The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau — Volume 07

chowyag - Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe
Tout savoir sur nos offres

132 pages

English

Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe
Tout savoir sur nos offres

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VII. by Jean Jacques RousseauThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Confessions of J. J. Rousseau, Book VII.Author: Jean Jacques RousseauRelease Date: December 6, 2004 [EBook #3907]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUSSEAU ***Produced by David WidgerTHE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU(In 12 books)Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus SocietyLondon, 1903BOOK VII.After two years' silence and patience, and notwithstanding my resolutions, I again take up my pen: Reader, suspend yourjudgment as to the reasons which force me to such a step: of these you can be no judge until you shall have read mybook.My peaceful youth has been seen to pass away calmly and agreeably without any great disappointments or remarkableprosperity. This mediocrity was mostly owing to my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt in undertaking than easy todiscourage; quitting repose for violent agitations, but returning to it from lassitude and inclinations, and which, placing mein an idle and tranquil state for which alone I felt I was born, at a distance from the paths of great virtues and still furtherfrom those of great vices, never permitted me to arrive at ...

Informations

Publié par	chowyag
Publié le	01 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	32
Langue	English

Extrait

Privately Printed for the Members of the AldusSocietyLondon, 1903BOOK VII.After two years' silence and patience, andnotwithstanding my resolutions, I again take up mypen: Reader, suspend your judgment as to thereasons which force me to such a step: of theseyou can be no judge until you shall have read mybook.My peaceful youth has been seen to pass awaycalmly and agreeably without any greatdisappointments or remarkable prosperity. Thismediocrity was mostly owing to my ardent yetfeeble nature, less prompt in undertaking thaneasy to discourage; quitting repose for violentagitations, but returning to it from lassitude andinclinations, and which, placing me in an idle andtranquil state for which alone I felt I was born, at adistance from the paths of great virtues and stillfurther from those of great vices, never permittedme to arrive at anything great, either good or bad.What a different account will I soon have to give ofmyself! Fate, which for thirty years forced myinclinations, for thirty others has seemed to opposethem; and this continued opposition, between mysituation and inclinations, will appear to have been

the source of enormous faults, unheard ofmisfortunes, and every virtue except that fortitudewhich alone can do honor to adversity.The history of the first part of my life was writtenfrom memory, and is consequently full of errors. AsI am obliged to write the second part from memoryalso, the errors in it will probably be still morenumerous. The agreeable remembrance of thefinest portion of my years, passed with so muchtranquillity and innocence, has left in my heart athousand charming impressions which I loveincessantly to call to my recollection. It will soonappear how different from these those of the restof my life have been. To recall them to my mindwould be to renew their bitterness. Far fromincreasing that of my situation by these sorrowfulreflections, I repel them as much as possible, andin this endeavor often succeed so well as to beunable to find them at will. This facility of forgettingmy misfortunes is a consolation which Heaven hasreserved to me in the midst of those which fate hasone day to accumulate upon my head. Mymemory, which presents to me no objects but suchas are agreeable, is the happy counterpoise of myterrified imagination, by which I foresee nothing buta cruel futurity.All the papers I had collected to aid myrecollection, and guide me in this undertaking, areno longer in my possession, nor can I ever againhope to regain them.I have but one faithful guide on which I can

depend: this is the chain of the sentiments bywhich the succession of my existence has beenmarked, and by these the events which have beeneither the cause or the effect of the manner of it. Ieasily forget my misfortunes, but I cannot forgetmy faults, and still less my virtuous sentiments.The remembrance of these is too dear to me everto suffer them to be effaced from my mind. I mayomit facts, transpose events, and fall into someerrors of dates; but I cannot be deceived in what Ihave felt, nor in that which from sentiment I havedone; and to relate this is the chief end of mypresent work. The real object of my confessions isto communicate an exact knowledge of what Iinteriorly am and have been in every situation ofmy life. I have promised the history of my mind,and to write it faithfully I have no need of othermemoirs: to enter into my own heart, as I havehitherto done, will alone be sufficient.There is, however, and very happily, an interval ofsix or seven years, relative to which I have exactreferences, in a collection of letters copied from theoriginals, in the hands of M. du Peyrou. Thiscollection, which concludes in 1760, comprehendsthe whole time of my residence at the hermitage,and my great quarrel with those who calledthemselves my friends; that memorable epocha ofmy life, and the source of all my other misfortunes.With respect to more recent original letters whichmay remain in my possession, and are but few innumber, instead of transcribing them at the end ofthis collection, too voluminous to enable me todeceive the vigilance of my Arguses, I will copy

them into the work whenever they appear tofurnish any explanation, be this either for or againstmyself; for I am not under the least apprehensionlest the reader should forget I make myconfession, and be induced to believe I make myapology; but he cannot expect I shall conceal thetruth when it testifies in my favor.The second part, it is likewise to be remembered,contains nothing in common with the first, excepttruth; nor has any other advantage over it, but theimportance of the facts; in everything else, it isinferior to the former. I wrote the first withpleasure, with satisfaction, and at my ease, atWootton, or in the castle Trie: everything I had torecollect was a new enjoyment. I returned to mycloset with an increased pleasure, and, withoutconstraint, gave that turn to my descriptions whichmost flattered my imagination.At present my head and memory are become soweak as to render me almost incapable of everykind of application: my present undertaking is theresult of constraint, and a heart full of sorrow. Ihave nothing to treat of but misfortunes,treacheries, perfidies, and circumstances equallyafflicting. I would give the world, could I bury in theobscurity of time, every thing I have to say, andwhich, in spite of myself, I am obliged to relate. Iam, at the same time, under the necessity of beingmysterious and subtle, of endeavoring to imposeand of descending to things the most foreign to mynature. The ceiling under which I write has eyes;the walls of my chamber have ears. Surrounded by

spies and by vigilant and malevolent inspectors,disturbed, and my attention diverted, I hastilycommit to paper a few broken sentences, which Ihave scarcely time to read, and still less to correct.I know that, notwithstanding the barriers which aremultiplied around me, my enemies are afraid truthshould escape by some little opening. What meanscan I take to introduce it to the world? This,however, I attempt with but few hopes of success.The reader will judge whether or not such asituation furnishes the means of agreeabledescriptions, or of giving them a seductive coloring!I therefore inform such as may undertake to readthis work, that nothing can secure them fromweariness in the prosecution of their task, unless itbe the desire of becoming more fully acquaintedwith a man whom they already know, and a sincerelove of justice and truth.In my first part I brought down my narrative to mydeparture with infinite regret from Paris, leaving myheart at Charmettes, and, there building my lastcastle in the air, intending some day to return tothe feet of mamma, restored to herself, with thetreasures I should have acquired, and dependingupon my system of music as upon a certainfortune.I made some stay at Lyons to visit myacquaintance, procure letters of recommendationto Paris, and to sell my books of geometry which Ihad brought with me. I was well received by allwhom I knew. M. and Madam de Malby seemedpleased to see me again, and several times invited

me to dinner. At their house I became acquaintedwith the Abbe de Malby, as I had already done withthe Abbe de Condillac, both of whom were on avisit to their brother. The Abbe de Malby gave meletters to Paris; among others, one to M. dePontenelle, and another to the Comte de Caylus.These were very agreeable acquaintances,especially the first, to whose friendship for me hisdeath only put a period, and from whom, in ourprivate conversations, I received advice which Iought to have more exactly followed.I likewise saw M. Bordes, with whom I had beenlong acquainted, and who had frequently obligedme with the greatest cordiality and the most realpleasure. He it was who enabled me to sell mybooks; and he also gave me from himself goodrecommendations to Paris. I again saw theintendant for whose acquaintance I was indebtedto M. Bordes, and who introduced me to the Dukede Richelieu, who was then passing through Lyons.M. Pallu presented me. The Duke received mewell, and invited me to come and see him at Paris;I did so several times; although this greatacquaintance, of which I shall frequently haveoccasion to speak, was never of the most triflingutility to me.I visited the musician David, who, in one of myformer journeys, and in my distress, had renderedme service. He had either lent or given me a capand a pair of stockings, which I have neverreturned, nor has he ever asked me for them,although we have since that time frequently seen

each other. I, however, made him a present,something like an equivalent. I would say moreupon this subject, were what I have owned inquestion; but I have to speak of what I have done,which, unfortunately, is far from being the samething.I also saw the noble and generous Perrichon, andnot without feeling the effects of his accustomedmunificence; for he made me the same present hehad previously done to the elegant Bernard, bypaying for my place in the diligence. I visited thesurgeon Parisot, the best and most benevolent ofmen; as also his beloved Godefroi, who had livedwith him ten years, and whose merit chieflyconsisted in her gentle manners and goodness ofheart. It was impossible to see this woman withoutpleasure, or to leave her without regret. Nothingbetter shows the inclinations of a man, than thenature of his attachments.[Unless he be deceived in his choice, or thatshe, to whom he attaches himself, changesher character by an extraordinaryconcurrence of causes, which is notabsolutely impossible. Were thisconsequence to be admitted withoutmodification, Socrates must be judged of byhis wife Xantippe, and Dion by his friendCalippus, which would be the most false andiniquitous judgment ever made. However, letno injurious application be here made to mywife. She is weak and more easily deceivedthan I at first imagined, but by her pure and

excellent character she is worthy of all myesteem.]Those who had once seen the gentle Godefroi,immediately knew the good and amiable Parisot.I was much obliged to all these good people, but Iafterwards neglected them all; not from ingratitude,but from that invincible indolence which so oftenassumes its appearance. The remembrance oftheir services has never been effaced from mymind, nor the impression they made from myheart; but I could more easily have proved mygratitude, than assiduously have shown them theexterior of that sentiment. Exactitude incorrespondence is what I never could observe; themoment I began to relax, the shame andembarrassment of repairing my fault made meaggravate it, and I entirely desist from writing; Ihave, therefore, been silent, and appeared toforget them. Parisot and Perrichon took not theleast notice of my negligence, and I ever foundthem the same. But, twenty years afterwards it willbe seen, in M. Bordes, to what a degree the self-love of a wit can make him carry his vengeancewhen he feels himself neglected.Before I leave Lyons, I must not forget an amiableperson, whom I again saw with more pleasure thanever, and who left in my heart the most tenderremembrance. This was Mademoiselle Serre, ofwhom I have spoken in my first part; I renewed myacquaintance with her whilst I was at M. deMalby's.

Being this time more at leisure, I saw her morefrequently, and she made the most sensibleimpressions on my heart. I had some reason tobelieve her own was not unfavorable to mypretensions; but she honored me with herconfidence so far as to remove from me alltemptation to allure her partiality.She had no fortune, and in this respect exactlyresembled myself; our situations were too similarto permit us to become united; and with the views Ithen had, I was far from thinking of marriage. Shegave me to understand that a young merchant,one M. Geneve, seemed to wish to obtain herhand. I saw him once or twice at her lodgings; heappeared to me to be an honest man, and this washis general character. Persuaded she would behappy with him, I was desirous he should marryher, which he afterwards did; and that I might notdisturb their innocent love, I hastened mydeparture; offering up, for the happiness of thatcharming woman, prayers, which, here below werenot long heard. Alas! her time was very short, for Iafterwards heard she died in the second or thirdyear after her marriage. My mind, during thejourney, was wholly absorbed in tender regret. Ifelt, and since that time, when these circumstanceshave been present to my recollection, havefrequently done the same; that although thesacrifices made to virtue and our duty maysometimes be painful, we are well rewarded by theagreeable remembrance they leave deeplyengravers in our hearts.