THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903

BOOK III. 

Leaving the service of Madam de Vercellis nearly as I had entered it, I returned to my former hostess, and remained there five or six weeks;during which time health, youth, and laziness, frequently rendered mytemperament importunate. I was restless, absent, and thoughtful: I weptand sighed for a happiness I had no idea of, though at the same timehighly sensible of some deficiency. This situation is indescribable, few men can even form any conception of it, because, in general, theyhave prevented that plenitude of life, at once tormenting and delicious. My thoughts were incessantly occupied with girls and women, but in amanner peculiar to myself: these ideas kept my senses in a perpetual anddisagreeable activity, though, fortunately, they did not point out themeans of deliverance. I would have given my life to have met with a MissGoton, but the time was past in which the play of infancy predominated;increase of years had introduced shame, the inseparable companion of aconscious deviation from rectitude, which so confirmed my naturaltimidity as to render it invincible; and never, either at that time orsince, could I prevail on myself to offer a proposition favorable to mywishes (unless in a manner constrained to it by previous advances) evenwith those whose scruples I had no cause to dread. 

My stay at Madam de Vercellis's had procured me some acquaintance, whichI thought might be serviceable to me, and therefore wished to retain. Among others, I sometimes visited a Savoyard abbe, M. Gaime, who wastutor to the Count of Melarede's children. He was young, and not muchknown, but possessed an excellent cultivated understanding, with greatprobity, and was, altogether, one of the best men I ever knew. He wasincapable of doing me the service I then stood most in need of, nothaving sufficient interest to procure me a situation, but from him Ireaped advantages far more precious, which have been useful to me throughlife, lessons of pure morality, and maxims of sound judgment. 

In the successive order of my inclinations and ideas, I had ever been toohigh or too low. Achilles or Thersites; sometimes a hero, at others avillain. M. Gaime took pains to make me properly acquainted with myself, without sparing or giving me too much discouragement. He spoke inadvantageous terms of my disposition and talents, adding, that he foresawobstacles which would prevent my profiting by them; thus, according tohim, they were to serve less as steps by which I should mount to fortune, than as resources which might enable me to exist without one. He gave mea true picture of human life, of which, hitherto, I had formed but a veryerroneous idea, teaching me, that a man of understanding, though destinedto experience adverse fortune, might, by skilful management, arrive athappiness; that there was no true felicity without virtue, which waspracticable in every situation. He greatly diminished my admiration ofgrandeur, by proving that those in a superior situation are neitherbetter nor happier than those they command. One of his maxims hasfrequently returned to my memory: it was, that if we could truly read thehearts of others we should feel more inclination to descend than rise:this reflection, the truth of which is striking without extravagance, I have found of great utility, in the various exigences of my life, as ittended to make me satisfied with my condition. He gave me the first justconception of relative duties, which my high-flown imagination had everpictured in extremes, making me sensible that the enthusiasm of sublimevirtues is of little use in society; that while endeavoring to rise toohigh we are in danger of falling; and that a virtuous and uniformdischarge of little duties requires as great a degree of fortitude asactions which are called heroic, and would at the same time procure morehonor and happiness. That it was infinitely more desirable to possessthe lasting esteem of those about us, than at intervals to attractadmiration. 

In properly arranging the various duties between man and man, it wasnecessary to ascend to principles; the step I had recently taken, and ofwhich my present situation was the consequence, naturally led us to speakof religion. It will easily be conceived that the honest M. Gaime was, in a great measure, the original of the Savoyard Vicar; prudence onlyobliging him to deliver his sentiments, on certain points, with morecaution and reserve, and explain himself with less freedom; but hissentiments and councils were the same, not even excepting his advice toreturn to my country; all was precisely as I have since given it to thepubic. Dwelling no longer, therefore, on conversations which everyonemay see the substance of, I shall only add, that these wise instructions(though they did not produce an immediate effect) were as so many seedsof virtue and religion in my heart which were never rooted out, and onlyrequired the fostering cares of friendship to bring to maturity. 

Though my conversation was not very sincere, I was affected by hisdiscourses, and far from being weary, was pleased with them on account oftheir clearness and simplicity, but above all because his heart seemedinterested in what he said. My disposition is naturally tender, I haveever been less attached to people for the good they have really done methan for that they designed to do, and my feelings in this particularhave seldom misled me: thus I truly esteemed M. Gaime. I was in a mannerhis second disciple, which even at that time was of inestimable servicein turning me from a propensity to vice into which my idleness wasleading me. 

One day, when I least expected it, I was sent for by the Count de laRoque. Having frequently called at his house, without being able tospeak with him, I grew weary, and supposing he had either forgot me orretained some unfavorable impression of me, returned no more: but I wasmistaken in both these conjectures. He had more than once witnessed thepleasure I took in fulfilling my duty to his aunt: he had even mentionedit to her, and afterwards spoke of it, when I no longer thought of itmyself. 

He received me graciously, saying that instead of amusing me with uselesspromises, he had sought to place me to advantage; that he had succeeded, and would put me in a way to better my situation, but the rest mustdepend on myself. That the family into which he should introduce mebeing both powerful and esteemed, I should need no other patrons; andthough at first on the footing of a servant, I might be assured, that ifmy conduct and sentiments were found above that station, I should notlong remain in it. The end of this discourse cruelly disappointed thebrilliant hopes the beginning had inspired. "What! forever a footman?"said I to myself, with a bitterness which confidence presently effaced, for I felt myself too superior to that situation to fear long remainingthere. 

He took me to the Count de Gauvon, Master of the Horse to the Queen, andChief of the illustrious House of Solar. The air of dignity conspicuousin this respectable old man, rendered the affability with which hereceived me yet more interesting. He questioned me with evidentinterest, and I replied with sincerity. He then told the Count de laRoque, that my features were agreeable, and promised intellect, which hebelieved I was not deficient in; but that was not enough, and time mustshow the rest; after which, turning to me, he said, "Child, almost allsituations are attended with difficulties in the beginning; yours, however, shall not have too great a portion of them; be prudent, andendeavor to please everyone, that will be almost your only employment;for the rest fear nothing, you shall be taken care of. " Immediatelyafter he went to the Marchioness de Breil, his daughter-in-law, to whomhe presented me, and then to the Abbe de Gauvon, his son. I was elatedwith this beginning, as I knew enough of the world already to conclude, that so much ceremony is not generally used at the reception of afootman. In fact, I was not treated like one. I dined at the steward'stable; did not wear a livery; and the Count de Favria (a giddy youth)having commanded me to get behind his coach, his grandfather ordered thatI should get behind no coach, nor follow any one out of the house. Meantime, I waited at table, and did, within doors, the business of afootman; but I did it, as it were, of my own free will, without beingappointed to any particular service; and except writing some letters, which were dictated to me, and cutting out some ornaments for the Countde Favria, I was almost the absolute master of my time. This trial of mydiscretion, which I did not then perceive, was certainly very dangerous, and not very humane; for in this state of idleness I might havecontracted vices which I should not otherwise have given into. Fortunately, it did not produce that effect; my memory retained thelessons of M. Gaime, they had made an impression on my heart, and Isometimes escaped from the house of my patron to obtain a repetition ofthem. I believe those who saw me going out, apparently by stealth, hadno conception of my business. Nothing could be more prudent than theadvice he gave me respecting my conduct. My beginning was admirable; somuch attention, assiduity, and zeal, had charmed everyone. The AbbyGaime advised me to moderate this first ardor, lest I should relax, andthat relaxation should be considered as neglect. "Your setting out, "said he, "is the rule of what will be expected of you; endeavor graduallyto increase your attentions, but be cautious how you diminish them. "

As they paid but little attention to my trifling talents, and supposed Ipossessed no more than nature had given me, there was no appearance(notwithstanding the promises of Count de Gauvon) of my meeting with anyparticular consideration. Some objects of more consequence hadintervened. The Marquis de Breil, son of the Count de Gauvon, was thenambassador at Vienna; some circumstances had occurred at that court whichfor some weeks kept the family in continual agitation, and left them notime to think of me. Meantime I had relaxed but little in my attentions, though one object in the family did me both good and harm, making me moresecure from exterior dissipation, but less attentive to my duty. 

Mademoiselle de Breil was about my own age, tolerably handsome, and veryfair complexioned, with black hair, which notwithstanding, gave herfeatures that air of softness so natural to the flaxen, and which myheart could never resist. The court dress, so favorable to youth, showedher fine neck and shape to advantage, and the mourning, which was thenworn, seemed to add to her beauty. It will be said, a domestic shouldnot take notice of these things; I was certainly to blame, yet Iperceived all this, nor was I the only one; the maitre d' hotel and valetde chambre spoke of her sometimes at table with a vulgarity that painedme extremely. My head, however, was not sufficiently turned to allow ofmy being entirely in love; I did not forget myself, or my situation. I loved to see Mademoiselle de Breil; to hear her utter anything thatmarked wit, sense, or good humor: my ambition, confined to a desire ofwaiting on her, never exceeded its just rights. At table I was everattentive to make the most of them; if her footman quitted her chair, I instantly supplied his place; in default of this, I stood facing her, seeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and watching themoment to change her plate. What would I not have given to hear hercommand, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me! but no, I had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not evenperceive I was there. Her brother, who frequently spoke to me while attable, having one day said something which I did not consider obliging, I made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her attention;she cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient to fill me withtransport. The next day, a second occasion presented itself, which Ifortunately made use of. A great dinner was given; and I saw, withastonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting at table, with a sword by his side, and hat on his head. By chance, the discourseturned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms, worked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'. As the Piedmonteseare not in general very perfect in the French language, they found faultwith the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no't'. The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to casthis eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything;he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion. I then said, I did notthink the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French word, not derivedfrom the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from the verb 'ferit', hestrikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, somethreat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'. The whole company fixedtheir eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never wasa greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an airof satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle deBreil. This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at leastas valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared towait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which hefully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerlychorused by the whole table. This interval was short, but delightful inmany respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, whichplace things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for theinjuries of fortune. Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil againraised her eyes, desiring me with a voice of timid affability to give hersome drink. It will easily be supposed I did not let her wait, butadvancing towards her, I was seized with such a trembling, that havingfilled the glass too full, I spilled some of the water on her plate, and even on herself. Her brother asked me, giddily, why I trembled thus?This question increased my confusion, while the face of Mademoiselle deBreil was suffused with a crimson blush. 

Here ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile, and others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate inthe conclusion of my amours. In vain I placed myself in the antechamberof Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from herdaughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I theconfidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, thatone day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing andcovering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare toquit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of afootman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness. To complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to pleaseMadam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, myservices; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly, "If I had nothing to do?" I was obliged, therefore, to renounce thisdear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other thingsintervening, I presently thought no more of it. 

The disdain of Madam de Breil was fully compensated by the kindness ofher father-in-law, who at length began to think of me. The evening afterthe entertainment, I have already mentioned, he had a conversation withme that lasted half an hour, which appeared to satisfy him, andabsolutely enchanted me. This good man had less sense than Madam deVercellis, but possessed more feeling; I therefore succeeded much betterwith him. He bade me attach myself to his son, the Abbe Gauvon, who hadan esteem for me, which, if I took care to cultivate, might beserviceable in furnishing me with what was necessary to complete theirviews for my future establishment. The next morning I flew to M. TheAbbe, who did not receive me as a servant, but made me sit by hisfireside, and questioned me with great affability. He soon found that myeducation, which had attempted many things, had completed none; butobserving that I understood something of Latin, he undertook to teach memore, and appointed me to attend him every morning. Thus, by one of thewhimsicalities which have marked the whole course of my life, at onceabove and below my natural situation, I was pupil and footman in the samehouse: and though in servitude, had a preceptor whose birth entitled himto supply that place only to the children of kings. 

The Abbe de Gauvon was a younger son, and designed by his family for abishopric, for which reason his studies had been pursued, further than isusual with people of quality. He had been sent to the university ofSienna, where he had resided some years, and from whence he had brought agood portion of cruscantism, designing to be that at Turin which the Abbede Dangeau was formerly at Paris. Being disgusted with theology, he gavein to the belle-lettres, which is very frequent in Italy, with those whohave entered the career of prelacy. He had studied the poets, and wrotetolerable Latin and Italian verses; in a word, his taste was calculatedto form mine, and give some order to that chaos of insignificant trashwith which my brain was encumbered; but whether my prating had misledhim, or that he could not support the trouble of teaching the elementaryparts of Latin, he put me at first too high; and I had scarcelytranslated a few fables of Phoedrus before he put me into Virgil, where Icould hardly understand anything. It will be seen hereafter that I wasdestined frequently to learn Latin, but never to attain it. I laboredwith assiduity, and the abbe bestowed his attention with a degree ofkindness, the remembrance of which, even at this time, both interests andsoftens me. I passed the greater part of the morning with him as muchfor my own instruction as his service; not that he ever permitted me toperform any menial office, but to copy, or write from his dictating; andmy employment of secretary was more useful than that of scholar, and bythis means I not only learned the Italian in its utmost purity, but alsoacquired a taste for literature, and some discernment of composition, which could not have been at La Tribu's, and which was useful to me whenI afterwards wrote alone. 

At this period of my life, without being romantic, I might reasonablyhave indulged the hope of preferment. The abbe, thoroughly pleased withme, expressed his satisfaction to everyone, while his father had such asingular affection for me, that I was assured by the Count de Favria, that he had spoken of me to the king; even Madam de Breil had laid asideher disdainful looks; in short I was a general favorite, which gave greatjealousy to the other servants, who seeing me honored by the instructionsof their master's son, were persuaded I should not remain their equal. 

As far as I could judge by some words dropped at random, and which Ireflected on afterwards, it appeared to me, that the House of Solar, wishing to run the career of embassies, and hoping perhaps in time toarrive at the ministry, wished to provide themselves with a person ofmerit and talents, who depending entirely on them, might obtain theirconfidence, and be of essential service. This project of the Count deGauvon was judicious, magnanimous, and truly worthy of a powerfulnobleman, equally provident and generous; but besides my not seeing, atthat time, its full extent, it was far too rational for my brain, andrequired too much confinement. 

My ridiculous ambition sought for fortune in the midst of brilliantadventures, and not finding one woman in all this scheme, it appearedtedious, painful and melancholy; though I should rather have thought itmore honorable on this account, as the species of merit generallypatronized by women is certainly less worthy that I was supposed topossess. 

Everything succeeded to my wish: I had obtained, almost forced, theesteem of all; the trial was over, and I was universally considered as ayoung man with flattering prospects, who was not at present in his propersphere, but was expected soon to reach it; but my place was not assignedme by man, and I was to reach it by very difficult paths. I now come toone of those characteristic traits, which are so natural to me, andwhich, indeed, the reader might have observed without this reflection. 

There were at Turin several new converts of my own stamp, whom I neitherliked nor wish to see; but I had met with some Genevese who were not ofthis description, and among others a M. Mussard, nicknamed Wryneck, aminiature painter, and a distant relation. This M. Mussard, havinglearned my situation at the Count de Gauvon's, came to see me, withanother Genevese, named Bacle, who had been my comrade during myapprenticeship. This Bacle was a very sprightly, amusing young fellow, full of lively sallies, which at his time of life appeared extremelyagreeable. At once, then, behold me delighted with M. Bacle; charmed tosuch a degree that I found it impossible to quit him. He was shortly todepart for Geneva; what a loss had I to sustain! I felt the whole forceof it, and resolving to make the best use of this precious interval, Idetermined not to leave him, or, rather, he never quitted me, for my headwas not yet sufficiently turned to think of quitting the house withoutleave, but it was soon perceived that he engrossed my whole time, and hewas accordingly forbid the house. This so incensed me, that forgettingeverything but my friend Bacle, I went neither to the abbe nor the count, and was no longer to be found at home. I paid no attention to repeatedreprimands, and at length was threatened with dismissal. This threat wasmy ruin, as it suggested the idea that it was not absolutely necessarythat Bacle should depart alone. From that moment I could think of noother pleasure, no other situation or happiness than taking this journey. To render the felicity still more complete, at the end of it (though atan immense distance) I pictured to myself Madam de Warrens; for as toreturning to Geneva, it never entered into my imagination. The hills, fields, brooks and villages, incessantly succeeded each other with newcharms, and this delightful jaunt seemed worthy to absorb my wholeexistence. Memory recalled, with inexpressible pleasure, how charmingthe country had appeared in coming to Turin; what then must it be, when, to the pleasure of independence, should be added the company of agood-humored comrade of my own age and disposition, without anyconstraint or obligation, but free to go or stay as we pleased? Wouldit not be madness to sacrifice the prospect of so much felicity toprojects of ambition, slow and difficult in their execution, anduncertain in their event? But even supposing them realized, and intheir utmost splendor, they were not worth one quarter of an hour of thesweet pleasure and liberty of youth. 

Full of these wise conclusions, I conducted myself so improperly, that(not indeed without some trouble) I got myself dismissed; for on myreturn one night the maitre de hotel gave me warning on the part of thecount. This was exactly what I wanted; for feeling, spite of myself, the extravagance of my conduct, I wished to excuse it by the addition ofinjustice and ingratitude, by throwing the blame on others, andsheltering myself under the idea of necessity. 

I was told the Count de Favria wished to speak with me the next morningbefore my departure; but, being sensible that my head was so far turnedas to render it possible for me to disobey the injunction, the maitre dehotel declined paying the money designed me, and which certainly I hadvery ill earned, till after this visit; for my kind patrons beingunwilling to place me in the situation of a footman, I had not any fixedwages. 

The Count de Favria, though young and giddy, talked to me on thisoccasion in the most sensible and serious manner: I might add, if itwould not be thought vain, with the utmost tenderness. He reminded me, in the most flattering terms, of the cares of his uncle, and intentionsof his grandfather; after having drawn in lively colors what I wassacrificing to ruin, he offered to make my peace, without stipulating anyconditions, but that I should no more see the worthless fellow who hadseduced me. 

It was so apparent that he did not say all this of himself, thatnotwithstanding my blind stupidity, I powerfully felt the kindness of mygood old master, but the dear journey was too firmly printed on myimagination for any consideration to balance the charm. Bereft ofunderstanding, firm to my purpose, I hardened myself against conviction, and arrogantly answered, that as they had thought fit to give me warning, I had resolved to take it, and conceived it was now too late to retract, since, whatever might happen to me, I was fully resolved not to be drivena second time from the same house. The count, justly irritated, bestowedon me some names which I deserved, and putting me out of his apartment bythe shoulders, shut the door on me. I departed triumphant, as if I hadgained the greatest victory, and fearful of sustaining a second combateven had the ingratitude to leave the house without thanking the abbe forhis kindness. 

To form a just conception of my delirium at that moment, the excess towhich my heart is subject to be heated by the most trifling incidents, and the ardor with which my imagination seizes on the most attractiveobjects should be conceived. At these times, plans the most ridiculous, childish, and void of sense, flatter my favorite idea, and persuade methat it is reasonable to sacrifice everything to the possession of it. Would it be believed, that when near nineteen, any one could be so stupidas to build his hopes of future subsistence on an empty phial? Forexample:

The Abbe de Gauvon had made me a present, some weeks before, of a verypretty heron fountain, with which I was highly delighted. Playing withthis toy, and speaking of our departure, the sage Bacle and myselfthought it might be of infinite advantage, and enable us to lengthen ourjourney. What in the world was so curious as a heron fountain? Thisidea was the foundation on which we built our future fortune: we were toassemble the country people in every village we might pass through, anddelight them with the sight of it, when feasting and good cheer would besure to pour on us abundantly; for we were both firmly persuaded, thatprovisions could cost nothing to those who grew and gathered them, and ifthey did not stuff travellers, it was downright ill-nature. 

We pictured in all parts entertainments and weddings, reckoning thatwithout any expense but wind from our lungs, and the water of ourfountain, we should be maintained through Piedmont, Savoy, France, andindeed, all the world over. There was no end to our projected travels, and we immediately directed our course northward, rather for the pleasureof crossing the Alps, than from a supposed necessity of being obliged tostop at any place. 

Such was the plan on which I set out, abandoning without regret, mypreceptors, studies, and hopes, with the almost certain attainment of afortune, to lead the life of a real vagabond. Farewell to the capital;adieu to the court, ambition, love, the fair, and all the greatadventures into which hope had led me during the preceding year! Ideparted with my fountain and my friend Bacle, a purse lightly furnished, but a heart over-flowing with pleasure, and only thinking how to enjoythe extensive felicity which I supposed my project encircled. 

This extravagant journey was performed almost as agreeably as I hadexpected, though not exactly on the same plan; not but our fountainhighly amused the hostess and servants for some minutes at all theale-houses where we halted, yet we found it equally necessary to pay onour departure; but that gave us no concern, as we never thought ofdepending on it entirely until our money should be expended. Anaccident spared us that trouble, our fountain was broken near Bramant, and in good time, for we both felt (though without daring to own it toeach other) that we began to be weary of it. This misfortune renderedus gayer than ever; we laughed heartily at our giddiness in havingforgotten that our clothes and shoes would wear out, or trusting torenew them by the play of our fountain. We continued our journey asmerrily as we had begun it, only drawing faster towards that terminationwhere our drained purses made it necessary for us to arrive. 

At Chambery I became pensive; not for the folly I had committed, fornever did any one think less of the past, but on account of the receptionI should meet with from Madam de Warrens; for I looked on her house as mypaternal home. I had written her an account of my reception at the Countde Gauvon's; she knew my expectancies, and, in congratulating me on mygood fortune, had added some wise lessons on the return I ought to makefor the kindness with which they treated me. She looked on my fortune asalready made, if not destroyed by my own negligence; what then would shesay on my arrival? for it never entered my mind that she might shut thedoor against me, but I dreaded the uneasiness I might give her; I dreadedher reproaches, to me more wounding than want; I resolved to bear all insilence, and, if possible to appease her. I now saw nothing but Madam deWarrens in the whole universe, and to live in disgrace with her wasimpossible. 

I was most concerned about my companion, whom I did not wish to offend, and feared I should not easily get rid of. I prefaced this separation byan affected coldness during the last day's journey. The drole understoodme perfectly; in fact, he was rather giddy than deficient in point ofsense--I expected he would have been hurt at my inconstancy, but I wasquite mistaken; nothing affected my friend Bacle, for hardly had we setfoot in town, on our arrival in Annecy, before he said, "You are now athome, "--embraced--bade me adieu--turned on his heel, and disappeared; norhave I ever heard of him since. 

How did my heart beat as I approached the habitation of Madam de Warrens!my legs trembled under me, my eyes were clouded with a mist, I neithersaw, heard, nor recollected any one, and was obliged frequently to stopthat I might draw breath, and recall my bewildered senses. Was it fearof not obtaining that succor I stood in need of, which agitated me tothis degree? At the age I then was, does the fear of perishing withhunger give such alarms? No: I declare with as much truth as pride, thatit was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of mylife, to expand or contract my heart. In the course of a painful life, memorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum, andwithout bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, bothopulence and misery. In want I might have begged or stolen, as othershave done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to suchnecessities. Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed somany tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, makeme heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids. My soul, in despite of fortune, has only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend onher; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could makelife pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals. 

The first glance of Madam de Warrens banished all my fears--my heartleaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and intransports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand. I am ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me. I discovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow. "Poor child!" said she, in an affectionate tone, "art thou here again?I knew you were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, thatit did not turn out so bad as I apprehended. " She then made me recountmy history; it was not long, and I did it faithfully: suppressing onlysome trifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing norexcusing myself. 

The question was, where I could lodge: she consulted her maid on thispoint--I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when Iheard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy; and sawthe little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined apartmentwith much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put up at Madamde Wolmar's. To complete all, I had the satisfaction to find that thisfavor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they thought meattentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warrens say, "They may talkas they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I am determinednot to abandon him. "

Behold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date thehappiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare mefor them. Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly toenjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect oforganization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without acertain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the mostacute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having beenacquainted with his own temperament. This was my case till that time, and such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam deWarrens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her longenough to contract that pleasing habit of affectionate sentiments withwhich she inspired me. I dare affirm, that those who only love, do notfeel the most charming sensations we are capable of: I am acquainted withanother sentiment, less impetuous, but a thousand times more delightful;sometimes joined with love, but frequently separated from it. Thisfeeling is not simply friendship; it is more enchanting, more tender; nordo I imagine it can exist between persons of the same sex; at least Ihave been truly a friend, if ever a man was, and yet never experienced itin that kind. This distinction is not sufficiently clear, but willbecome so hereafter: sentiments are only distinguishable by theireffects. 

Madam de Warrens inhabited an old house, but large enough to have ahandsome spare apartment, which she made her drawing-room. I nowoccupied this chamber, which was in the passage I have before mentionedas the place of our first meeting. Beyond the brook and gardens was aprospect of the country, which was by no means uninteresting to the younginhabitant, being the first time, since my residence at Bossey, that Ihad seen anything before my windows but walls, roofs, or the dirtystreet. How pleasing then was this novelty! it helped to increase thetenderness of my disposition, for I looked on this charming landscape asthe gift of my dear patroness, who I could almost fancy had placed itthere on purpose for me. Peaceably seated, my eyes pursued her amidstthe flowers and the verdure; her charms seemed to me confounded withthose of the spring; my heart, till now contracted, here found means toexpand itself, and my sighs exhaled freely in this charming retreat. 

The magnificence I had been accustomed to at Turin was not to be found atMadam de Warrens, but in lieu of it there was neatness, regularity, and apatriarchal abundance, which is seldom attached to pompous ostentation. She had very little plate, no china, no game in her kitchen, or foreignwines in her cellar, but both were well furnished, and at every one'sservice; and her coffee, though served in earthenware cups, wasexcellent. Whoever came to her house was invited to dine there, andnever did laborer, messenger, or traveller, depart without refreshment. Her family consisted of a pretty chambermaid from Fribourg, namedMerceret; a valet from her own country called Claude Anet (of whom Ishall speak hereafter), a cook, and two hired chairmen when she visited, which seldom happened. This was a great deal to be done out of twothousand livres a year; yet, with good management, it might have beensufficient in a country where land is extremely good, and money veryscarce. Unfortunately, economy was never her favorite virtue; shecontracted debts--paid them--thus her money passed from hand to hand likea weaver's shuttle, and quickly disappeared. 

The arrangement of her housekeeping was exactly what I should havechosen, and I shared it with satisfaction. I was least pleased with thenecessity of remaining too long at table. Madam de Warrens was so muchincommoded with the first smell of soup or meat, as almost to occasionfainting; from this she slowly recovered, talking meantime, and neverattempting to eat for the first half hour. I could have dined thrice inthe time, and had ever finished my meal long before she began; I then ateagain for company; and though by this means I usually dined twice, feltno inconvenience from it. In short, I was perfectly at my ease, and thehappier as my situation required no care. Not being at this timeinstructed in the state of her finances, I supposed her means wereadequate to her expense; and though I afterwards found the sameabundance, yet when instructed in her real situation, finding her pensionever anticipated, prevented me from enjoying the same tranquility. Foresight with me has always embittered enjoyment; in vain I saw theapproach of misfortunes, I was never the more likely to avoid them. 

From the first moment of our meeting, the softest familiarity wasestablished between us: and in the same degree it continued during therest of her life. Child was my name, Mamma was hers, and child and mammawe have ever continued, even after a number of years had almost effacedthe apparent difference of age between us. I think those names convey anexact idea of our behavior, the simplicity of our manners, and above all, the similarity of our dispositions. To me she was the tenderest ofmothers, ever preferring my welfare to her own pleasure; and if my ownsatisfaction found some interest in my attachment to her, it was not tochange its nature, but only to render it more exquisite, and infatuate mewith the charm of having a mother young and handsome, whom I wasdelighted to caress: I say literally, to caress, for never did it enterinto her imagination to deny me the tenderest maternal kisses andendearments, or into my heart to abuse them. It will be said, at lengthour connection was of a different kind: I confess it; but have patience, that will come in its turn. 

The sudden sight of her, on our first interview, was the only trulypassionate moment she ever inspired me with; and even that wasprincipally the work of surprise. With her I had neither transports nordesires, but remained in a ravishing calm, sensible of a happiness Icould not define, and thus could I have passed my whole life, or eveneternity, without feeling an instant of uneasiness. 

She was the only person with whom I never experienced that want ofconversation, which to me is so painful to endure. Our tete-a-tetes wererather an inexhaustible chat than conversation, which could only concludefrom interruption. So far from finding discourse difficult, I ratherthought it a hardship to be silent; unless, when contemplating herprojects, she sunk into a reverie; when I silently let her meditate, andgazing on her, was the happiest of men. I had another singular fancy, which was that without pretending to the favor of a tete-a-tete, I wasperpetually seeking occasion to form them, enjoying such opportunitieswith rapture; and when importunate visitors broke in upon us, no matterwhether it was man or woman, I went out murmuring, not being able toremain a secondary object in her company; then, counting the minutes inher antechamber, I used to curse these eternal visitors, thinking itinconceivable how they could find so much to say, because I had stillmore. 

If ever I felt the full force of my attachment, it was when I did not seeher. When in her presence, I was only content; when absent, myuneasiness reached almost to melancholy, and a wish to live with her gaveme emotions of tenderness even to tears. Never shall I forget one greatholiday, while she was at vespers, when I took a walk out of the city, my heart full of her image, and the ardent wish to pass my life with her. I could easily enough see that at present this was impossible; that thehappiness I enjoyed would be of short duration, and this idea gave to mycontemplations a tincture of melancholy, which, however, was not gloomy, but tempered with a flattering hope. The ringing of bells, which everparticularly affects me, the singing of birds, the fineness of the day, the beauty of the landscape, the scattered country houses, among which inidea I placed our future dwelling, altogether struck me with animpression so lively, tender, melancholy, and powerful, that I saw myselfin ecstasy transported into that happy time and abode, where my heart, possessing all the felicity it could desire, might taste it with rapturesinexpressible. 

I never recollect to have enjoyed the future with such force of illusionsas at that time; and what has particularly struck me in the recollectionof this reverie, is that when realized, I found my situation exactly as Ihad imagined it. If ever waking dream had an appearance of a propheticvision, it was assuredly this; I was only deceived in its imaginaryduration, for days, years, and life itself, passed ideally in perfecttranquility, while the reality lasted but a moment. Alas! my mostdurable happiness was but as a dream, which I had no sooner had a glimpseof, than I instantly awoke. 

I know not when I should have done, if I was to enter into a detail ofall the follies that affection for my dear Madam de Warrens made mecommit. When absent from her, how often have I kissed the bed on asupposition that she had slept there; the curtains and all the furnitureof my chamber, on recollecting they were hers, and that her charminghands had touched them; nay, the floor itself, when I considered she hadwalked there. Sometimes even in her presence, extravagancies escaped me, which only the most violent passions seemed capable of inspiring; in aword, there was but one essential difference to distinguish me from anabsolute lover, and that particular renders my situation almostinconceivable. 

I had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no oneof my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted withwomen. My ardent constitution had found resources in those means bywhich youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity at theexpense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself. My localsituation should likewise be considered--living with a pretty woman, cherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her during thewhole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled her incessantlyto my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I knew she had slept. What a situation! Who can read this without supposing me on the brink ofthe grave? But quite the contrary; that which might have ruined me, acted as a preservative, at least for a time. Intoxicated with the charmof living with her, with the ardent desire of passing my life there, absent or present I saw in her a tender mother, an amiable sister, arespected friend, but nothing more; meantime, her image filled my heart, and left room far no other object. The extreme tenderness with which sheinspired me excluded every other woman from my consideration, andpreserved me from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because Iloved her. Let these particulars, which I recount but indifferently, beconsidered, and then let any one judge what kind of attachment I had forher: for my part, all I can say, is, that if it hitherto appearsextraordinary, it will appear much more so in the sequel. 

My time passed in the most agreeable manner, though occupied in a waywhich was by no means calculated to please me; such as having projects todigest, bills to write fair, receipts to transcribe, herbs to pick, drugsto pound, or distillations to attend; and in the midst of all this, camecrowds of travellers, beggars, and visitors of all denominations. Sometimes it was necessary to converse at the same time with a soldier, anapothecary, a prebendary, a fine lady, and a lay brother. I grumbled, swore, and wished all this troublesome medley at the devil, while sheseemed to enjoy it, laughing at my chagrin till the tears ran down hercheeks. What excited her mirth still more, was to see that my anger wasincreased by not being able myself to refrain from laughter. Theselittle intervals, in which I enjoyed the pleasure of grumbling, werecharming; and if, during the dispute, another importunate visitorarrived, she would add to her amusement by maliciously prolonging thevisit, meantime casting glances at me for which I could almost have beather; nor could she without difficulty refrain from laughter on seeing myconstrained politeness, though every moment glancing at her the look ofa fury, while, even in spite of myself, I thought the scene trulydiverting. 

All this, without being pleasing in itself, contributed to amuse, becauseit made up a part of a life which I thought delightful. Nothing that wasperformed around me, nothing that I was obliged to do, suited my taste, but everything suited my heart; and I believe, at length, I should haveliked the study of medicine, had not my natural distaste to itperpetually engaged us in whimsical scenes, that prevented my thinking ofit in a serious light. It was, perhaps, the first time that this artproduced mirth. I pretended to distinguish a physical book by its smell, and what was more diverting, was seldom mistaken. Madam de Warrens mademe taste the most nauseous drugs; in vain I ran, or endeavored to defendmyself; spite of resistance or wry faces, spite of my struggles, or evenof my teeth, when I saw her charming fingers approach my lips, I wasobliged to give up the contest. 

When shut up in an apartment with all her medical apparatus, any one whohad heard us running and shouting amidst peals of laughter would ratherhave imagined we had been acting a farce than preparing opiates orelixirs. 

My time, however, was not entirely passed in these fooleries; in theapartment which I occupied I found a few books: there was the Spectator, Puffendorf, St. Everemond, and the Henriade. Though I had not my oldpassion for books, yet I amused myself with reading a part of them. TheSpectator was particularly pleasing and serviceable to me. The Abbe deGauvon had taught me to read less eagerly, and with a greater degree ofattention, which rendered my studies more serviceable. I accustomedmyself to reflect on elocution and the elegance of composition;exercising myself in discerning pure French from my provincial idiom. For example, I corrected an orthographical fault (which I had in commonwith all Genevese) by these two lines of the Henriade:

 Soit qu' un ancient respect pour le sang de leurs maitres, Parlat encore pour lui dans le coeur de ces traitres

I was struck with the word 'parlat', and found a 't' was necessary toform the third person of the subjunctive, whereas I had always writtenand pronounced it parla, as in the present of the indicative. 

Sometimes my studies were the subject of conversation with Madam deWarrens; sometimes I read to her, in which I found great satisfaction;and as I endeavored to read well, it was extremely serviceable to me. I have already observed that her mind was cultivated; her understandingwas at this time in its meridian. Several people of learning having beenassiduous to ingratiate themselves, had taught her to distinguish worksof merit; but her taste (if I may so express myself) was ratherProtestant; ever speaking warmly of Bayle, and highly esteeming St. Evremond, though long since almost forgotten in France: but this did notprevent her having a taste for literature, or expressing her thoughtswith elegance. She had been brought up with polite company, and comingyoung to Savoy, by associating with people of the best fashion, had lostthe affected manners of her own country, where the ladies mistake wit forsense, and only speak in epigram. 

Though she had seen the court but superficially, that glance wassufficient to give her a competent idea of it; and notwithstanding secretjealousies and the murmurs excited by her conduct and running in debt, she ever preserved friends there, and never lost her pension. She knewthe world, and was useful. This was her favorite theme in ourconversations, and was directly opposite to my chimerical ideas, thoughthe kind of instruction I particularly had occasion for. We read Bruyeretogether; he pleased her more than Rochefoucault, who is a dull, melancholy author, particularly to youth, who are not fond ofcontemplating man as he really is. In moralizing she sometimesbewildered herself by the length of her discourse; but by kissing herlips or hand from time to time I was easily consoled, and never foundthem wearisome. 

This life was too delightful to be lasting; I felt this, and theuneasiness that thought gave me was the only thing that disturbed myenjoyment. Even in playfulness she studied my disposition, observed andinterrogated me, forming projects for my future fortune, which I couldreadily have dispensed with. Happily it was not sufficient to know mydisposition, inclinations and talents; it was likewise necessary to finda situation in which they would be useful, and this was not the work of aday. Even the prejudices this good woman had conceived in favor of mymerit put off the time of calling it into action, by rendering her moredifficult in the choice of means; thus (thanks to the good opinion sheentertained of me), everything answered to my wish; but a change soonhappened which put a period to my tranquility. 

A relation of Madam de Warrens, named M. D'Aubonne, came to see her; aman of great understanding and intrigue, being, like her, fond ofprojects, though careful not to ruin himself by them. He had offeredCardinal Fleury a very compact plan for a lottery, which, however, hadnot been approved of, and he was now going to propose it to the court ofTurin, where it was accepted and put into execution. He remained sometime at Annecy, where he fell in love with the Intendant's lady, who wasvery amiable, much to my taste and the only person I saw with pleasure atthe house of Madam de Warrens. M. D'Aubonne saw me, I was stronglyrecommended by his relation; he promised, therefore, to question and seewhat I was fit for, and, if he found me capable to seek me a situation. Madam de Warrens sent me to him two or three mornings, under pretense ofmessages, without acquainting me with her real intention. He spoke to megayly, on various subjects, without any appearance of observation; hisfamiliarity presently set me talking, which by his cheerful and jestingmanner he encouraged without restraint--I was absolutely charmed withhim. The result of his observations was, that notwithstanding theanimation of my countenance, and promising exterior, if not absolutelysilly, I was a lad of very little sense, and without ideas of learning;in fine, very ignorant in all respects, and if I could arrive at beingcurate of some village, it was the utmost honor I ought ever to aspireto. Such was the account he gave of me to Madam de Warrens. This wasnot the first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was itthe last; the judgment of M. Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed. 

The cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character notto need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I canin conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality, whatever M. Masseron, M. D'Aubonne and many others may have said, Icannot help thinking them mistaken. 

Two things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannotmyself conceive. My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions livelyand impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great embarrassmentand after much afterthought. It might be said my heart and understandingdo not belong to the same individual. A sentiment takes possession of mysoul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, itdazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, butstupid; to think I must be cool. What is astonishing, my conception isclear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus atleisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice. I could hold a tolerable conversation by the post, as they say theSpaniards play at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke ofSavoy, who turned himself round, while on a journey, to cry out 'a votregorge, marchand de Paris!' I said, "Here is a trait of my character!"

This slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not onlysensible of in conversation, but even alone. When I write, my ideas arearranged with the utmost difficulty. They glance on my imagination andferment till they discompose, heat, and bring on a palpitation; duringthis state of agitation, I see nothing properly, cannot write a singleword, and must wait till it is over. Insensibly the agitation subsides, the chaos acquires form, and each circumstance takes its proper place. Have you never seen an opera in Italy? where during the change of sceneeverything is in confusion, the decorations are intermingled, and any onewould suppose that all would be overthrown; yet by little and little, everything is arranged, nothing appears wanting, and we feel surprised tosee the tumult succeeded by the most delightful spectacle. This is aresemblance of what passes in my brain when I attempt to write; had Ialways waited till that confusion was past, and then pointed, in theirnatural beauties, the objects that had presented themselves, few authorswould have surpassed me. 

Thence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing; my manuscripts, blotted, scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they costme; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe fouror five times before it went to press. Never could I do anything whenplaced at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or inthe woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that Icompose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has notthe advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain byheart six verses. Some of my periods I have turned and returned in myhead five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus itis that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, thanthose that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could neversucceed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;nor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without itcosting me hours of fatigue. If I write immediately what strikes me, myletter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which, when read, can hardly be understood. 

It is not only painful to me to give language to my ideas but even toreceive them. I have studied mankind, and think myself a tolerableobserver, yet I know nothing from what I see, but all from what Iremember, nor have I understanding except in my recollections. From allthat is said, from all that passes in my presence, I feel nothing, conceive nothing, the exterior sign being all that strikes me; afterwardsit returns to my remembrance; I recollect the place, the time, themanner, the look, and gesture, not a circumstance escapes me; it is then, from what has been done or said, that I imagine what has been thought, and I have rarely found myself mistaken. 

So little master of my understanding when alone, let any one judge what Imust be in conversation, where to speak with any degree of ease you mustthink of a thousand things at the same time: the bare idea that I shouldforget something material would be sufficient to intimidate me. Nor canI comprehend how people can have the confidence to converse in largecompanies, where each word must pass in review before so many, and whereit would be requisite to know their several characters and histories toavoid saying what might give offence. In this particular, those whofrequent the world would have a great advantage, as they know betterwhere to be silent, and can speak with greater confidence; yet even theysometimes let fall absurdities; in what predicament then must he be whodrops as it were from the clouds? it is almost impossible he should speakten minutes with impunity. 

In a tete-a-tete there is a still worse inconvenience; that is; thenecessity of talking perpetually, at least, the necessity of answeringwhen spoken to, and keeping up the conversation when the other is silent. This insupportable constraint is alone sufficient to disgust me withvariety, for I cannot form an idea of a greater torment than beingobliged to speak continually without time for recollection. I know notwhether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint; but if I amobliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense. What is still worse, instead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing tosay, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination: andendeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible, Ihastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they onlychance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to conquer or hide myincapacity, I rarely fail to show it. 

I think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I havefrequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this wasthe more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise, andexpectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more shocking. This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will not beuseless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which mightotherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a savagehumor I do not possess. I love society as much as any man, was I notcertain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but totallydifferent from what I really am. The plan I have adopted of writing andretirement, is what exactly suits me. Had I been present, my worth wouldnever have been known, no one would even have suspected it; thus it waswith Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived for severalyears; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though on the wholethis rule may be subject to some exceptions. I shall now return to myhistory. 

The estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable ofpromised, the question only remained how to render her capable offulfilling my destined vocation. The principle difficulty was, I did notknow Latin enough for a priest. Madam de Warrens determined to have metaught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to theSuperior, who was a Lazarist, called M. Gras, a good-natured littlefellow, half blind, meagre, gray-haired, insensible, and the leastpedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no greatmatter. 

He frequently visited Madam de Warrens, who entertained, caressed, andmade much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he waswilling enough to perform. While thus employed, she would run about theroom, this way or that, as occasion happened to call her. Drawn by thelace, Monsieur the Superior followed, grumbling, repeating at everymoment, "Pray, madam, do stand still;" the whole forming a scene trulydiverting. 

M. Gras willingly assented to the project of Madam de Warrens, and, for avery moderate pension, charged himself with the care of instructing me. The consent of the bishop was all that remained necessary, who not onlygranted it, but offered to pay the pension, permitting me to retain thesecular habit till they could judge by a trial what success they mighthave in my improvement. 

What a change! but I was obliged to submit; though I went to the seminarywith about the same spirits as if they had been taking me to execution. What a melancholy abode! especially for one who left the house of apretty woman. I carried one book with me, that I had borrowed of Madamde Warrens, and found it a capital resource! it will not be easilyconjectured what kind of book this was--it was a music book. Among thetalents she had cultivated, music was not forgotten; she had a tolerablegood voice, sang agreeably, and played on the harpsichord. She had takenthe pains to give me some lessons in singing, though before I was veryuninformed in that respect, hardly knowing the music of our psalms. Eight or ten interrupted lessons, far from putting me in a condition toimprove myself, did not teach me half the notes; notwithstanding, I hadsuch a passion for the art, that I determined to exercise myself alone. The book I took was not of the most easy kind; it was the cantatas ofClerambault. It may be conceived with what attention and perseverance Istudied, when I inform my reader, that without knowing anything oftransposition or quantity, I contrived to sing with tolerablecorrectness, the first recitative and air in the cantata of Alpheus andArethusa; it is true this air is, so justly set, that it is onlynecessary to recite the verses in their just measure to catch the music. 

There was at the seminary a curst Lazarist, who by undertaking to teachme Latin made me detest it. His hair was coarse, black and greasy, hisface like those formed in gingerbread, he had the voice of a buffalo, thecountenance of an owl, and the bristles of a boar in lieu of a beard; hissmile was sardonic, and his limbs played like those of a puppet moved bywires. I have forgotten his odious name, but the remembrance of hisfrightful precise countenance remains with me, though hardly can Irecollect it without trembling; especially when I call to mind ourmeeting in the gallery, when he graciously advanced his filthy square capas a sign for me to enter his apartment, which appeared more dismal in myapprehension than a dungeon. Let any one judge the contrast between mypresent master and the elegant Abbe de Gauvon. 

Had I remained two months at the mercy of this monster, I am certain myhead could not have sustained it; but the good M. Gras, perceiving I wasmelancholy, grew thin, and did not eat my victuals, guessed the cause ofmy uneasiness (which indeed was not very difficult) and taking me fromthe claws of this beast, by another yet more striking contrast, placed mewith the gentlest of men, a young Faucigneran abbe, named M. Gatier, who studied at the seminary, and out of complaisance for M. Gras, andhumanity to myself, spared some time from the prosecution of his ownstudies in order to direct mine. Never did I see a more pleasingcountenance than that of M. Gatier. He was fair complexioned, his beardrather inclined to red; his behavior like that of the generality of hiscountrymen (who under a coarseness of countenance conceal muchunderstanding), marked in him a truly sensible and affectionate soul. In his large blue eyes there was a mixture of softness, tenderness, andmelancholy, which made it impossible to see him without feeling one'sself interested. From the looks and manner of this young abbe he mighthave been supposed to have foreseen his destiny, and that he was born tobe unhappy. 

His disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience andcomplaisance, he rather appeared to study with than to instruct me. So much was not necessary to make me love him, his predecessor havingrendered that very easy; yet, notwithstanding all the time he bestowed onme, notwithstanding our mutual good inclinations, and that his plan ofteaching was excellent, with much labor, I made little progress. It isvery singular, that with a clear conception I could never learn much frommasters except my father and M. Lambercier; the little I know besides Ihave learned alone, as will be seen hereafter. My spirit, impatient ofevery species of constraint, cannot submit to the law of the moment; eventhe fear of not learning prevents my being attentive, and a dread ofwearying those who teach, makes me feign to understand them; thus theyproceed faster than I can comprehend, and the conclusion is I learnnothing. My understanding must take its own time and cannot submit tothat of another. 

The time of ordination being arrived, M. Gatier returned to his provinceas deacon, leaving me with gratitude, attachment, and sorrow for hisloss. The vows I made for him were no more answered than those I offeredfor myself. Some years after, I learned, that being vicar of a parish, a young girl was with child by him, being the only one (though hepossessed a very tender heart) with whom he was ever in love. This was adreadful scandal in a diocese severely governed, where the priests (beingunder good regulation) ought never to have children--except by marriedwomen. Having infringed this politic law, he was put in prison, defamed, and driven from his benefice. I know not whether it was ever after inhis power to reestablish his affairs; but the remembrance of hismisfortunes, which were deeply engraven on my heart, struck me when Iwrote Emilius, and uniting M. Gatier with M. Gaime, I formed from thesetwo worthy priests the character of the Savoyard Vicar, and flattermyself the imitation has not dishonored the originals. 

While I was at the seminary, M. D'Aubonne was obliged to quit Annecy, Moultou being displeased that he made love to his wife, which was actinglike a dog in the manger, for though Madam Moultou was extremely amiable, he lived very ill with her, treating her with such brutality that aseparation was talked of. Moultou, by repeated oppressions, at lengthprocured a dismissal from his employment: he was a disagreeable man; amole could not be blacker, nor an owl more knavish. It is said theprovincials revenge themselves on their enemies by songs; M. D'Aubonnerevenged himself on his by a comedy, which he sent to Madam de Warrens, who showed it to me. I was pleased with it, and immediately conceivedthe idea of writing one, to try whether I was so silly as the author hadpronounced me. This project was not executed till I went to Chambery, where I wrote 'The Lover of Himself'. Thus when I said in the preface tothat piece, "it was written at eighteen, " I cut off a few years. 

Nearly about this time an event happened, not very important in itself, but whose consequence affected me, and made a noise in the world when Ihad forgotten it. Once a week I was permitted to go out; it is notnecessary to say what use I made of this liberty. Being one Sunday atMadam de Warrens, a building belonging to the Cordeliers, which joinedher house, took fire; this building which contained their oven, beingfull of dry fagots, blazed violently and greatly endangered the house;for the wind happening to drive the flames that way, it was covered withthem. The furniture, therefore, was hastily got out and carried into thegarden which fronted the windows, on the other side the before-mentionedbrook. I was so alarmed that I threw indiscriminately everything thatcame to hand out of the window, even to a large stone mortar, which atanother time I should have found it difficult to remove, and should havethrown a handsome looking-glass after it had not some one prevented me. The good bishop, who that day was visiting Madam de Warrens, did notremain idle; he took her into the garden, where they went to prayers withthe rest that were assembled there, and where sometime afterwards, I found them on their knees, and presently joined them. While the goodman was at his devotions, the wind changed, so suddenly and critically, that the flames which had covered the house and began to enter thewindows, were carried to the other side of the court, and the housereceived no damage. Two years after, Monsieur de Berner being dead, theAntoines, his former brethren, began to collect anecdotes which mightserve as arguments of his beatification; at the desire of Father Baudet, I joined to these an attestation of what I have just related, in doingwhich, though I attested no more than the truth, I certainly acted ill, as it tended to make an indifferent occurrence pass for a miracle. I hadseen the bishop in prayer, and had likewise seen the wind change duringthe prayer, and even much to the purpose, all this I could certify truly;but that one of these facts was the cause of the other, I ought not tohave attested, because it is what I could not possibly be assured of. Thus much I may say, that as far as I can recollect what my ideas were atthat time, I was sincerely, and in good earnest a Catholic. Love of themarvellous is natural to the human heart; my veneration for the virtuousprelate, and secret pride in having, perhaps, contributed to the event inquestion, all helped to seduce me; and certainly, if this miracle was theeffect of ardent prayer, I had a right to claim a share of the merits. 

More than thirty years after, when I published the 'Lettres de laMontagne', M. Feron (I know not by what means) discovered thisattestation, and made use of it in his paper. I must confess thediscovery was very critically timed, and appeared very diverting, even to me. 

I was destined to be the outcast of every condition; for notwithstandingM. Gatier gave the most favorable account he possibly could of mystudies, they plainly saw the improvement I received bore no proportionto the pains taken to instruct me, which was no encouragement to continuethem: the bishop and superior, therefore, were disheartened, and I wassent back to Madam de Warrens, as a subject not even fit to make a priestof; but as they allowed, at the same time, that I was a tolerably goodlad, and far from being vicious, this account counterbalanced the former, and determined her not to abandon me. 

I carried back in triumph the dear music book, which had been so usefulto me, the air of Alpheus and Arethusa being almost all I had learned atthe seminary. My predilection for this art started the idea of making amusician of, me. A convenient opportunity offered; once a week, atleast, she had a concert at her house, and the music-master from thecathedral, who directed this little band, came frequently to see her. This was a Parisian, named M. Le Maitre, a good composer, very lively, gay, young, well made, of little understanding, but, upon the whole, agood sort of man. Madam de Warrens made us acquainted; I attached myselfto him, and he seemed not displeased with me. A pension was talked of, and agreed on; in short, I went home with him, and passed the winter themore agreeably at his chambers, as they were not above twenty pacesdistant from Madam de Warrens', where we frequently supped together. It may easily be supposed that this situation, ever gay, and singing withthe musicians and children of the choir, was more pleasing to me than theseminary and fathers of St. Lazarus. This life, though free, wasregular; here I learned to prize independence, but never to abuse it. For six whole months I never once went out except to see Madam deWarrens, or to church, nor had I any inclination to it. This interval isone of those in which I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction, and which Ihave ever recollected with pleasure. Among the various situations I havebeen placed in, some were marked with such an idea of virtuoussatisfaction, that the bare remembrance affects me as if they were yetpresent. I vividly recollect the time, the place, the persons, and eventhe temperature of the air, while the lively idea of a certain localimpression peculiar to those times, transports me back again to the veryspot; for example, all that was repeated at our meetings, all that wassung in the choir, everything that passed there; the beautiful and noblehabits of the canons, the chasubles of the priests, the mitres of thesingers, the persons of the musicians; an old lame carpenter who playedthe counter-bass, a little fair abbe who performed on the violin, theragged cassock which M. Le Maitre, after taking off his sword, used toput over his secular habit, and the fine surplice with which he coveredthe rags of the former, when he went to the choir; the pride with which Iheld my little flute to my lips, and seated myself in the orchestra, toassist in a recitative which M. Le Maitre had composed on purpose for me;the good dinner that afterwards awaited us, and the good appetites wecarried to it. This concourse of objects, strongly retraced in mymemory, has charmed me a hundred time as much, or perhaps more, than everthe reality had done. I have always preserved an affection for a certainair of the 'Conditor alme Syderum', because one Sunday in Advent I heardthat hymn sung on the steps of the cathedral, (according to the custom ofthat place) as I lay in bed before daybreak. Mademoiselle Merceret, Madam de Warrens' chambermaid, knew something of music; I shall neverforget a little piece that M. Le Maitre made me sing with her, and whichher mistress listened to with great satisfaction. In a word, everyparticular, even down to the servant Perrine, whom the boys of the choirtook such delight in teasing. The remembrance of these times ofhappiness and innocence frequently returning to my mind, both ravish andaffect me. 

I lived at Annecy during a year without the least reproach, givinguniversal satisfaction. Since my departure from Turin I had been guiltyof no folly, committed none while under the eye of Madam de Warrens. She was my conductor, and ever led me right; my attachment for her becamemy only passion, and what proves it was not a giddy one, my heart andunderstanding were in unison. It is true that a single sentiment, absorbing all my faculties, put me out of a capacity of learning evenmusic: but this was not my fault, since to the strongest inclination, I added the utmost assiduity. I was attentive and thoughtful; what couldI do? Nothing was wanting towards my progress that depended on me;meantime, it only required a subject that might inspire me to occasionthe commission of new follies: that subject presented itself, chancearranged it, and (as will be seen hereafter) my inconsiderate head gavein to it. 

One evening, in the month of February, when it was very cold, being allsat round the fire, we heard some one knock at the street door. Perrinetook a light, went down and opened it: a young man entering, cameupstairs, presented himself with an easy air, and making M. Maitre ashort, but well-turned compliment, announced himself as a Frenchmusician, constrained by the state of his finances to take this liberty. The hart of the good Le Maitre leaped at the name of a French musician, for he passionately loved both his country and profession; he thereforeoffered the young traveller his service--and use of his apartment, whichhe appeared to stand much in need of, and which he accepted without muchceremony. I observed him while he was chatting and warming himselfbefore supper; he was short and thick, having some fault in his shape, though without any particular deformity; he had (if I may so expressmyself) an appearance of being hunchbacked, with flat shoulders, and Ithink he limped. He wore a black coat, rather worn than old, which hungin tatters, a very fine but dirty shirt, frayed ruffles; a pair ofsplatterdashes so large that he could have put both legs into either ofthem, and, to secure himself from the snow, a little hat, only fit to becarried under his arm. With this whimsical equipage, he had, however, something elegant in his manners and conversation; his countenance wasexpressive and agreeable, and he spoke with facility if not with modesty;in short, everything about him bore the mark of a young debauchee, whodid not crave assistance like a beggar, but as a thoughtless madcap. He told us his name was Venture de Villeneuve, that he came from Paris, had lost his way, and seeming to forget that he had announced himself fora musician, added that he was going to Grenoble to see a relation thatwas a member of Parliament. 

During supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well: he knewall the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors, actresses, pretty women, and powerful lords; in short nothing wasmentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with. Though nosooner was any topic started, than by some drollery, which set every onea-laughing, he made them forget what had been said. This was on aSaturday; the next day there was to be music at the cathedral: M. LeMaitre asked if he would sing there--"Very willingly. "--"What part wouldhe chose?"--"The counter-tenor:" and immediately began speaking of otherthings. Before he went to church they offered him his part to peruse, but he did not even look at it. This Gasconade surprised Le Maitre--"You'll see, " said he, whispering to me, "that he does not know a singlenote. "--I replied: "I am very much afraid of him. " I followed them intothe church; but was extremely uneasy, and when they began, my heart beatviolently, so much was I interested in his behalf. 

I was presently out of pain: he sung his two recitatives with allimaginable taste and judgment; and what was yet more, with a veryagreeable voice. I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise. After mass, M. Venture received the highest compliments from the canons andmusicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace. M. LeMaitre embraced him heartily; I did the same; he saw I was rejoiced athis success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction. 

It will easily be surmised, that after having been delighted with M. Bacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuatedwith M. Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of theworld, and might be called an agreeable rake. This was exactly whathappened, and would, I believe, have happened to any other young man inmy place; especially supposing him possessed of better judgment todistinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it; for Venturedoubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, veryrare at his age, namely, that of never being in haste to display histalents. It is true, he boasted of many things he did not understand, but of those he knew (which were very numerous) he said nothing, patiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did withease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect. As there was ever some intermission between the proofs of his variousabilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever discoveredall his talents. Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing inconversation, ever smiling, but never laughing, and repeating the rudestthings in the most elegant manner--even the most modest women wereastonished at what they endured from him: it was in vain for them todetermine to be angry; they could not assume the appearance of it. It was extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a countrywhere they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so longremained only a musician. 

My attachment to M. Venture, more reasonable in its cause, was also lessextravagant in its effects, though more lively and durable than that Ihad conceived for M. Bacle. I loved to see him, to hear him, all hisactions appeared charming, everything he said was an oracle to me, butthe enchantment did not extend far enough to disable me from quittinghim. I spoke of him with transport to Madam de Warrens, Le Maitrelikewise spoke in his praise, and she consented we should bring him toher house. This interview did not succeed; he thought her affected, shefound him a libertine, and, alarmed that I had formed such an illacquaintance, not only forbade me bringing him there again, but likewisepainted so strongly the danger I ran with this young man, that I became alittle more circumspect in giving in to the attachment; and very happily, both for my manners and wits, we were soon separated. 

M. Le Maitre, like most of his profession, loved good wine; at table hewas moderate, but when busy in his closet he must drink. His maid was sowell acquainted with this humor that no sooner had he prepared his paperto compose, and taken his violoncello, than the bottle and glass arrived, and was replenished from time to time: thus, without being everabsolutely intoxicated, he was usually in a state of elevation. This wasreally unfortunate, for he had a good heart, and was so playful thatMadam de Warrens used to call him the kitten. Unhappily, he loved hisprofession, labored much and drank proportionately, which injured hishealth, and at length soured his temper. Sometimes he was gloomy andeasily offended, though incapable of rudeness, or giving offence to anyone, for never did he utter a harsh word, even to the boys of the choir:on the other hand, he would not suffer another to offend him, which wasbut just: the misfortune was, having little understanding, he did notproperly discriminate, and was often angry without cause. 

The Chapter of Geneva, where so many princes and bishops formerly thoughtit an honor to be seated, though in exile it lost its ancient splendor, retained (without any diminution) its pride. To be admitted, you musteither be a gentleman or Doctor of Sorbonne. If there is a pardonablepride, after that derived from personal merit, it is doubtless thatarising from birth, though, in general, priests having laymen in theirservice treat them with sufficient haughtiness, and thus the canonsbehaved to poor Le Maitre. The chanter, in particular, who was calledthe Abbe de Vidonne, in other respects a well-behaved man, but too fullof his nobility, did not always show him the attention his talentsmerited. M. Le Maitre could not bear these indignities patiently;and this year, during passion week, they had a more serious dispute thanordinary. At an institution dinner that the bishop gave the canons, andto which M. Maitre was always invited, the abbe failed in some formality, adding, at the same time, some harsh words, which the other could notdigest; he instantly formed the resolution to quit them the followingnight; nor could any consideration make him give up his design, thoughMadam de Warrens (whom he went to take leave of) spared no pains toappease him. He could not relinquish the pleasure of leaving his tyrantsembarrassed for the Easter feast, at which time he knew they stood ingreatest need of him. He was most concerned about his music, which hewished to take with him; but this could not easily be accomplished, as itfilled a large case, and was very heavy, and could not be carried underthe arm. 

Madam de Warrens did what I should have done in her situation; andindeed, what I should yet do: after many useless efforts to retain him, seeing he was resolved to depart, whatever might be the event, she formedthe resolution to give him every possible assistance. I must confess LeMaitre deserved it of her, for he was (if I may use the expression)dedicated to her service, in whatever appertained to either his art orknowledge, and the readiness with which he obliged gave a double value tohis complaisance: thus she only paid back, on an essential occasion, themany favors he had been long conferring on her; though I should observe, she possessed a soul that, to fulfill such duties, had no occasion to bereminded of previous obligations. Accordingly she ordered me to followLe Maitre to Lyons, and to continue with him as long as he might haveoccasion for my services. She has since avowed, that a desire ofdetaching me from Venture had a great hand in this arrangement. Sheconsulted Claude Anet about the conveyance of the above-mentioned case. He advised, that instead of hiring a beast at Annecy, which wouldinfallibly discover us, it would be better, at night, to take it to someneighboring village, and there hire an ass to carry it to Seyssel, whichbeing in the French dominions, we should have nothing to fear. This planwas adopted; we departed the same night at seven, and Madam de Warrens, under pretense of paying my expenses, increased the purse of poor LeMaitre by an addition that was very acceptable. Claude Anet, thegardiner, and myself, carried the case to the first village, then hiredan ass, and the same night reached Seyssel. 

I think I have already remarked that there are times in which I am sounlike myself that I might be taken for a man of a direct oppositedisposition; I shall now give an example of this. M. Reydelet, curate ofSeyssel, was canon of St. Peter's, consequently known to M. Le Maitre, and one of the people from whom he should have taken most pains toconceal himself; my advice, on the contrary, was to present ourselves tohim, and, under some pretext, entreat entertainment as if we visited himby consent of the chapter. Le Maitre adopted the idea, which seemed togive his revenge the appearance of satire and waggery; in short, we wentboldly to Reydelet, who received us very kindly. Le Maitre told him hewas going to Bellay by desire of the bishop, that he might superintendthe music during the Easter holidays, and that he proposed returning thatway in a few days. To support this tale, I told a hundred others, sonaturally that M. Reydelet thought me a very agreeable youth, and treatedme with great friendship and civility. We were well regaled and welllodged: M. Reydelet scarcely knew how to make enough of us; and we partedthe best friends in the world, with a promise to stop longer on ourreturn. We found it difficult to refrain from laughter, or wait till wewere alone to give free vent to our mirth: indeed, even now, the barerecollection of it forces a smile, for never was waggery better or morefortunately maintained. This would have made us merry during theremainder of our journey, if M. Le Maitre (who did not cease drinking)had not been two or three times attacked with a complaint that heafterwards became very subject to, and which resembled an epilepsy. These fits threw me into the most fearful embarrassments, from which Iresolved to extricate myself with the first opportunity. 

According to the information given to M. Reydelet, we passed our Easterholidays at Bellay, and though not expected there, were received by themusic--master, and welcomed by every one with great pleasure. M. LeMaitre was of considerable note in his profession, and, indeed, meritedthat distinction. The music-master of Bellay (who was fond of his ownworks) endeavored to obtain the approbation of so good a judge; forbesides being a connoisseur, M. Le Maitre was equitable, neither ajealous, ill-natured critic, nor a servile flatterer. He was so superiorto the generality of country music-masters and they were so sensible ofit, that they treated him rather as their chief than a brother musician. 

Having passed four or five days very agreeably at Bellay, we departed, and continuing our journey without meeting with any accidents, exceptthose I have just spoken of, arrived at Lyons, and were lodged at NotreDame de Pitie. While we waited for the arrival of the before-mentionedcase (which by the assistance of another lie, and the care of our goodpatron, M. Reydelet, we had embarked on the Rhone) M. Le Maitre went tovisit his acquaintance, and among others Father Cato, a Cordelier, whowill be spoken of hereafter, and the Abbe Dortan, Count of Lyons, both ofwhom received him well, but afterwards betrayed him, as will be seenpresently; indeed, his good fortune terminated with M. Reydelet. 

Two days after our arrival at Lyons, as we passed a little street not farfrom our inn, Le Maitre was attacked by one of his fits; but it was nowso violent as to give me the utmost alarm. I screamed with terror, called for help, and naming our inn, entreated some one to bear him toit, then (while the people were assembled, and busy round a man that hadfallen senseless in the street) he was abandoned by the only friend onwhom he could have any reasonable dependence; I seized the instant whenno one heeded me, turned the corner of the street and disappeared. Thanks to Heaven, I have made my third painful confession; if many suchremained, I should certainly abandon the work I have undertaken. 

Of all the incidents I have yet related, a few traces are remaining inthe places where I have lived; but what I have to relate in the followingbook is almost entirely unknown; these are the greatest extravagancies ofmy life, and it is happy they had not worse conclusions. My head, (if Imay use the simile) screwed up to the pitch of an instrument it did notnaturally accord with, had lost its diapason; in time it returned to itagain, when I discontinued my follies, or at least gave in to those moreconsonant to my disposition. This epoch of my youth I am least able torecollect, nothing having passed sufficiently interesting to influence myheart, to make me clearly retrace the remembrance. In so many successivechanges, it is difficult not to make some transpositions of time orplace. I write absolutely from memory, without notes or materials tohelp my recollection. Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they hadrecently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill upbut by the aid of recital, as confused as the remaining traces of thoseto which they refer. It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred intrifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance I cananswer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same veracitythe reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it. 

My resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Maitre; I set outimmediately for Annecy. The cause and mystery of our departure hadinterested me for the security of our retreat: this interest, whichentirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every otheridea; but no sooner was I secure and in tranquility, than my predominantsentiment regained its place. Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me, Ihad no wish but to return to Madam de Warrens; the tenderness and truthof my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginableproject, and all the follies of ambition, I conceived no happiness butliving near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that thedistance between us was increased. I returned, therefore, as soon aspossible, with such speed, and with my spirits in such a state ofagitation, that though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, Ihave not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leavingLyons and reaching Annecy. Let anyone judge whether this last event canhave slipped my memory, when informed that on my arrival I found Madam deWarrens was not there, having set out for Paris. 

I was never well informed of the motives of this journey. I am certainshe would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious tolearn the secrets of his friend. My heart is ever so entirely filledwith the present, or with past pleasures, which become a principal partof my enjoyment, that there is not a chink or corner for curiosity toenter. All that I conceive from what I heard of it, is, that in therevolution caused at Turin by the abdication of the King of Sardinia, she feared being forgotten, and was willing by favor of the intrigues ofM. D' Aubonne to seek the same advantage in the court of France, whereshe has often told me she should, have preferred it, as the multiplicityof business there prevents your conduct from being so closely inspected. If this was her business, it is astonishing that on her return she wasnot ill received; be that as it will, she continued to enjoy herallowance without any interruption. Many people imagined she was chargedwith some secret commission, either by the bishop, who then had businessat the court of France, where he himself was soon after obliged to go, or some one yet more powerful, who knew how to insure her a graciousreception at her return. If this was the case, it is certain theambassadress was not ill chosen, since being young and handsome, she hadall the necessary qualifications to succeed in a negotiation.