic asylum she had chosen, which she had some thought of. The
simple and uniform life of a nun, and the little cabals and gossipings of
their parlor, were not adapted to a mind vigorous and active, which,
every day forming new systems, had occasions for liberty to attempt their
completion.
The good bishop of Bernex, with less wit than Francis of Sales, resembled
him in many particulars, and Madam de Warrens, whom he loved to call his
daughter, and who was like Madam de Chantel in several respects, might
have increased the resemblance by retiring like her from the world, had
she not been disgusted with the idle trifling of a convent. It was not
want of zeal prevented this amiable woman from giving those proofs of
devotion which might have been expected from a new convert, under the
immediate direction of a prelate. Whatever might have influenced her to
change her religion, she was certainly sincere in that she had embraced;
she might find sufficient occasion to repent having abjured her former
faith, but no inclination to return to it. She not only died a good
Catholic, but truly lived one; nay, I dare affirm (and I think I have had
the opportunity to read the secrets of her heart) that it was only her
aversion to singularity that prevented her acting the devotee in public;
in a word, her piety was too sincere to give way to any affectation of
it. But this is not the place to enlarge on her principles: I shall find
other occasions to speak of them.
Let those who deny the existence of a sympathy of souls, explain, if they
know how, why the first glance, the first word of Madam de Warrens
inspired me, not only with a lively attachment, but with the most
unbounded confidence, which has since known no abatement. Say this was
love (which will at least appear doubtful to those who read the sequel of
our attachment) how could this passion be attended with sentiments which
scarce ever accompany its commencement, such as peace, serenity,
security, and confidence. How, when making application to an amiable and
polished woman, whose situation in life was so superior to mine, so far
above any I had yet approached, on whom, in a great measure, depended my
future fortune by the degree of interest she might take in it; how, I say
with so many reasons to depress me, did I feel myself as free, as much at
my ease, as if I had been perfectly secure of pleasing her! Why did I
not experience a moment of embarrassment, timidity or restraint?
Naturally bashful, easily confused, having seen nothing of the world,
could I, the first time, the first moment I beheld her, adopt caressing
language, and a familiar tone, as readily as after ten years' intimacy
had rendered these freedoms natural? Is it possible to possess love, I
will not say without desires, for I certainly had them, but without
inquietude, without jealousy? Can we avoid feeling an anxious wish at
least to know whether our affection is returned? Yet such a question
never entered my imagination; I should as soon have inquired, do I love
myself; nor did she ever express a greater degree of curiosity; there
was, certainly, something extraordinary in my attachment to this charming
woman and it will be found in the sequel, that some extravagances, which
cannot be foreseen, attended it.
What could be done for me, was the present question, and in order to
discuss the point with greater freedom, she made me dine with her. This
was the first meal in my life where I had experienced a want of appetite,
and her woman, who waited, observed it was the first time she had seen a
traveller of my age and appearance deficient in that particular: this
remark, which did me no injury in the opinion of her mistress, fell hard
on an overgrown clown, who was my fellow guest, and devoured sufficient
to have served at least six moderate feeders. For me, I was too much
charmed to think of eating; my heart began to imbibe a delicious
sensation, which engrossed my whole being, and left no room for other
objects.
Madam de Warrens wished to hear the particulars of my little history--all
the vivacity I had lost during my servitude returned and assisted the
recital. In proportion to the interest this excellent woman took in my
story, did she lament the fate to which I had exposed myself; compassion
was painted on her features, and expressed by every action. She could
not exhort me to return to Geneva, being too well aware that her words
and actions were strictly scrutinized, and that such advice would be
thought high treason against Catholicism, but she spoke so feelingly of
the affliction I must give her(my) father, that it was easy to perceive
she would have approved my returning to console him. Alas! she little
thought how powerfully this pleaded against herself; the more eloquently
persuasive she appeared, the less could I resolve to tear myself from
her. I knew that returning to Geneva would be putting an insuperable
barrier between us, unless I repeated the expedient which had brought me
here, and it was certainly better to preserve than expose myself to the
danger of a relapse; besides all this, my conduct was predetermined, I
was resolved not to return. Madam de Warrens, seeing her endeavors would
be fruitless, became less explicit, and only added, with an air of
commiseration, "Poor child! thou must go where Providence directs thee,
but one day thou wilt think of me."--I believe she had no conception at
that time how fatally her prediction would be verified.
The difficulty still remained how I was to gain a subsistence? I have
already observed that I knew too little of engraving for that to furnish
my resource, and had I been more expert, Savoy was too poor a country to
give much encouragement to the arts. The above-mentioned glutton, who
eat for us as well as himself, being obliged to pause in order to gain
some relaxation from the fatigue of it, imparted a piece of advice,
which, according to him, came express from Heaven; though to judge by its
effects it appeared to have been dictated from a direct contrary quarter:
this was that I should go to Turin, where, in a hospital instituted for
the instruction of catechumens, I should find food, both spiritual and
temporal, be reconciled to the bosom of the church, and meet with some
charitable Christians, who would make it a point to procure me a
situation that would turn to my advantage. "In regard to the expenses of
the journey," continued our advisor, "his grace, my lord bishop, will not
be backward, when once madam has proposed this holy work, to offer his
charitable donation, and madam, the baroness, whose charity is so well
known," once more addressing himself to the continuation of his meal,
"will certainly contribute."
I was by no means pleased with all these charities; I said nothing, but
my heart was ready to burst with vexation. Madam de Warrens, who did not
seem to think so highly of this expedient as the projector pretended to
do, contented herself by saying, everyone should endeavor to promote good
actions, and that she would mention it to his lordship; but the meddling
devil, who had some private interest in this affair, and questioned
whether she would urge it to his satisfaction, took care to acquaint the
almoners with my story, and so far influenced those good priests, that
when Madam de Warrens, who disliked the journey on my account, mentioned
it to the bishop, she found it so far concluded on, that he immediately
put into her hands the money designed for my little viaticum. She dared
not advance anything against it; I was approaching an age when a woman
like her could not, with any propriety, appear anxious to retain me.
My departure being thus determined by those who undertook the management
of my concerns, I had only to submit; and I did it without much
repugnance. Though Turin was at a greater distance from Madam de Warrens
than Geneva, yet being the capital of the country I was now in, it seemed
to have more connection with Annecy than a city under a different
government and of a contrary religion; besides, as I undertook this
journey in obedience to her, I considered myself as living under her
direction, which was more flattering than barely to continue in the
neighborhood; to sum up all, the idea of a long journey coincided with my
insurmountable passion for rambling, which already began to demonstrate
itself. To pass the mountains, to my eye appeared delightful; how
charming the reflection of elevating myself above my companions by the
whole height of the Alps! To see the world is an almost irresistible
temptation to a Genevan, accordingly I gave my consent.
He who suggested the journey was to set off in two days with his wife.
I was recommended to their care; they were likewise made my purse
--bearers, which had been augmented by Madam de Warrens, who, not contented
with these kindnesses, added secretly a pecuniary reinforcement, attended
with the most ample instructions, and we departed on the Wednesday before
Easter.
The day following, my father arrived at Annecy, accompanied by his
friend, a Mr. Rival, who was likewise a watchmaker; he was a man of sense
and letters, who wrote better verses than La Motte, and spoke almost as
well; what is still more to his praise, he was a man of the strictest
integrity, but whose taste for literature only served to make one of his
sons a comedian. Having traced me to the house of Madam de Warrens, they
contented themselves with lamenting, like her, my fate, instead of
overtaking me, which, (as they were on horseback and I on foot) they
might have accomplished with the greatest ease.
My uncle Bernard did the same thing, he arrived at Consignon, received
information that I was gone to Annecy, and immediately returned back to
Geneva; thus my nearest relations seemed to have conspired with my
adverse stars to consign me to misery and ruin. By a similar negligence,
my brother was so entirely lost, that it was never known what was become
of him.
My father was not only a man of honor but of the strictest probity, and
endured with that magnanimity which frequently produces the most shining
virtues: I may add, he was a good father, particularly to me whom he
tenderly loved; but he likewise loved his pleasures, and since we had
been separated other connections had weakened his paternal affections.
He had married again at Nion, and though his second wife was too old to
expect children, she had relations; my father was united to another
family, surrounded by other objects, and a variety of cares prevented my
returning to his remembrance. He was in the decline of life and had
nothing to support the inconveniences of old age; my mother's property
devolved to me and my brother, but, during our absence, the interest of
it was enjoyed by my father: I do not mean to infer that this
consideration had an immediate effect on his conduct, but it had an
imperceptible one, and prevented him making use of that exertion to
regain me which he would otherwise have employed; and this, I think, was
the reason that having traced me as far as Annecy, he stopped short,
without proceeding to Chambery, where he was almost certain I should be
found; and likewise accounts why, on visiting him several times since my
flight, he always received me with great kindness, but never made any
efforts to retain me.
This conduct in a father, whose affection and virtue I was so well
convinced of, has given birth to reflections on the regulation of my own
conduct which have greatly contributed to preserve the integrity of my
heart. It has taught me this great lesson of morality, perhaps the only
one that can have any conspicuous influence on our actions, that we
should ever carefully avoid putting our interests in competition with our
duty, or promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others;
certain that in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtue
may be, sooner or later it will give way and we shall imperceptibly
become unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions.
This maxim, strongly imprinted on my mind, and reduced, though rather too
late, to practice, has given my conduct an appearance of folly and
whimsicality, not only in public, but still more among my acquaintances:
it has been said, I affected originality, and sought to act different
from other people; the truth is, I neither endeavor to conform or be
singular, I desire only to act virtuously and avoid situations, which,
by setting my interest in opposition to that of another person's, might
inspire me with a secret, though involuntary wish to his disadvantage.
Two years ago, My Lord Marshal would have put my name in his will, which
I took every method to prevent, assuring him I would not for the world
know myself in the will of any one, much less in his; he gave up the
idea; but insisted in return, that I should accept an annuity on his
life; this I consented to. It will be said, I find my account in the
alteration; perhaps I may; but oh, my benefactor! my father, I am now
sensible that, should I have the misfortune to survive thee, I should
have everything to lose, nothing to gain.
This, in my idea, in true philosophy, the surest bulwark of human
rectitude; every day do I receive fresh conviction of its profound
solidity. I have endeavored to recommend it in all my latter writings,
but the multitude read too superficially to have made the remark. If I
survive my present undertaking, and am able to begin another, I mean, in
a continuation of Emilius, to give such a lively and marking example of
this maxim as cannot fail to strike attention. But I have made
reflections enough for a traveller, it is time to continue my journey.
It turned out more agreeable than I expected: my clownish conductor was
not so morose as he appeared to be. He was a middle-aged man, wore his
black, grizzly hair, in a queue, had a martial air, a strong voice, was
tolerably cheerful, and to make up for not having been taught any trade,
could turn his hand to every one. Having proposed to establish some kind
of manufactory at Annecy, he had consulted Madam de Warrens, who
immediately gave into the project, and he was now going to Turin to lay
the plan before the minister and get his approbation, for which journey
he took care to be well rewarded.
This drole had the art of ingratiating himself with the priests, whom he
ever appeared eager to serve; he adopted a certain jargon which he had
learned by frequenting their company, and thought himself a notable
preacher; he could even repeat one passage from the Bible in Latin, and
it answered his purpose as well as if he had known a thousand, for he
repeated it a thousand times a day. He was seldom at a loss for money
when he knew what purse contained it; yet, was rather artful than
knavish, and when dealing out in an affected tone his unmeaning
discourses, resembled Peter the Hermit, preaching up the crusade with a
sabre at his side.
Madam Sabran, his wife, was a tolerable, good sort of woman; more
peaceable by day than by night; as I slept in the same chamber I was
frequently disturbed by her wakefulness, and should have been more so had
I comprehended the cause of it; but I was in the chapter of dullness,
which left to nature the whole care of my own instruction.
I went on gayly with my pious guide and his hopeful companion, no
sinister accident impeding our journey. I was in the happiest
circumstances both of mind and body that I ever recollect having
experienced; young, full of health and security, placing unbounded
confidence in myself and others; in that short but charming moment of
human life, whose expansive energy carries, if I may so express myself,
our being to the utmost extent of our sensations, embellishing all nature
with an inexpressible charm, flowing from the conscious and rising
enjoyment of our existence.
My pleasing inquietudes became less wandering: I had now an object on
which imagination could fix. I looked on myself as the work, the pupil,
the friend, almost the lover of Madam de Warrens; the obliging things she
had said, the caresses she had bestowed on me; the tender interest she
seemed to take in everything that concerned me; those charming looks,
which seemed replete with love, because they so powerfully inspired it,
every consideration flattered my ideas during this journey, and furnished
the most delicious reveries, which, no doubt, no fear of my future
condition arose to embitter. In sending me to Turin, I thought they
engaged to find me an agreeable subsistence there; thus eased of every
care I passed lightly on, while young desires, enchanting hopes, and
brilliant prospects employed my mind; each object that presented itself
seemed to insure my approaching felicity. I imagined that every house
was filled with joyous festivity, the meadows resounded with sports and
revelry, the rivers offered refreshing baths, delicious fish wantoned in
these streams, and how delightful was it to ramble along the flowery
banks! The trees were loaded with the choicest fruits, while their shade
afforded the most charming and voluptuous retreats to happy lovers; the
mountains abounded with milk and cream; peace and leisure, simplicity and
joy, mingled with the charm of going I knew not whither, and everything I
saw carried to my heart some new cause for rapture. The grandeur,
variety, and real beauty of the scene, in some measure rendered the charm
reasonable, in which vanity came in for its share; to go so young to
Italy, view such an extent of country, and pursue the route of Hannibal
over the Alps, appeared a glory beyond my age; add to all this our
frequent and agreeable halts, with a good appetite and plenty to satisfy
it; for in truth it was not worth while to be sparing; at Mr. Sabran's
table what I eat could scarce be missed. In the whole course of my life
I cannot recollect an interval more perfectly exempt from care, than the
seven or eight days I was passing from Annecy to Turin. As we were
obliged to walk Madam Sabran's pace, it rather appeared an agreeable
jaunt than a fatiguing journey; there still remains the most pleasing
impressions of it on my mind, and the idea of a pedestrian excursion,
particularly among the mountains, has from this time seemed delightful.
It was only in my happiest days that I travelled on foot, and ever with
the most unbounded satisfaction; afterwards, occupied with business and
encumbered with baggage, I was forced to act the gentleman and employ a
carriage, where care, embarrassment, and restraint, were sure to be my
companions, and instead of being delighted with the journey, I only
wished to arrive at the place of destination.
I was a long time at Paris, wishing to meet with two companions of
similar dispositions, who would each agree to appropriate fifty guineas
of his property and a year of his time to making the tour of Italy on
foot, with no other attendance than a young fellow to carry our
necessaries; I have met with many who seemed enchanted with the project,
but considered it only as a visionary scheme, which served well enough to
talk of, without any design of putting it in execution. One day,
speaking with enthusiasm of this project to Diderot and Grimm, they gave
into the proposal with such warmth that I thought the matter concluded
on; but it only turned out a journey on paper, in which Grimm thought
nothing so pleasing as making Diderot commit a number of impieties, and
shutting me up in the Inquisition for them, instead of him.
My regret at arriving so soon at Turin was compensated by the pleasure of
viewing a large city, and the hope of figuring there in a conspicuous
character, for my brain already began to be intoxicated with the fumes of
ambition; my present situation appeared infinitely above that of an
apprentice, and I was far from foreseeing how soon I should be much below
it.
Before I proceed, I ought to offer an excuse, or justification to the
reader for the great number of unentertaining particulars I am
necessitated to repeat. In pursuance of the resolution I have formed to
enter on this public exhibition of myself, it is necessary that nothing
should bear the appearance of obscurity or concealment. I should be
continually under the eye of the reader, he should be enabled to follow
me In all the wanderings of my heart, through every intricacy of my
adventures; he must find no void or chasm in my relation, nor lose sight
of me an instant, lest he should find occasion to say, what was he doing
at this time; and suspect me of not having dared to reveal the whole. I
give sufficient scope to malignity in what I say; it is unnecessary I
should furnish still more by my science.
My money was all gone, even that I had secretly received from Madam de
Warrens: I had been so indiscreet as to divulge this secret, and my
conductors had taken care to profit by it. Madam Sabran found means to
deprive me of everything I had, even to a ribbon embroidered with silver,
with which Madam de Warrens had adorned the hilt of my sword; this I
regretted more than all the rest; indeed the sword itself would have gone
the same way, had I been less obstinately bent on retaining it. They
had, it is true, supported me during the journey, but left me nothing at
the end of it, and I arrived at Turin, without money, clothes, or linen,
being precisely in the situation to owe to my merit alone the whole honor
of that fortune I was about to acquire.
I took care in the first place to deliver the letters I was charged with,
and was presently conducted to the hospital of the catechumens, to be
instructed in that religion, for which, in return, I was to receive
subsistence. On entering, I passed an iron-barred gate, which was
immediately double-locked on me; this beginning was by no means
calculated to give me a favorable opinion of my situation. I was then
conducted to a large apartment, whose furniture consisted of a wooden
altar at the farther end, on which was a large crucifix, and round it
several indifferent chairs, of the same materials. In this hall of
audience were assembled four or five ill-looking banditti, my comrades in
instruction, who would rather have been taken for trusty servants of the
devil than candidates for the kingdom of heaven. Two of these fellows
were Sclavonians, but gave out they were African Jews, and (as they
assured me) had run through Spain and Italy, embracing the Christian
faith, and being baptised wherever they thought it worth their labor.
Soon after they opened another iron gate, which divided a large balcony
that overlooked a court yard, and by this avenue entered our sister
catechumens, who, like me, were going to be regenerated, not by baptism
but a solemn abjuration. A viler set of idle, dirty, abandoned harlots,
never disgraced any persuasion; one among them, however, appeared pretty
and interesting; she might be about my own age, perhaps a year or two
older, and had a pair of roguish eyes, which frequently encountered mine;
this was enough to inspire me with the desire of becoming acquainted with
her, but she had been so strongly recommended to the care of the old
governess of this respectable sisterhood, and was so narrowly watched by
the pious missionary, who labored for her conversion with more zeal than
diligence, that during the two months we remained together in this house
(where she had already been three) I found it absolutely impossible to
exchange a word with her. She must have been extremely stupid, though
she had not the appearance of it, for never was a longer course of
instruction; the holy man could never bring her to a state of mind fit
for abjuration; meantime she became weary of her cloister, declaring
that, Christian or not, she would stay there no longer; and they were
obliged to take her at her word, lest she should grow refractory, and
insist on departing as great a sinner as she came.
This hopeful community were assembled in honor of the new-comer; when our
guides made us a short exhortation: I was conjured to be obedient to the
grace that Heaven had bestowed on me; the rest were admonished to assist
me with their prayers, and give me edification by their good example.
Our virgins then retired to another apartment, and I was left to
contemplate, at leisure, that wherein I found myself.
The next morning we were again assembled for instruction: I now began to
reflect, for the first time, on the step I was about to take, and the
circumstances which had led me to it.
I repeat, and shall perhaps repeat again, an assertion I have already
advanced, and of whose truth I every day receive fresh conviction, which
is, that if ever child received a reasonable and virtuous education, it
was myself. Born in a family of unexceptionable morals, every lesson I
received was replete with maxims of prudence and virtue. My father
(though fond of gallantry) not only possessed distinguished probity, but
much religion; in the world he appeared a man of pleasure, in his family
he was a Christian, and implanted early in my mind those sentiments he
felt the force of. My three aunts were women of virtue and piety; the
two eldest were professed devotees, and the third, who united all the
graces of wit and good sense, was, perhaps, more truly religious than
either, though with less ostentation. From the bosom of this amiable
family I was transplanted to M. Lambercier's, a man dedicated to the
ministry, who believed the doctrine he taught, and acted up to its
precepts. He and his sister matured by their instructions those
principles of judicious piety I had already imbibed, and the means
employed by these worthy people were so well adapted to the effect they
meant to produce, that so far from being fatigued, I scarce ever listened
to their admonitions without finding myself sensibly affected, and
forming resolutions to live virtuously, from which, except in moments of
forgetfulness, I seldom swerved. At my uncle's, religion was far more
tiresome, because they made it an employment; with my master I thought no
more of it, though my sentiments continued the same: I had no companions
to vitiate my morals: I became idle, careless, and obstinate, but my
principles were not impaired.
I possessed as much religion, therefore, as a child could be supposed
capable of acquiring. Why should I now disguise my thoughts? I am
persuaded I had more. In my childhood, I was not a child; I felt, I
thought as a man: as I advanced in years, I mingled with the ordinary
class; in my infancy I was distinguished from it. I shall doubtless
incur ridicule by thus modestly holding myself up for a prodigy--I am
content. Let those who find themselves disposed to it, laugh their fill;
afterward, let them find a child that at six years old is delighted,
interested, affected with romances, even to the shedding floods of tears;
I shall then feel my ridiculous vanity, and acknowledge myself in an
error.
Thus when I said we should not converse with children on religion, if we
wished them ever to possess any; when I asserted they were incapable of
communion with the Supreme Being, even in our confined degree, I drew my
conclusions from general observation; I knew they were not applicable to
particular instances: find J. J. Rousseau of six years old, converse with
them on religious subjects at seven, and I will be answerable that the
experiment will be attended with no danger.
It is understood, I believe, that a child, or even a man, is likely to be
most sincere while persevering in that religion in whose belief he was
born and educated; we frequently detract from, seldom make any additions
to it: dogmatical faith is the effect of education. In addition to this
general principle which attached me to the religion of my forefathers, I
had that particular aversion our city entertains for Catholicism, which
is represented there as the most monstrous idolatry, and whose clergy are
painted in the blackest colors. This sentiment was so firmly imprinted
on my mind, that I never dared to look into their churches--I could not
bear to meet a priest in his surplice, and never did I hear the bells of
a procession sound without shuddering with horror; these sensations soon
wore off in great cities, but frequently returned in country parishes,
which bore more similarity to the spot where I first experienced them;
meantime this dislike was singularly contrasted by the remembrance of
those caresses which priests in the neighborhood of Geneva are fond of
bestowing on the children of that city. If the bells of the viaticum
alarmed me, the chiming for mass or vespers called me to a breakfast, a
collation, to the pleasure of regaling on fresh butter, fruits, or milk;
the good cheer of M. de Pontverre had produced a considerable effect on
me; my former abhorrence began to diminish, and looking on popery through
the medium of amusement and good living, I easily reconciled myself to
the idea of enduring, though I never entertained but a very transient and
distant idea of making a solemn profession of it.
At this moment such a transaction appeared in all its horrors; I
shuddered at the engagement I had entered into, and its inevitable
consequences. The future neophytes with which I was surrounded were not
calculated to sustain my courage by their example, and I could not help
considering the holy work I was about to perform as the action of a
villain. Though young, I was sufficiently convinced, that whatever
religion might be the true one, I was about to sell mine; and even should
I chance to chose the best, I lied to the Holy Ghost, and merited the
disdain of every good man. The more I considered, the more I despised
myself, and trembled at the fate which had led me into such a
predicament, as if my present situation had not been of my own seeking.
There were moments when these compunctions were so strong that had I
found the door open but for an instant, I should certainly have made my
escape; but this was impossible, nor was the resolution of any long
duration, being combated by too many secret motives to stand any chance
of gaining the victory.
My fixed determination not to return to Geneva, the shame that would
attend it, the difficulty of repassing the mountains, at a distance from
my country, without friends, and without resources, everything concurred
to make me consider my remorse of conscience, as a too late repentance.
I affected to reproach myself for what I had done, to seek excuses for
that I intended to do, and by aggravating the errors of the past, looked
on the future as an inevitable consequence. I did not say, nothing is
yet done, and you may be innocent if you please; but I said, tremble at
the crime thou hast committed, which hath reduced thee to the necessity
of filling up the measure of thine iniquities.
It required more resolution than was natural to my age to revoke those
expectations which I had given them reason to entertain, break those
chains with which I was enthralled, and resolutely declare I would
continue in the religion of my forefathers, whatever might be the
consequence. The affair was already too far advanced, and spite of all
my efforts they would have made a point of bringing it to a conclusion.
The sophism which ruined me has had a similar affect on the greater part
of mankind, who lament the want of resolution when the opportunity for
exercising it is over. The practice of virtue is only difficult from our
own negligence; were, we always discreet, we should seldom have occasion
for any painful exertion of it; we are captivated by desires we might
readily surmount, give into temptations that might easily be resisted,
and insensibly get into embarrassing, perilous situations, from which we
cannot extricate ourselves but with the utmost difficulty; intimidated by
the effort, we fall into the abyss, saying to the Almighty, why hast thou
made us such weak creatures? But, notwithstanding our vain pretexts, He
replies, by our consciences, I formed ye too weak to get out of the gulf,
because I gave ye sufficient strength not to have fallen into it.