What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it,

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 XII.

With this book begins the work of darkness, in which I have for the last

eight years been enveloped, though it has not by any means been possible

for me to penetrate the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into

which I am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, without perceiving the

hand by which they are directed or the means it employs. Shame and

misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me. When in the affliction of

my heart I suffer a groan to escape me, I have the appearance of a man

who complains without reason, and the authors of my ruin have the

inconceivable art of rendering the public unknown to itself, or without

its perceiving the effects of it, accomplice in their conspiracy.

Therefore, in my narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the

treatment I have received, and all that has happened to me, I shall not

be able to indicate the hand by which the whole has been directed, nor

assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primitive causes are

all given in the preceding books; and everything in which I am

interested, and all the secret motives pointed out. But it is impossible

for me to explain, even by conjecture, that in which the different causes

are combined to operate the strange events of my life. If amongst my

readers one even of them should be generous enough to wish to examine the

mystery to the bottom, and discover the truth, let him carefully read

over a second time the three preceding books, afterwards at each fact he

shall find stated in the books which follow, let him gain such

information as is within his reach, and go back from intrigue to

intrigue, and from agent to agent, until he comes to the first mover of

all. I know where his researches will terminate; but in the meantime I

lose myself in the crooked and obscure subterraneous path through which

his steps must be directed.

During my stay at Yverdon, I became acquainted with all the family of my

friend Roguin, and amongst others with his niece, Madam Boy de la Tour,

and her daughters, whose father, as I think I have already observed,

I formerly knew at Lyons. She was at Yverdon, upon a visit to her uncle

and his sister; her eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age,

delighted me by her fine understanding and excellent disposition.

I conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and the daughter.

The latter was destined by M. Rougin to the colonel, his nephew, a man

already verging towards the decline of life, and who showed me marks of

great esteem and affection; but although the heart of the uncle was set

upon this marriage, which was much wished for by the nephew also, and I

was greatly desirous to promote the satisfaction of both, the great

disproportion of age, and the extreme repugnancy of the young lady, made

me join with the mother in postponing the ceremony, and the affair was at

length broken off. The colonel has since married Mademoiselle Dillan,

his relation, beautiful, and amiable as my heart could wish, and who has

made him the happiest of husbands and fathers. However, M. Rougin has

not yet forgotten my opposition to his wishes. My consolation is in the

certainty of having discharged to him, and his family, the duty of the

most pure friendship, which does not always consist in being agreeable,

but in advising for the best.

I did not remain long in doubt about the reception which awaited me at

Geneva, had I chosen to return to that city. My book was burned there,

and on the 18th of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been

given at Paris, another to the same effect was determined upon by the

republic. So many incredible absurdities were stated in this second

decree, in which the ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that I

refused to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these were

well confirmed, I trembled lest so manifest an infraction of every law,

beginning with that of common-sense, should create the greatest confusion

in the city. I was, however, relieved from my fears; everything remained

quiet. If there was any rumor amongst the populace, it was unfavorable

to me, and I was publicly treated by all the gossips and pedants like a

scholar threatened with a flogging for not having said his catechism.

These two decrees were the signal for the cry of malediction, raised

against me with unexampled fury in every part of Europe. All the

gazettes, journals and pamphlets, rang the alarm-bell. The French

especially, that mild, generous, and polished people, who so much pique

themselves upon their attention and proper condescension to the

unfortunate, instantly forgetting their favorite virtues, signalized

themselves by the number and violence of the outrages with which, while

each seemed to strive who should afflict me most, they overwhelmed me.

I was impious, an atheist, a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The

continuator of the Journal of Trevoux was guilty of a piece of

extravagance in attacking my pretended Lycanthropy, which was by no means

proof of his own. A stranger would have thought an author in Paris was

afraid of incurring the animadversion of the police, by publishing a work

of any kind without cramming into it some insult to me. I sought in vain

the cause of this unanimous animosity, and was almost tempted to believe

the world was gone mad. What! said I to myself, the editor of the

'Perpetual Peace', spread discord; the author of the 'Confession of the

Savoyard Vicar', impious; the writer of the 'New Eloisa', a wolf; the

author of 'Emilius', a madman! Gracious God! what then should I have

been had I published the 'Treatise de l'Esprit', or any similar work?

And yet, in the storm raised against the author of that book, the public,

far from joining the cry of his persecutors, revenged him of them by

eulogium. Let his book and mine, the receptions the two works met with,

and the treatment of the two authors in the different countries of

Europe, be compared; and for the difference let causes satisfactory to,

a man of sense be found, and I will ask no more.

I found the residence of Yverdon so agreeable that I resolved to yield to

the solicitations of M. Roguin and his family, who, were desirous of

keeping me there. M. de Moiry de Gingins, bailiff of that city,

encouraged me by his goodness to remain within his jurisdiction. The

colonel pressed me so much to accept for my habitation a little pavilion

he had in his house between the court and the garden, that I complied

with his request, and he immediately furnished it with everything

necessary for my little household establishment.

The banneret Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most assiduous

attention, did not leave me for an instant during the whole day. I was

much flattered by his civilities, but they sometimes importuned me. The

day on which I was to take possession of my new habitation was already

fixed, and I had written to Theresa to come to me, when suddenly a storm

was raised against me in Berne, which was attributed to the devotees, but

I have never been able to learn the cause of it. The senate, excited

against me, without my knowing by whom, did not seem disposed to suffer

me to remain undisturbed in my retreat. The moment the bailiff was

informed of the new fermentation, he wrote in my favor to several of the

members of the government, reproaching them with their blind intolerance,

and telling them it was shameful to refuse to a man of merit, under

oppression, the asylum which such a numerous banditti found in their

states. Sensible people were of opinion the warmth of his reproaches had

rather embittered than softened the minds of the magistrates. However

this may be, neither his influence nor eloquence could ward off the blow.

Having received an intimation of the order he was to signify to me, he

gave me a previous communication of it; and that I might wait its

arrival, I resolved to set off the next day. The difficulty was to know

where to go, finding myself shut out from Geneva and all France, and

foreseeing that in the affair each state would be anxious to imitate its

neighbor.

Madam Boy de la Tour proposed to me to go and reside in an uninhabited

but completely furnished house, which belonged to her son in the village

of Motiers, in the Val de Travers, in the county of Neuchatel. I had

only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came the more

opportunely, as in the states of the King of Prussia I should naturally

be sheltered from all persecution, at least religion could not serve as a

pretext for it. But a secret difficulty: improper for me at that moment

to divulge, had in it that which was very sufficient to make me hesitate.

The innnate love of justice, to which my heart was constantly subject,

added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired me with an

aversion to the King of Prussia, who by his maxims and conduct, seemed to

tread under foot all respect for natural law and every duty of humanity.

Amongst the framed engravings, with which I had decorated my alcove at

Montmorency, was a portrait of this prince, and under it a distich, the

last line of which was as follows:

Il pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.

[He thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a king.]

This verse, which from any other pen would have been a fine eulogium,

from mine had an unequivocal meaning, and too clearly explained the verse

by which it was preceded. The distich had been, read by everybody who

came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The Chevalier de Lorenzy

had even written it down to give it to D'Alembert, and I had no doubt

but D' Alembert had taken care to make my court with it to the prince.

I had also aggravated this first fault by a passage in 'Emilius', where

under the name of Adrastus, king of the Daunians, it was clearly seen

whom I had in view, and the remark had not escaped critics, because Madam

de Boufflers had several times mentioned the subject to me. I was,

therefore, certain of being inscribed in red ink in the registers of the

King of Prussia, and besides, supposing his majesty to have the

principles I had dared to attribute to him, he, for that reason, could

not but be displeased with my writings and their author; for everybody

knows the worthless part of mankind, and tyrants have never failed to

conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on reading my works,

without being acquainted with my person.

However, I had presumption enough to depend upon his mercy, and was far

from thinking I ran much risk. I knew none but weak men were slaves to

the base passions, and that these had but little power over strong minds,

such as I had always thought his to be. According to his art of

reigning, I thought he could not but show himself magnanimous on this

occasion, and that being so in fact was not above his character. I

thought a mean and easy vengeance would not for a moment counterbalance

his love of glory, and putting myself in his place, his taking advantage

of circumstances to overwhelm with the weight of his generosity a man who

had dared to think ill of him, did not appear to me impossible.

I therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of which I

imagined he would feel all the value, and said to myself: When Jean

Jacques rises to the elevation of Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below

the General of the Volsci?

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountain with me, and installing

me at Moiters. A sister-in-law to Madam Boy de la Tour, named Madam

Girardier, to whom the house in which I was going to live was very

convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; however, she with

a good grace put me in possession of my lodgings, and I eat with her

until Theresa came, and my little establishment was formed.

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency I should in future be a

fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated about permitting her to come to me

and partake of the wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I

felt the nature of our relation to each other was about to change, and

that what until then had on my part been favor and friendship, would in

future become so on hers. If her attachment was proof against my

misfortunes, to this I knew she must become a victim, and that her grief

would add to my pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she

would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, and instead of

feeling the pleasure I had in dividing with her my last morsel of bread,

she would see nothing but her own merit in following me wherever I was

driven by fate.

I must say everything; I have never concealed the vices either of my poor

mamma or myself; I cannot be more favorable to Theresa, and whatever

pleasure I may have in doing honor to a person who is dear to me, I will

not disguise the truth, although it may discover in her an error, if an

involuntary change of the affections of the heart be one. I had long

perceived hers to grow cooler towards me, and that she was no longer for

me what she had been in our younger days. Of this I was the more

sensible, as for her I was what I had always been. I fell into the same

inconvenience as that of which I had felt the effect with mamma, and this

effect was the same now I was with Theresa. Let us not seek for

perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the same thing with

any other woman. The manner in which I had disposed of my children,

however reasonable it had appeared to me, had not always left my heart at

ease. While writing my 'Treatise on Education', I felt I had neglected

duties with which it was not possible to dispense. Remorse at length

became so strong that it almost forced from me a public confession of my

fault at the beginning of my 'Emilius', and the passage is so clear, that

it is astonishing any person should, after reading it, have had the

courage to reproach me with my error. My situation was however still the

same, or something worse, by the animosity of my enemies, who sought to

find me in a fault. I feared a relapse, and unwilling to run the risk,

I preferred abstinence to exposing Theresa to a similar mortification.

I had besides remarked that a connection with women was prejudicial to my

health; this double reason made me form resolutions to which I had but

sometimes badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had more

constantly adhered to them. It was in this interval I had remarked

Theresa's coolness; she had the same attachment to me from duty, but not

the least from love. Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable,

and I imagined that, certain of the continuation of my cares wherever she

might be, she would choose to stay at Paris rather than to wander with

me. Yet she had given such signs of grief at our parting, had required

of me such positive promises that we should meet again, and, since my

departure, had expressed to the Prince de Conti and M. de Luxembourg so

strong a desire of it, that, far from having the courage to speak to her

of separation, I scarcely had enough to think of it myself; and after

having felt in my heart how impossible it was for me to do without her,

all I thought of afterwards was to recall her to me as soon as possible.

I wrote to her to this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two months

since I had quitted her; but it was our first separation after a union of

so many years. We had both of us felt it most cruelly. What emotion in

our first embrace! O how delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy!

How does my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to shed them

more frequently?

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, marshal of Scotland

and governor of Neuchatel, informing him of my retreat into the states of

his Prussian majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He answered

me with his well-known generosity, and in the manner I had expected from

him. He invited me to his house. I went with M. Martinet, lord of the

manor of Val de Travers, who was in great favor with his excellency.

The venerable appearance of this illustrious and virtuous Scotchman,

powerfully affected my heart, and from that instant began between him and

me the strong attachment, which on my part still remains the same, and

would be so on his, had not the traitors, who have deprived me of all the

consolation of life, taken advantage of my absence to deceive his old age

and depreciate me in his esteem.

George Keith, hereditary marshal of Scotland, and brother to the famous

General Keith, who lived gloriously and died in the bed of honor, had

quitted his country at a very early age, and was proscribed on account of

his attachment to the house of Stuart. With that house, however, he soon

became disgusted with the unjust and tyrannical spirit he remarked in the

ruling character of the Stuart family. He lived a long time in Spain,

the climate of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attached

himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the King of Prussia,

who knew men and gave them the reception they merited. His majesty

received a great return for this reception, in the services rendered him

by Marshal Keith, and by what was infinitely more precious, the sincere

friendship of his lordship. The great mind of this worthy man, haughty

and republican, could stoop to no other yoke than that of friendship, but

to this it was so obedient, that with very different maxims he saw

nothing but Frederic the moment he became attached to him. The king

charged the marshal with affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, to

Spain, and at length, seeing he was already advanced in years, let him

retire with the government of Neuchatel, and the delightful employment of

passing there the remainder of his life in rendering the inhabitants

happy.

The people of Neuchatel, whose manners are trivial, know not how to

distinguish solid merit, and suppose wit to consist in long discourses.

When they saw a sedate man of simple manners appear amongst them, they

mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candor for rusticity, his

laconism for stupidity, and rejected his benevolent cares, because,

wishing to be useful, and not being a sycophant, he knew not how to

flatter people he did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the

minister Petitpierre, who was displaced by his colleagues, for having

been unwilling they should be eternally damned, my lord, opposing the

usurpations of the ministers, saw the whole country of which he took the

part, rise up against him, and when I arrived there the stupid murmur had

not entirely subsided. He passed for a man influenced by the prejudices

with which he was inspired by others, and of all the imputations brought

against him it was the most devoid of truth. My first sentiment on

seeing this venerable old man, was that of tender commiseration, on

account of his extreme leanness of body, years having already left him

little else but skin and bone; but when I raised my eyes to his animated,

open, noble countenance, I felt a respect, mingled with confidence, which

absorbed every other sentiment. He answered the very short compliment I

made him when I first came into his presence by speaking of something

else, as if I had already been a week in his house. He did not bid us

sit down. The stupid chatelain, the lord of the manor, remained

standing. For my part I at first sight saw in the fine and piercing eye

of his lordship something so conciliating that, feeling myself entirely

at ease, I without ceremony, took my seat by his side upon the sofa. By

the familiarity of his manner I immediately perceived the liberty I took

gave him pleasure, and that he said to himself: This is not a

Neuchatelois.

Singular effect of the similarity of characters! At an age when the

heart loses its natural warmth, that of this good old man grew warm by

his attachment to me to a degree which surprised everybody. He came to

see me at Motiers under the pretence of quail shooting, and stayed there

two days without touching a gun. We conceived such a friendship for each

other that we knew not how to live separate; the castle of Colombier,

where he passed the summer, was six leagues from Motiers; I went there at

least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four hours, and then

returned like a pilgrim with my heart full of affection for my host. The

emotion I had formerly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage to

Raubonne was certainly very different, but it was not more pleasing than

that with which I approached Columbier.

What tears of tenderness have I shed when on the road to it, while

thinking of the paternal goodness, amiable virtues, and charming

philosophy of this respectable old man! I called him father, and he

called me son. These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea

of the attachment by which we were united, but by no means that of the

want we felt of each other, nor of our continual desire to be together.

He would absolutely give me an apartment at the castle of Columbier, and

for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that in which I

lodged during my visits. I at length told him I was more free and at my

ease in my own house, and that I had rather continue until the end of my

life to come and see him. He approved of my candor, and never afterwards

spoke to me on the subject. Oh, my good lord! Oh, my worthy father!

How is my heart still moved when I think of your goodness? Ah, barbarous

wretches! how deeply did they wound me when they deprived me of your

friendship? But no, great man, you are and ever will be the same for me,

who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you are not changed.

My lord marechal is not without faults; he is a man of wisdom, but he is

still a man. With the greatest penetration, the nicest discrimination,

and the most profound knowledge of men, he sometimes suffers himself to

be deceived, and never recovers his error. His temper is very singular

and foreign to his general turn of mind. He seems to forget the people

he sees every day, and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect

it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated by caprice

and not by propriety. He gives or sends in an instant whatever comes

into his head, be the value of it ever so small. A young Genevese,

desirous of entering into the service of Prussia, made a personal

application to him; his lordship, instead of giving him a letter, gave

him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to carry to the king. On

receiving this singular recommendation his majesty gave a commission to

the bearer of it. These elevated geniuses have between themselves a

language which the vulgar will never understand. The whimsical manner of

my lord marechal, something like the caprice of a fine woman, rendered

him still more interesting to me. I was certain, and afterwards had

proofs, that it had not the least influence over his sentiments, nor did

it affect the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions, yet in

his manner of obliging there is the same singularity as in his manners in

general. Of this I will give one instance relative to a matter of no

great importance. The journey from Motiers to Colombier being too long

for me to perform in one day, I commonly divided it by setting off after

dinner and sleeping at Brot, which is half way. The landlord of the

house where I stopped, named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlin a favor

of importance to him, begged I would request his excellency to ask it in

his behalf. "Most willingly," said I, and took him with me. I left him

in the antechamber, and mentioned the matter to his lordship, who

returned me no answer. After passing with him the whole morning, I saw

as I crossed the hall to go to dinner, poor Sandoz, who was fatigued to

death with waiting. Thinking the governor had forgotten what I had said

to him, I again spoke of the business before we sat down to table, but

still received no answer. I thought this manner of making me feel I was

importunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man in waiting, held my

tongue. On my return the next day I was much surprised at the thanks he

returned me for the good dinner his excellency had given him after

receiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lordship sent him the

rescript he had solicited, dispatched by the minister, and signed by the

king, and this without having said a word either to myself or Sandoz

concerning the business, about which I thought he did not wish to give

himself the least concern.

I could wish incessantly to speak of George Keith; from him proceeds my

recollection of the last happy moments I have enjoyed: the rest of my

life, since our separation, has been passed in affliction and grief of

heart. The remembrance of this is so melancholy and confused that it was

impossible for me to observe the least order in what I write, so that in

future I shall be under the necessity of stating facts without giving

them a regular arrangement.

I was soon relieved from my inquietude arising from the uncertainty of my

asylum, by the answer from his majesty to the lord marshal, in whom, as

it will readily be believed, I had found an able advocate. The king not

only approved of what he had done, but desired him, for I must relate

everything, to give me twelve louis. The good old man, rather

embarrassed by the commission, and not knowing how to execute it

properly, endeavored to soften the insult by transforming the money into

provisions, and writing to me that he had received orders to furnish me

with wood and coal to begin my little establishment; he moreover added,

and perhaps from himself, that his majesty would willingly build me a

little house, such a one as I should choose to have, provided I would fix

upon the ground. I was extremely sensible of the kindness of the last

offer, which made me forget the weakness of the other. Without accepting

either, I considered Frederic as my benefactor and protector, and became

so sincerely attached to him, that from that moment I interested myself

as much in his glory as until then I had thought his successes unjust.

At the peace he made soon after, I expressed my joy by an illumination in

a very good taste: it was a string of garlands, with which I decorated

the house I inhabited, and in which, it is true, I had the vindictive

haughtiness to spend almost as much money as he had wished to give me.

The peace ratified, I thought as he was at the highest pinnacle of

military and political fame, he would think of acquiring that of another

nature, by reanimating his states, encouraging in them commerce and

agriculture, creating a new soil, covering it with a new people,

maintaining peace amongst his neighbors, and becoming the arbitrator,

after having been the terror, of Europe. He was in a situation to sheath

his sword without danger, certain that no sovereign would oblige him

again to draw it. Perceiving he did not disarm, I was afraid he would

profit but little by the advantages he had gained, and that he would be

great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon the subject, and with

a familiarity of a nature to please men of his character, conveying to

him the sacred voice of truth, which but few kings are worthy to hear.

The liberty I took was a secret between him and myself. I did not

communicate it even to the lord marshal, to whom I sent my letter to the

king sealed up. His lordship forwarded my dispatch without asking what

it contained. His majesty returned me no answer and the marshal going

soon after to Berlin, the king told him he had received from me a

scolding. By this I understood my letter had been ill received, and the

frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for the rusticity of a pedant.

In fact, this might possibly be the case; perhaps I did not say what was

necessary, nor in the manner proper to the occasion. All I can answer

for is the sentiment which induced me to take up the pen.

Shortly after my establishment at Motiers, Travers having every possible

assurance that I should be suffered to remain there in peace, I took the

Armenian habit. This was not the first time I had thought of doing it.

I had formerly had the same intention, particularly at Montmorency, where

the frequent use of probes often obliging me to keep my chamber, made me

more clearly perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience of

an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see a relation he had at

Montmorency, almost tempted me to determine on taking this new dress,

troubling myself but little about what the world would say of it. Yet,

before I concluded about the matter, I wished to take the opinion of

M. de Luxembourg, who immediately advised me to follow my inclination.

I therefore procured a little Armenian wardrobe, but on account of the

storm raised against me, I was induced to postpone making use of it until

I should enjoy tranquillity, and it was not until some months afterwards

that, forced by new attacks of my disorder, I thought I could properly,

and without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers, especially

after having consulted the pastor of the place, who told me I might wear

it even in the temple without indecency. I then adopted the waistcoat,

caffetan, fur bonnet, and girdle; and after having in this dress attended

divine service, I saw no impropriety in going in it to visit his

lordship. His excellency in seeing me clothed in this manner made me no

other compliment than that which consisted in saying "Salaam aliakum,"

i.e., "Peace be with you;" the common Turkish salutation; after which

nothing more was said upon the subject, and I continued to wear my new

dress.

Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought of was leading a

quiet life, and one as agreeable as I could make it. When alone, I have

never felt weariness of mind, not even in complete inaction; my

imagination filling up every void, was sufficient to keep up my

attention. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, seated

opposite to each other, they who speak move nothing but the tongue, is

the only thing I have ever been unable to support. When walking and

rambling about there is some satisfaction in conversation; the feet and

eyes do something; but to hear people with their arms across speak of the

weather, of the biting of flies, or what is still worse, compliment each

other, is to me an insupportable torment. That I might not live like a

savage, I took it into my head to learn to make laces. Like the women,

I carried my cushion with me, when I went to make visits, or sat down to

work at my door, and chatted with passers-by. This made me the better

support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to pass my time with my

female neighbors without weariness. Several of these were very amiable

and not devoid of wit. One in particular, Isabella d'Ivernois, daughter

of the attorney-general of Neuchatel, I found so estimable as to induce

me to enter with her into terms of particular friendship, from which she

derived some advantage by the useful advice I gave her, and the services

she received from me on occasions of importance, so that now a worthy and

virtuous mother of a family, she is perhaps indebted to me for her

reason, her husband, her life, and happiness. On my part, I received

from her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy winter,

through out the whole of which when my sufferings were most cruel, she

came to pass with Theresa and me long evenings, which she made very short

for us by her agreeable conversation, and our mutual openness of heart.

She called me papa, and I called her daughter, and these names, which we

still give to each other, will, I hope, continue to be as dear to her as

they are to me. That my laces might be of some utility, I gave them to

my young female friends at their marriages, upon condition of their

suckling their children; Isabella's eldest sister had one upon these

terms, and well deserved it by her observance of them; Isabella herself

also received another, which, by intention she as fully merited. She has

not been happy enough to be able to pursue her inclination. When I sent

the laces to the two sisters, I wrote each of them a letter; the first

has been shown about in the world; the second has not the same celebrity:

friendship proceeds with less noise.

Amongst the connections I made in my neighborhood, of which I will not

enter into a detail, I must mention that with Colonel Pury, who had a

house upon the mountain, where he came to pass the summer. I was not

anxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew he was upon bad

terms at court, and with the lord marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet,

as he came to see me, and showed me much attention, I was under the

necessity of returning his visit; this was repeated, and we sometimes

dined with each other. At his house I became acquainted with M. du

Perou, and afterwards too intimately connected with him to pass his name

over in silence.

M. du Perou was an American, son to a commandant of Surinam, whose

successor, M. le Chambrier, of Neuchatel, married his widow. Left a

widow a second time, she came with her son to live in the country of her

second husband.

Du Perou, an only son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother, had

been carefully brought up, and his education was not lost upon him. He

had acquired much knowledge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself

upon his having cultivated his rational faculty: his Dutch appearance,

yellow complexion, and silent and close disposition, favored this

opinion. Although young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered

his motions deliberate and very grave, and although he was fond of

disputing, he in general spoke but little because his hearing was bad.

I was struck with his exterior, and said to myself, this is a thinker, a

man of wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have for a friend.

He frequently addressed himself to me without paying the least

compliment, and this strengthened the favorable opinion I had already

formed of him. He said but little to me of myself or my books, and still

less of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what he said was

just. This justness and equality attracted my regard. He had neither

the elevation of mind, nor the discrimination of the lord marshal, but he

had all his simplicity: this was still representing him in something. I

did not become infatuated with him, but he acquired my attachment from

esteem; and by degrees this esteem led to friendship, and I totally

forgot the objection I made to the Baron Holbach: that he was too rich.

For a long time I saw but little of Du Perou, because I did not go to

Neuchatel, and he came but once a year to the mountain of Colonel Pury.

Why did I not go to Neuchatel? This proceeded from a childishness upon

which I must not be silent.

Although protected by the King of Prussia and the lord marshal, while I

avoided persecution in my asylum, I did not avoid the murmurs of the

public, of municipal magistrates and ministers. After what had happened

in France it became fashionable to insult me; these people would have

been afraid to seem to disapprove of what my persecutors had done by not

imitating them. The 'classe' of Neuchatel, that is, the ministers of

that city, gave the impulse, by endeavoring to move the council of state

against me. This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers addressed

themselves to the municipal magistrate, who immediately prohibited my

book, treating me on all occasions with but little civility, and saying,

that had I wished to reside in the city I should not have been suffered

to do it. They filled their Mercury with absurdities and the most stupid

hypocrisy, which, although, it makes every man of sense laugh, animated

the people against me. This, however, did not prevent them from setting

forth that I ought to be very grateful for their permitting me to live at

Motiers, where they had no authority; they would willingly have measured

me the air by the pint, provided I had paid for it a dear price. They

would have it that I was obliged to them for the protection the king

granted me in spite of the efforts they incessantly made to deprive me of

it. Finally, failing of success, after having done me all the injury

they could, and defamed me to the utmost of their power, they made a

merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness in suffering me

to stay in their country. I ought to have laughed at their vain efforts,

but I was foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had the weakness to be

unwilling to go to Neuchatel, to which I yielded for almost two years,

as if it was not doing too much honor to such wretches, to pay attention

to their proceedings, which, good or bad, could not be imputed to them,

because they never act but from a foreign impulse. Besides, minds

without sense or knowledge, whose objects of esteem are influence, power

and money, and far from imagining even that some respect is due to

talents, and that it is dishonorable to injure and insult them.

A certain mayor of a village, who from sundry malversations had been

deprived of his office, said to the lieutenant of Val de Travers, the

husband of Isabella: "I am told this Rousseau has great wit,--bring him

to me that I may see whether he has or not." The disapprobation of such

a man ought certainly to have no effect upon those on whom it falls.

After the treatment I had received at Paris, Geneva, Berne, and even at

Neuchatel, I expected no favor from the pastor of this place. I had,

however, been recommended to him by Madam Boy de la Tour, and he had

given me a good reception; but in that country where every new-comer is

indiscriminately flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after my

solemn union with the reformed church, and living in a Protestant

country, I could not, without failing in my engagements, as well as in

the duty of a citizen, neglect the public profession of the religion into

which I had entered; I therefore attended divine service. On the other

hand, had I gone to the holy table, I was afraid of exposing myself to a

refusal, and it was by no means probable, that after the tumult excited

at Geneva by the council, and at Neuchatel by the classe (the ministers),

he would, without difficulty administer to me the sacrament in his

church. The time of communion approaching, I wrote to M. de Montmollin,

the minister, to prove to him my desire of communicating, and declaring

myself heartily united to the Protestant church; I also told him, in

order to avoid disputing upon articles of faith, that I would not hearken

to any particular explanation of the point of doctrine. After taking

these steps I made myself easy, not doubting but M. de Montmollin would

refuse to admit me without the preliminary discussion to which I refused

to consent, and that in this manner everything would be at an end without

any fault of mine. I was deceived: when I least expected anything of the

kind, M. de Montmollin came to declare to me not only that he admitted me

to the communion under the condition which I had proposed, but that he

and the elders thought themselves much honored by my being one of their

flock. I never in my whole life felt greater surprise or received from

it more consolation. Living always alone and unconnected, appeared to me

a melancholy destiny, especially in adversity. In the midst of so many

proscriptions and persecutions, I found it extremely agreeable to be able

to say to myself: I am at least amongst my brethren; and I went to the

communion with an emotion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears of

tenderness, which perhaps were the most agreeable preparation to Him to

whose table I was drawing near.

Sometime afterwards his lordship sent me a letter from Madam de

Boufflers, which he had received, at least I presumed so, by means of

D'Alembert, who was acquainted with the marechal. In this letter, the

first this lady had written to me after my departure from Montmorency,

she rebuked me severely for having written to M. de Montmollin, and

especially for having communicated. I the less understood what she meant

by her reproof, as after my journey to Geneva, I had constantly declared

myself a Protestant, and had gone publicly to the Hotel de Hollande

without incurring the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me

diverting enough, that Madam de Boufflers should wish to direct my

conscience in matters of religion. However, as I had no doubt of the

purity of her intention, I was not offended by this singular sally, and I

answered her without anger, stating to her my reasons.

Calumnies in print were still industriously circulated, and their benign

authors reproached the different powers with treating me too mildly.

For my part, I let them say and write what they pleased, without giving

myself the least concern about the matter. I was told there was a

censure from the Sorbonne, but this I could not believe. What could the

Sorbonne have to do in the matter? Did the doctors wish to know to a

certainty that I was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew I was not

one. Were they desirous of proving I was not a good Calvinist? Of what

consequence was this to them? It was taking upon themselves a singular

care, and becoming the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this

publication I thought it was distributed in the name of the Sorbonne, by

way of mockery: and when I had read it I was convinced this was the case.

But when at length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all I could

bring myself to believe was, that the learned doctors would have been

better placed in a madhouse than they were in the college.

I was more affected by another publication, because it came from a man

for whom I always had an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though I

pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter against me by the

archbishop of Paris. I thought to return an answer to it was a duty I

owed myself. This I felt I could do without derogating from my dignity;

the case was something similar to that of the King of Poland. I had

always detested brutal disputes, after the manner of Voltaire. I never

combat but with dignity, and before I deign to defend myself I must be

certain that he by whom I am attacked will not dishonor my retort. I had

no doubt but this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, and although they

were at that time in distress, I discovered in it their old principle of

crushing the wretched. I was therefore at liberty to follow my ancient

maxim, by honoring the titulary author, and refuting the work which I

think I did completely.

I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and nothing was wanting

to determine me to end my days there, but a certainty of the means of

subsistence. Living is dear in that neighborhood, and all my old

projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my household

arrangements at Montmorency, the establishment of others, the sale or

squandering of my furniture, and the expenses incurred since my

departure. The little capital which remained to me daily diminished.

Two or three years were sufficient to consume the remainder without my

having the means of renewing it, except by again engaging in literary

pursuits: a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned.

Persuaded that everything which concerned me would change, and that the

public, recovered from its frenzy, would make my persecutors blush, all

my endeavors tended to prolong my resources until this happy revolution

should take place, after which I should more at my ease choose a resource

from amongst those which might offer themselves. To this effect I took

up my Dictionary of Music, which ten years' labor had so far advanced as

to leave nothing wanting to it but the last corrections. My books which

I had lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my papers sent me

by the same conveyance, furnished me with the means of beginning my

memoirs to which I was determined to give my whole attention. I began by

transcribing the letters into a book, by which my memory might be guided

in the order of fact and time. I had already selected those I intended

to keep for this purpose, and for ten years the series was not

interrupted. However, in preparing them for copying I found an

interruption at which I was surprised. This was for almost six months,

from October, 1756, to March following. I recollected having put into my

selection a number of letters from Diderot, De Leyre, Madam d' Epinay,

Madam de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were missing.

What was become of them? Had any person laid their hands upon my papers

whilst they remained in the Hotel de Luxembourg? This was not

conceivable, and I had seen M. de Luxembourg take the key of the chamber

in which I had deposited them. Many letters from different ladies, and

all those from Diderot, were without date, on which account I had been

under the necessity of dating them from memory before they could be put

in order, and thinking I might have committed errors, I again looked them

over for the purpose of seeing whether or not I could find those which

ought to fill up the void. This experiment did not succeed. I perceived

the vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly been taken

away. By whom and for what purpose? This was what I could not

comprehend. These letters, written prior to my great quarrels, and at

the time of my first enthusiasm in the composition of 'Eloisa', could not

be interesting to any person. They contained nothing more than

cavillings by Diderot, jeerings from De Leyre, assurances of friendship

from M. de Chenonceaux, and even Madam d'Epinay, with whom I was then

upon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of consequence? To

what use were they to be put? It was not until seven years afterwards

that I suspected the nature of the theft. The deficiency being no longer

doubtful, I looked over my rough drafts to see whether or not it was the

only one. I found several, which on account of the badness of my memory,

made me suppose others in the multitude of my papers. Those I remarked

were that of the 'Morale Sensitive', and the extract of the adventures of

Lord Edward. The last, I confess, made me suspect Madam de Luxembourg.

La Roche, her valet de chambre, had sent me the papers, and I could think

of nobody but herself to whom this fragment could be of consequence; but

what concern could the other give her, any more than the rest of the

letters missing, with which, even with evil intentions, nothing to my

prejudice could be done, unless they were falsified? As for the

marechal, with whose friendship for me, and invariable integrity, I was

perfectly acquainted, I never could suspect him for a moment. The most

reasonable supposition, after long tormenting my mind in endeavoring to

discover the author of the theft, that which imputed it to D'Alembert,

who, having thrust himself into the company of Madam de Luxembourg, might

have found means to turn over these papers, and take from amongst them

such manuscripts and letters as he might have thought proper, either for

the purpose of endeavoring to embroil me with the writer of them, or to

appropriate those he should find useful to his own private purposes. I

imagined that, deceived by the title of Morale Sensitive, he might have

supposed it to be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with

which he would have armed himself against me in a manner easy to be

imagined. Certain that he would soon be undeceived by reading the sketch

and determined to quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me but

little concern. They besides were not the first the same hand

[I had found in his 'Elemens de Musique' (Elements of Music)

several things taken from what I had written for the 'Encyclopedie',

and which were given to him several years before the publication of

his elements. I know not what he may have had to do with a book

entitled 'Dictionaire des Beaux Arts' (Dictionary of the Fine Arts)

but I found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and

this long before the same articles were printed in the

Encyclopedie.]

had committed upon me without having complained of these pilferings. In

a very little time I thought no more of the trick that had been played me

than if nothing had happened, and began to collect the materials I had

left for the purpose of undertaking my projected confessions.