THE CONFESSSIONS

                        

BOOK V

[1732-1736]

  I THINK it was in 1732, that I arrived at Chambery, as already
related, and began my employment of registering land for the king. I
was almost twenty-one, my mind well enough formed for my age, with
respect to sense, but very deficient in point of judgment, and needing
every instruction from those into whose hands I fell, to make me
conduct myself with propriety; for a few years' experience had not
been able to cure me radically of my romantic ideas; and
notwithstanding the ills I had sustained, I knew as little of the
world, of mankind, as if I had never purchased instruction. I slept at
home, that is, at the house of Madam de Warrens; but it was not as
at Annecy: here were no gardens, no brook, no landscape; the house was
dark and dismal, and my apartment the most gloomy of the whole. The
prospect a dead wall, an alley instead of a street, confined air,
bad light, small rooms, iron bars, rats, and a rotten floor; an
assemblage of circumstances that do not constitute a very agreeable
habitation; but I was in the same house with my best friend,
incessantly near her, at my desk or in her chamber, so that I could
not perceive the gloominess of my own, or have time to think of it. It
may appear whimsical that she should reside at Chambery on purpose
to live in this disagreeable house; but it was a trait of
contrivance which I ought not to pass over in silence. She had no
great inclination for a journey to Turin, fearing that after the
recent revolutions, and the agitation in which the court yet was,
she should not be very favorably received there; but her affairs
seemed to demand her presence, as she feared being forgotten or
ill-treated, particularly as the Count de Saint-Laurent,
Intendant-general of the Finances, was not in her interest. He had
an old house at Chambery, ill-built, and standing in so disagreeable a
situation that it was always untenanted; she hired, and settled in
this house; a plan that succeeded much better than a journey to
Turin would have done, for her pension was not suppressed, and the
Count de Saint-Laurent was ever after one of her best friends.
  Her household was much on the old footing; the faithful Claude
Anet still remained with her. He was, as I have before mentioned, a
peasant of Moutru, who in his childhood had gathered herbs in Jura for
the purpose of making Swiss tea; she had taken him into her service
for his knowledge of drugs, finding it convenient to have a
herbalist among her domestics. Passionately fond of the study of
plants, he became a real botanist, and had he not died young, might
have acquired as much fame in that science as he deserved for being an
honest man. Serious even to gravity, and older than myself, he was
to me a kind of tutor, commanding respect, and preserving me from a
number of follies, for I dared not forget myself before him. He
commanded it likewise from his mistress, who knew his understanding,
uprightness, and inviolable attachment to herself, and returned it.
Claude Anet was of an uncommon temper. I never encountered a similar
disposition: he was slow, deliberate, and circumspect in his
conduct; cold in his manner; laconic and sententious in discourse; yet
of an impetuosity in his passions, which (though careful to conceal)
preyed upon him inwardly, and urged him to the only folly he ever
committed; that folly, indeed was terrible, it was poisoning
himself. This tragic scene passed soon after my arrival, and opened my
eyes to the intimacy that subsisted between Claude Anet and his
mistress, for had not the information come from her, I should never
have suspected it; yet, surely, if attachment, fidelity, and zeal,
could merit such a recompense, it was due to him, and what further
proves him worthy such a distinction, he never once abused her
confidence. They seldom disputed, and their disagreements ever ended
amicably; one, indeed, was not so fortunate; his mistress, in a
passion, said something affronting, which not being able to digest, he
consulted only with despair, and finding a bottle of laudanum at hand,
drank it off; then went peaceably to bed, expecting to awake no
more. Madam de Warrens herself was uneasy, agitated. wandering about
the house, and happily, finding the phial empty, guessed the rest. Her
screams while flying to his assistance, alarmed me; she confessed all,
implored my help, and was fortunate enough, after repeated efforts, to
make him throw up the laudanum. Witness of this scene, I could not but
wonder at my stupidity in never having suspected the connection; but
Claude Anet was so discreet, that a more penetrating observer might
have been deceived. Their reconciliation affected me, and added
respect to the esteem I before felt for him. From this time I
became, in some measure, his pupil, nor did I find myself the worse
for his instruction.
  I could not learn, without pain, that she lived in greater
intimacy with another than with myself: it was a situation I had not
even thought of, but (which was very natural) it hurt me to see
another in possession of it. Nevertheless, instead of feeling any
aversion to the person who had this advantage over me, I found the
attachment I felt for her, actually extend to him. I desired her
happiness above all things, and since he was concerned in her plan
of felicity, I was content he should be happy likewise. Meantime he
perfectly entered into the views of his mistress; conceived a
sincere friendship for me, and without affecting the authority his
situation might have entitled him to, he naturally possessed that
which his superior judgment gave him over mine. I dared do nothing
he disapproved of, but he was sure to disapprove only what merited
disapprobation: thus we lived in an union which rendered us mutually
happy, and which death alone could dissolve.
  One proof of the excellence of this amiable woman's character, is,
that all those who loved her, loved each other; even jealousy and
rivalship submitting to the more powerful sentiment with which she
inspired them, and I never saw any of those who surrounded her
entertain the least ill will among themselves. Let the reader pause
a moment on this encomium, and if he can recollect any other woman who
deserves it, let him attach himself to her, if he would obtain
happiness.
  From my arrival at Chambery to my departure for Paris, 1741,
included an interval of eight or nine years, during which time I
have few adventures to relate; my life being as simple as it was
agreeable. This uniformity was precisely what was most wanting to
complete the formation of my character, which continual troubles had
prevented from acquiring any degree of stability. It was during this
pleasing interval, that my unconnected, unfinished education, gained
consistence, and made me what I have unalterably remained amid the
storms with which I have since been surrounded. The progress was slow,
almost imperceptible, and attended by few memorable circumstances; yet
it deserves to be followed and investigated.
  At first, I was wholly occupied with my business, the constraint
of a desk left little opportunity for other thoughts, the small
portion of time I was at liberty was passed with my dear Madam de
Warrens, and not having leisure to read, I felt no inclination for it;
but when my business (by daily repetition) became familiar, and my
mind was less occupied, study again became necessary, and (as my
desires were ever irritated by any difficulty that opposed the
indulgence of them) might once more have become a passion, as at my
master's, had not other inclinations interposed and diverted it.
  Though our occupation did not demand a very profound skill in
arithmetic, it sometimes required enough to puzzle me. To conquer this
difficulty, I purchased books which treated on that science, and
learned well, for I now studied alone. Practical arithmetic extends
further than is usually supposed, if you would attain exact precision.
There are operations of extreme length in which I have sometimes
seen good geometricians lose themselves. Reflection, assisted by
practice, gives clear ideas, and enables you to devise shorter
methods, these inventions flatter our self-complacency, while their
exactitude satisfies our understanding, and renders a study
pleasant, which is, of itself, heavy and unentertaining. At length I
became so expert as not to be puzzled by any question that was
solvable by arithmetical calculation; and even now, while everything I
formerly knew fades daily on my memory, this acquirement, in a great
measure remains, through an interval of thirty years. A few days
ago, in a journey I made to Davenport, being with my host at an
arithmetical lesson given his children, I did (with pleasure, and
without errors) a most complicated work. While setting down my
figures, methought I was still at Chambery, still in my days of
happiness- how far I had to look back for them!
  The colored plans of our geometricians had given me a taste for
drawing: accordingly I bought colors, and began by attempting
flowers and landscapes. It was unfortunate that I had not talents
for this art, for my inclination was much disposed to it, and while
surrounded with crayons, pencils, and colors, I could have passed
whole months without wishing to leave them. This amusement engaged
me so much, that they were obliged to force me from it; and thus it is
with every inclination I give in to, it continues to augment, till
at length it becomes so powerful, that I lose sight of everything
except the favorite amusement. Years have not been able to cure me
of that fault, nay, have not even diminished it; for while I am
writing this, behold me, like an old dotard, infatuated with
another, to me useless study, which I do not understand, and which
even those who have devoted their youthful days to the acquisition of,
are constrained to abandon, at the age I am beginning with it.
  At that time, the study I am now speaking of would have been well
placed, the opportunity was good, and I had some temptation to
profit by it; for the satisfaction I saw in the eyes of Anet, when
he came home loaded with new discovered plants, set me two or three
times on the point of going to herbalize with him, and I am almost
certain that had I gone once, I should have been caught, and perhaps
at this day might have been an excellent botanist, for I know no study
more congenial to my natural inclination, than that of plants; the
life I have led for these ten years past, in the country, being little
more than a continual herbalizing, though I must confess, without
object, and without improvement; but at the time I am now speaking
of I had no inclination for botany, nay, I even despised, and was
disgusted at the idea, considering it only as a fit study for an
apothecary. Madam de Warrens was fond of it merely for this purpose,
seeking none but common plants to use in her medical preparations;
thus botany, chemistry, and anatomy were confounded in my idea under
the general denomination of medicine, and served to furnish me with
pleasant sarcasms the whole day, which procured me, from time to time,
a box on the ear, applied by Madam de Warrens. Besides this, a very
contrary taste grew up with me, and by degrees absorbed all others;
this was music. I was certainly born for that science, I loved it from
my infancy, and it was the only inclination I have constantly
adhered to; but it is astonishing that what nature seemed to have
designed me for should have cost me so much pains to learn, and that I
should acquire it so slowly, that after a whole life spent in the
practice of this art, I could never attain to sing with any
certainty at sight. What rendered the study of music more agreeable to
me at that time, was, being able to practice it with Madam de Warrens.
In other respects our tastes were widely different: this was a point
of coincidence, which I loved to avail myself of. She had no more
objection to this than myself: I knew at that time almost as much of
it as she did, and after two or three efforts, we could make shift
to decipher an air. Sometimes, when I saw her busy at her furnace, I
have said, "Here now is a charming duet, which seems made for the very
purpose of spoiling your drugs;" her answer would be, "If you make
me burn them, I'll make you eat them:" thus disputing, I drew her to
the harpsichord; the furnace was presently forgotten, the extract of
juniper or wormwood calcined (which I cannot recollect without
transport), and these scenes usually ended by her smearing my face
with the remains of them.
  It may easily be conjectured that I had plenty of employment to fill
up my leisure hours; one amusement, however, found room, that was well
worth all the rest.
  We lived in such a confined dungeon, that it was necessary sometimes
to breathe the open air; Anet, therefore, engaged Madam de Warrens
to hire a garden in the suburbs, both for this purpose and the
convenience of rearing plants, etc.; to this garden was added a
summer-house, which was furnished in the customary manner; we
sometimes dined, and I frequently slept, there. Insensibly I became
attached to this little retreat, decorated it with books and prints,
spending part of my time in ornamenting it during the absence of Madam
de Warrens, that I might surprise her the more agreeably on her
return. Sometimes I quitted this dear friend, that I might enjoy the
uninterrupted pleasure of thinking on her; this was a caprice I can
neither excuse nor fully explain, I only know this really was the
case, and therefore I avow it. I remember Madam de Luxembourg told
me one day in raillery, of a man who used to leave his mistress that
he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to her; I answered, I could
have been this man; I might have added, that I had done the very same.
  I did not, however, find it necessary to leave Madam de Warrens that
I might love her the more ardently, for I was ever as perfectly free
with her as when alone; an advantage I never enjoyed with any other
person, man or woman, however I might be attached to them; but she was
so often surrounded by company who were far from pleasing me, that
spite and weariness drove me to this asylum, where I could indulge her
idea, without danger of being interrupted by impertinence.
  Thus, my time being divided between business, pleasure, and
instruction, my life passed in the most absolute serenity. Europe
was not equally tranquil: France and the emperor had mutually declared
war, the King of Sardinia had entered into the quarrel, and a French
army had filed off into Piedmont to awe the Milanese. Our division
passed through Chambery, and, among others, the regiment of
Champaigne, whose colonel was the Duke de la Trimouille, to whom I was
presented. He promised many things, but doubtless never more thought
of me. Our little garden was exactly at the end of the suburb by which
the troops entered, so that I could fully satisfy my curiosity in
seeing them pass, and I became as anxious for the success of the war
as if it had nearly concerned me. Till now I had never troubled myself
about politics, for the first time I began reading the gazettes, but
with so much partiality on the side of France, that my heart beat with
rapture on its most trifling advantages, and I was as much afflicted
on a reverse of fortune, as if I had been particularly concerned.
  Had this folly been transient, I should not, perhaps, have mentioned
it, but it took such root in my heart (without any reasonable cause)
that when I afterwards acted the anti-despot and proud republican at
Paris, in spite of myself, I felt a secret predilection for the nation
I declared servile, and for that government I affected to oppose.
The pleasantest of all was that, ashamed of an inclination so contrary
to my professed maxims, I dared not own it to any one, but rallied the
French on their defeats, while my heart was more wounded than their
own. I am certainly the first man, that, living with a people who
treated him well, and whom he almost adored, put on, even in their own
country, a borrowed air of despising them; yet my original inclination
is so powerful, constant, disinterested, and invincible, that even
since my quitting that kingdom, since its government, magistrates, and
authors, have outvied each other in rancor against me, since it has
become fashionable to load me with injustice and abuse, I have not
been able to get rid of this folly, but notwithstanding their
ill-treatment, love them in spite of myself.
  I long sought the cause of this partiality, but was never able to
find any, except in the occasion that gave it birth. A rising taste
for literature attached me to French books, to their authors, and
their country: at the very moment the French troops were passing
Chambery, I was reading Brantome's Celebrated Captains; my head was
full of the Clissons, Bayards, Lautrecs, Colignys, Montmorencys, and
Trimouilles and I loved their descendants as the heirs of their
merit and courage. In each regiment that passed by methought I saw
those famous black bands who had formerly done so many noble
exploits in Piedmont; in fine, I applied to these all the ideas I
had gathered from books; my reading continued, which, still drawn from
the same nation, nourished my affection for that country, till, at
length, it became a blind passion, which nothing could overcome. I
have had occasion to remark several times in the course of my travels,
that this impression was not peculiar to me for France, but was more
or less active in every country, for that part of the nation who
were fond of literature, and cultivated learning, and it was this
consideration that balanced in my mind the general hatred which the
conceited air of the French is so apt to inspire. Their romances, more
than their men, attract the women of all countries, and the celebrated
dramatic pieces of France create a fondness in youth for their
theaters; the reputation which that of Paris in particular has
acquired, draws to it crowds of strangers, who return enthusiasts to
their own country: in short, the excellence of their literature
captivates the senses, and in the unfortunate war just ended, I have
seen their authors and philosophers maintain the glory of France, so
tarnished by its warriors.
  I was, therefore, an ardent Frenchman; this rendered me a
politician, and I attended in the public square, amid a throng of
news-mongers, the arrival of the post, and, sillier than the ass in
the fable, was very uneasy to know whose packsaddle I should next have
the honor to carry, for it was then supposed we should belong to
France, and that Savoy would be exchanged for Milan. I must confess,
however, that I experienced some uneasiness, for had this war
terminated unfortunately for the allies, the pension of Madam de
Warrens would have been in a dangerous situation; nevertheless, I
had great confidence in my good friends, the French, and for once
(in spite of the surprise of M. de Broglio) my confidence was not
ill-founded- thanks to the King of Sardinia, whom I had never
thought of.
  While we were fighting in Italy, they were singing in France: the
operas of Rameau began to make a noise there, and once more raise
the credit of his theoretic works, which, from their obscurity, were
within the compass of very few understandings. By chance I heard of
his Treatise on Harmony, and had no rest till I purchased it. By
another chance I fell sick; my illness was inflammatory, short and
violent, but my convalescence was tedious, for I was unable to go
abroad for a whole month. During this time I eagerly ran over my
Treatise on Harmony, but it was so long, so diffuse, and so badly
disposed, that I found it would require a considerable time to unravel
it: accordingly I suspended my inclination, and recreated my sight
with music.
  The cantatas of Bernier were what I principally exercised myself
with. These were never out of my mind; I learned four or five by
heart, and among the rest, The Sleeping Cupids, which I have never
seen since that time, though I still retain it almost entirely; as
well as Cupid Stung by a Bee, a very pretty cantata by Clerambault,
which I learned about the same time.
  To complete me, there arrived a young organist from Valdost,
called the Abbe Palais, a good musician and an agreeable companion,
who performed very well on the harpsichord; I got acquainted with him,
and we soon became inseparable. He had been brought up by an Italian
monk, who was a capital organist. He explained to me his principles of
music, which I compared with Rameau; my head was filled with
accompaniments, concords and harmony, but as it was necessary to
accustom the ear to all this, I proposed to Madam de Warrens having
a little concert once a month, to which she consented.
  Behold me then so full of this concert, that night or day I could
think of nothing else, and it actually employed a great part of my
time to select the music, assemble the musicians, look to the
instruments, and write out the several parts. Madam de Warrens sang;
Father Cato (whom I have before mentioned, and shall have occasion
to speak of again) sang likewise; a dancing-master named Roche, and
his son, played on the violin; Canavas, a Piedmontese musician (who
was employed like myself in the survey, and has since married at
Paris), played on the violoncello; the Abbe Palais performed on the
harpsichord, and I had the honor to conduct the whole. It may be
supposed all this was charming: I cannot say it equaled my concert
at Monsieur de Tretoren's, but certainly it was not far behind it.
  This little concert, given by Madam de Warrens, the new convert, who
lived (it was expressed) on the king's charity, made the whole tribe
of devotees murmur, but was a very agreeable amusement to several
worthy people, at the head of whom it would not be easily surmised
that I should place a monk; yet, though a monk, a man of
considerable merit, and even of a very amiable disposition, whose
subsequent misfortunes gave me the most lively concern, and whose
idea, attached to that of my happy days, is yet dear to my memory. I
speak of Father Cato, a Cordelier, who, in conjunction with the
Count d'Ortan, had caused the music of poor Le Maitre to be seized
at Lyons; which action was far from being the brightest trait in his
history. He was a Bachelor of Sorbonne; had lived long in Paris
among the great world, and was particularly caressed by the Marquis
d'Antremont, then Ambassador from Sardinia. He was tall and well made;
full faced, with very fine eyes, and black hair, which formed
natural curls on each side of his forehead. His manner was at once
noble, open, and modest; he presented himself with ease and good
manners, having neither the hypocritical nor impudent behavior of a
monk, or the forward assurance of a fashionable coxcomb, but the
manners of a well-bred man, who, without blushing for his habit, set a
value on himself, and ever felt in his proper situation when in good
company. Though Father Cato was not deeply studied for a doctor, he
was much so for a man of the world, and not being compelled to show
his talents, he brought them forward so advantageously that they
appeared greater than they really were. Having lived much in the
world, he had rather attached himself to agreeable acquirements than
to solid learning; had sense, made verses, spoke well, sang better,
and aided his good voice by playing on the organ and harpsichord. So
many pleasing qualities were not necessary to make his company
sought after, and, accordingly, it was very much so, but this did
not make him neglect the duties of his function: he was chosen (in
spite of his jealous competitors) Definitor of his Province, or,
according to them, one of the greatest pillars of their order.
  Father Cato became acquainted with Madam de Warrens at the Marquis
of Antremont's; he had heard of her concerts, wished to assist at
them, and by his company rendered our meetings truly agreeable. We
were soon attached to each other by our mutual taste for music,
which in both was a most lively passion, with this difference, that he
was really a musician, and myself a bungler. Sometimes assisted by
Canavas and the Abbe Palais, we had music in his apartment, or on
holidays at his organ, and frequently dined with him; for, what was
very astonishing in a monk, he was generous, profuse, and loved good
cheer, without the least tincture of greediness. After our concerts,
he always used to stay to supper, and these evenings passed with the
greatest gayety and good-humor; we conversed with the utmost
freedom, and sang duets; I was perfectly at my ease, had sallies of
wit and merriment; Father Cato was charming, Madam de Warrens
adorable, and the Abbe Palais, with his rough voice, was the butt of
the company. Pleasing moments of sportive youth, how long since have
ye fled!
  As I shall have no more occasion to speak of poor Father Cato, I
will here conclude in a few words his melancholy history. His
brother monks, jealous, or rather exasperated to discover in him a
merit and elegance of manners which favored nothing monastic
stupidity, conceived the most violent hatred to him, because he was
not as despicable as themselves; the chiefs, therefore, combined
against this worthy man, and set on the envious rabble of monks, who
otherwise, would not have dared to hazard the attack. He received a
thousand indignities; they degraded him from his office, took away the
apartment which he had furnished with elegant simplicity, and, at
length, banished him, I know not whither: in short these wretches
overwhelmed him with so many evils, that his honest and proud soul
sank under the pressure, and, after having been the delight of the
most amiable societies, he died of grief, on a wretched bed, hid in
some cell or dungeon, lamented by all worthy people of his
acquaintance, who could find no fault in him, except his being a monk.
  Accustomed to this manner of life for some time, I became so
entirely attached to music that I could think of nothing else. I
went to my business with disgust, the necessary confinement and
assiduity appeared an insupportable punishment, which I at length
wished to relinquish, that I might give myself up without reserve to
my favorite amusement. It will be readily believed that this folly met
with some opposition, to give up a creditable employment and fixed
salary to run after uncertain scholars was too giddy a plan to be
approved of by Madam de Warrens, and even supposing my future
success should prove as great as I flattered myself, it was fixing
very humble limits to my ambition to think of reducing myself for life
to the condition of a music-master. She, who formed for me the
brightest projects, and no longer trusted implicitly to the judgment
of M. d'Aubonne, seeing with concern that I was so seriously
occupied by a talent which she thought frivolous, frequently
repeated to me that provincial proverb, which does not hold quite so
good in Paris, Qui bien chante et bien danse, fait un metier qui peu
avance.* On the other hand, she saw me hurried away by this
irresistible passion, my taste for music having become a furor, and it
was much to be feared that my employment, suffering by my distraction,
might draw on me a discharge, which would be worse than a voluntary
resignation. I represented to her, that this employment could not last
long, that it was necessary I should have some permanent means of
subsistence, and that it would be much better to complete by
practice the acquisition of that art to which my inclination led me
than to make fresh essays, which possibly might not succeed, since
by this means, having passed the age most proper for improvement, I
might be left without a single resource for gaining a livelihood: in
short, I extorted her consent more by importunity and caresses than by
any satisfactory reasons. Proud of my success, I immediately ran to
thank M. Coccelli, Director-General of the Survey, as though I had
performed the most heroic action, and quitted my employment without
cause, reason, or pretext, with as much pleasure as I had accepted
it two years before.

  * He who can sweetly sing and featly dance,
    His interests right little shall advance.

  This step, ridiculous as it may appear, procured me a kind of
consideration, which I found extremely useful. Some supposed I had
resources which I did not possess; others, seeing me totally given
up to music, judged of my abilities by the sacrifice I had made, and
concluded that with such a passion for the art, I must possess it in a
superior degree. In a nation of blind men, those with one eye are
kings. I passed here for an excellent master, because all the rest
were very bad ones. Possessing taste in singing, and being favored
by my age and figure, I soon procured more scholars than were
sufficient to compensate for the loss of my secretary's pay.
  It is certain, that had it been reasonable to consider the
pleasure of my situation only, it was impossible to pass more speedily
from one extreme to the other. At our measuring, I was confined
eight hours in the day to the most unentertaining employment, with yet
more disagreeable company. Shut up in a melancholy counting-house,
empoisoned by the smell and respiration of a number of clowns, the
major part of whom were ill-combed and very dirty, what with
attention, bad air, constraint, and weariness, I was sometimes so
far overcome as to occasion a vertigo. Instead of this, behold me
admitted into the fashionable world, sought after in the first houses,
and everywhere received with an air of satisfaction; amiable and gay
young ladies awaiting my arrival, and welcoming me with pleasure; I
see nothing but charming objects, smell nothing but roses and orange
flowers; singing, chatting, laughter, and amusements, perpetually
succeed each other. It must be allowed, that reckoning all these
advantages, no hesitation was necessary in the choice; in fact, I
was so content with mine, that I never once repented it; nor do I even
now, when, free from the irrational motives that influenced me at that
time, I weigh in the scale of reason every action of my life.
  This is, perhaps, the only time that, listening to inclination, I
was not deceived in my expectations. The easy access, obliging temper,
and free humor of this country, rendered a commerce with the world
agreeable, and the inclination I then felt for it, proves to me,
that if I have a dislike for society, it is more their fault than
mine. It is a pity the Savoyards are not rich: though, perhaps, it
would be a still greater pity if they were so, for altogether they are
the best, the most sociable people that I know, and if there is a
little city in the world where the pleasures of life are experienced
in an agreeable and friendly commerce, it is at Chambery. The gentry
of the province who assemble there have only sufficient wealth to live
and not enough to spoil them; they cannot give way to ambition, but
follow, through necessity, the counsel of Cyneas, devoting their youth
to a military employment, and returning home to grow old in peace;
an arrangement over which honor and reason equally preside. The
women are handsome, yet do not stand in need of beauty, since they
possess all those qualifications which enhance its value and even
supply the want of it. It is remarkable, that being obliged by my
profession to see a number of young girls, I do not recollect one at
Chambery but what was charming: it will be said I Was disposed to find
them so, and perhaps there may be some truth in the surmise. I
cannot remember my young scholars without pleasure. Why, in naming the
most amiable, cannot I recall them and myself also to that happy age
in which our moments, pleasing as innocent, were passed with such
happiness together? The first was Mademoiselle de Mallarede, my
neighbor, and sister to a pupil of Monsieur Gaime. She was a fine
clear brunette, lively and graceful, without giddiness; thin as
girls of that age usually are; but her bright eyes, fine shape, and
easy air, rendered her sufficiently pleasing with that degree of
plumpness which would have given a heightening to her charms. I went
there of mornings, when she was usually in her dishabille, her hair
carelessly turned up, and, on my arrival, ornamented with a flower,
which was taken off at my departure for her hair to be dressed.
There is nothing I fear so much as a pretty woman in an elegant
dishabille; I should dread them a hundred times less in full dress.
Mademoiselle de Menthon, whom I attended in the afternoon, was ever
so. She made an equally pleasing, but quite different impression on
me. Her hair was flaxen, her person delicate, she was very timid and
extremely fair, had a clear voice, capable of just modulation, but
which she had not courage to employ to its full extent. She had the
mark of a scald on her bosom, which a scanty piece of blue chenille
did not entirely cover, this scar sometimes drew my attention,
though not absolutely on its own account. Mademoiselle des Challes,
another of my neighbors, was a woman grown, tall, well-formed,
jolly, very pleasing though not a beauty, and might be quoted for
her gracefulness, equal temper, and good humor. Her sister, Madam de
Charley, the handsomest woman of Chambery, did not learn music, but
I taught her daughter, who was yet young, but whose growing beauty
promised to equal her mother's, if she had not unfortunately been a
little red-haired. I had likewise among my scholars a little French
lady, whose name I have forgotten, but who merits a place in my list
of preferences. She had adopted the slow drawling tone of the nuns, in
which voice she would utter some very keen things, which did not in
the least appear to correspond with her manner; but she was
indolent, and could not generally take pains to show her wit, that
being a favor she did not grant to every one. When with my scholars, I
was fond enough of teaching, but could not bear the idea of being
obliged to attend at a particular hour; constraint and subjection in
every shape are to me insupportable, and alone sufficient to make me
hate even pleasure itself. I am told that it is custom among the
Mohammedans to have a man pass through the streets at daybreak, and
cry out: "Husbands, do your duty to your wives." I should only make
a poor Turk at this particular hour.
  Among other scholars which I had, there was one who was the indirect
cause of a change of relationship, which I must relate in its place.
She was the daughter of a grocer, and was called Mademoiselle de
Larnage, a perfect model for a Grecian statue, and whom I should quote
for the handsomest girl I have ever seen, if true beauty could exist
without life or soul. Her indolence, reserve, and insensibility were
inconceivable; it was equally impossible to please or make her
angry, and I am convinced that had any one formed a design upon her
virtue, he might have succeeded, not through her inclination, but from
her stupidity. Her mother, who would run no risk of this, did not
leave her a single moment. In having her taught to sing and
providing a young master, she had hoped to enliven her, but it all
proved ineffectual. While the master was admiring the daughter, the
mother was admiring the master, but this was equally lost labor. Madam
de Larnage added to her natural vivacity that portion of sprightliness
which should have belonged to the daughter. She was a little, ugly,
lively trollop, with small twinkling ferret eyes, and marked with
smallpox. On my arrival in the morning, I always found my coffee and
cream ready, and the mother never failed to welcome me with a kiss
on the lips, which I would willingly have returned the daughter, to
see how she would have received it. All this was done with such an air
of carelessness and simplicity, that even when M. de Larnage was
present, her kisses and caresses were not omitted. He was a good quiet
fellow, the true original of his daughter; nor did his wife endeavor
to deceive him, because there was absolutely no occasion for it.
  I received all these caresses with my usual stupidity, taking them
only for marks of pure friendship, though they were sometimes
troublesome; for the lively Madam Lard was displeased, if, during
the day, I passed the shop without calling; it became necessary,
therefore (when I had no time to spare), to go out of my way through
another street, well knowing it was not so easy to quit her house as
to enter it.
  Madam Lard thought so much of me, that I could not avoid thinking
something of her. Her attentions affected me greatly, and I spoke of
them to Madam de Warrens, without supposing any mystery in the matter,
but had there been one I should equally have divulged it, for to
have kept a secret of any kind from her would have been impossible. My
heart lay as open to Madam de Warrens as to Heaven. She did not
understand the matter quite so simply as I had done, but saw
advances where I only discovered friendship. She concluded that
Madam Lard would make a point of not leaving me as great a fool as she
found me, and, some way or other, contrive to make herself understood;
but exclusive of the consideration that it was not just that another
should undertake the instruction of her pupil, she had motives more
worthy of her, wishing to guard me against the snares to which my
youth and inexperience exposed me. Meantime, a more dangerous
temptation offered which I likewise escaped, but which proved to her
that such a succession of dangers required every preservative she
could possibly apply.
  The Countess of Menthon, mother to one of my scholars, was a woman
of great wit, and reckoned to possess, at least, an equal share of
mischief, having (as was reported) caused a number of quarrels, and,
among others, one that terminated fatally for the house of
D'Antremont. Madam de Warrens had seen enough of her to know her
character: for having (very innocently) pleased some person to whom
Madam de Menthon had pretensions, she found her guilty of the crime of
this preference, though Madam de Warrens had neither sought after
nor accepted it, and from that moment endeavored to play her rival a
number of ill turns, none of which succeeded. I shall relate one of
the most whimsical, by way of specimen.
  They were together in the country, with several gentlemen of the
neighborhood, and among the rest the lover in question. Madam de
Menthon took an opportunity to say to one of these gentlemen, that
Madam de Warrens was a prude, that she dressed ill, and
particularly, that she covered her neck like a tradeswoman. "O, for
that matter" replied the person she was speaking to (who was fond of a
joke), "she has good reason, for I know she is marked with a great
ugly rat on the bosom, so naturally, that it even appears to be
running." Hatred, as well as love, renders its votaries credulous.
Madam de Menthon resolved to make use of this discovery, and one
day, while Madam de Warrens was at cards with this lady's ungrateful
favorite, she contrived, in passing behind her rival, almost to
overset the chair she sat on, and at the same instant, very
dexterously displaced her handkerchief; but instead of this hideous
rat, the gentleman beheld a far different object, which it was not
more easy to forget than to obtain a sight of, and which by no means
answered the intentions of the lady.
  I was not calculated to engross the attention of Madam de Menthon,
who loved to be surrounded by brilliant company; notwithstanding she
bestowed some attention on me, not for the sake of my person, which
she certainly did not regard, but for the reputation of wit which I
had acquired, and which might have rendered me convenient to her
predominant inclination. She had a very lively passion for ridicule,
and loved to write songs and lampoons on those who displeased her: had
she found me possessed of sufficient talents to aid the fabrication of
her verses, and complaisance enough to do so, we should presently have
turned Chambery upside down; these libels would have been traced to
their source, Madam de Menthon would have saved herself by sacrificing
me, and I should have been cooped up in prison, perhaps, for the
rest of my life, as a recompense for having figured away as the Apollo
of the ladies. Fortunately, nothing of this kind happened; Madam de
Menthon made me stay for dinner two or three days, to chat with me,
and soon found I was too dull for her purpose. I felt this myself, and
was humiliated at the discovery, envying the talents of my friend
Venture; though I should rather have been obliged to my stupidity
for keeping me out of the reach of danger. I remained, therefore,
Madam de Menthon's daughter's singing-master, and nothing more! but
I lived happily, and was ever well received at Chambery, which was a
thousand times more desirable than passing for a wit with her, and for
a serpent with everybody else.
  However this might be, Madam de Warrens conceived it necessary to
guard me from the perils of youth by treating me as a man: this she
immediately set about, but in the most extraordinary manner that any
woman, in similar circumstances, ever devised. I all at once
observed that her manner was graver, and her discourse more moral than
usual. To the playful gayety with which she used to intermingle her
instructions suddenly succeeded an uniformity of manner, neither
familiar nor severe, but which seemed to prepare me for some
explanation. After having vainly racked my brain for the reason of
this change, I mentioned it to her; this she had expected and
immediately proposed a walk to our garden the next day. Accordingly we
went there the next morning; she had contrived that we should remain
alone the whole day, which she employed in preparing me for those
favors she meant to bestow; not as another woman would have done, by
toying and folly, but by discourses full of sentiment and reason,
rather tending to instruct than seduce, and which spoke more to my
heart than to my senses. Meantime, however excellent and to the
purpose these discourses might be, and though far enough from coldness
or melancholy, I did not listen to them with all the attention they
merited, nor fix them in my memory as I should have done at any
other time. That air of preparation which she had adopted gave me a
degree of inquietude; while she spoke (in spite of myself) I was
thoughtful and absent, attending less to what she said than curious to
know what she aimed at; and no sooner had I comprehended her design
(which I could not easily do) than the novelty of the idea, which,
during all the years I had passed with her, had never once entered
my imagination, took such entire possession of me that I was no longer
capable of minding what she said! I only thought of her; I heard her
no longer.
  Thinking to render young minds attentive to reason by proposing some
highly interesting object as the result of it, is an error instructors
frequently run into, and one which I have not avoided in my Emilius.
The young pupil, struck with the object presented to him, is
occupied only with that, and leaping lightly over your preliminary
discourses, lights at once on the point, to which, in his idea, you
lead him too tediously. To render him attentive, he must be
prevented from seeing the whole of your design; and, in this
particular, Madam de Warrens did not act with sufficient precaution.
  By a singularity of her systematic disposition, she took the vain
precaution of proposing conditions; but the moment I knew the price, I
no longer even heard them, but consented to everything, and I doubt
whether there is a man on the whole earth who would have been
sincere or courageous enough to dispute terms, or one single woman who
would have pardoned such a dispute. By the same whimsicality, she
attached a number of the gravest formalities to the acquisition of her
favors, and gave me eight days to think of them, which I assured her I
had no need of, though far from a truth; I was very glad to have
this intermission; so much had the novelty of these ideas struck me,
and such disorder did I feel in mine, that it required time to arrange
them.
  It will be supposed, that these eight days appeared to me as many
ages; on the contrary, I should have been very glad had the time
been lengthened. I found myself in a strange state; it was a strange
chaos of fear and impatience, dreading what I desired, and studying
some pretext to evade my happiness.
  Let the warmth of my constitution be remembered, my age, and my
heart intoxicated with love; think of my strength, my health, my blood
on fire; that in this state, burning with thirst for women, I had
never yet approached one; that imagination, necessity, vanity and
curiosity combined to excite in me the most ardent desire to be a
man and to prove myself to be one, let my tender attachment to her
be supposed, which far from having diminished, had daily gained
additional strength; I was only happy when with her, that my heart was
full, not only of her bounty, of her amiable disposition, but of her
shape, of her sex, of her person, of her self; in a word, conceive
me united to her by every affinity that could possibly render her
dear; nor let it be supposed, that, being ten or twelve years older
than myself, she began to grow an old woman, or was so in my
opinion. The first sight of her had made such an impression on me, she
had really altered very little. To me she was ever charming. She had
got something jollier, but had the same fine eyes, the same
complexion, the same bosom, the same gayety, and even the same
voice. Naturally, what I most should have feared in waiting for the
possession of a woman I loved so dearly, was to anticipate it, and not
being strong enough to control my desires and my imagination
sufficiently not to forget myself. It will be seen, that in a more
advanced age, the bare idea of some trifling favors I had to expect
from the person I loved, inflamed me so far that I could not
support, with any degree of patience, the time necessary to traverse
the short space that separated us; how then, by what miracle, when
in the flower of my youth, had I so little impatience for a
happiness I had never tasted but in idea? Why, instead of transports
that should have intoxicated me with their deliciousness, did I
experience only fears and repugnance? I have no doubt that if I
could have avoided this happiness with any degree of decency, I should
have relinquished it with all my heart. I have promised a number of
extravagancies in the history of my attachment to her; this
certainly is one that no idea could be formed of.
  The reader supposes, that being in the situation I have before
described with Claude Anet, she was already degraded in my opinion
by this participation of her favors, and that a sentiment of disesteem
weakened those she had before inspired me with; but he is mistaken.
I never loved her more tenderly than when I felt so little
propensity to avail myself of her condescension. The gratification
of the senses had no influence over her; I was well convinced that her
only motive was to guard me from dangers, which appeared otherwise
inevitable, by this extraordinary favor, which she did not consider in
the same light that women usually do; as will presently be
explained. I pitied her, and I pitied myself. I would like to tell
her: No, Mama, it is not necessary; you can rely upon me without this.
But I dared not; in the first place it was a thing I hardly could tell
her, and next, because I felt innermost, that it was not the truth,
and that in reality there was only one woman who could shield me
from other women and strengthen me against temptations. Without
desiring to possess her; knew well enough that she deprived me of
the desire to possess others; to such a degree I considered anything a
misfortune that might separate me from her.
  The habit of living a long time innocently together far from
weakening the first sentiments I felt for her, had contributed to
strengthen them, giving a more lively, a more tender, but at the
same time a less sensual, turn to my affection. Having ever accustomed
myself to call her Mama and enjoying the familiarity of a son, it
became natural to consider myself as such, and I am inclined to
think this was the true reason of that insensibility with a person I
so tenderly loved; for I can perfectly recollect that my emotions on
first seeing her, though not more lively, were more voluptuous: at
Annecy I was intoxicated, at Chambery I possessed my reason. I
always loved her as passionately as possible, but I now loved her more
for herself and less on my own account; or, at least, I rather
sought for happiness than pleasure in her company. She was more to
me than a sister, a mother, a friend, or even than a mistress, and for
this very reason she was not a mistress; in a word, I loved her too
much to desire her.
  The day, more dreaded than hoped for, at length arrived. I have
before observed, that I promised everything that was required of me,
and I kept my word: my heart confirmed my engagements without desiring
the fruits, though at length I obtained them. For the first time I
found myself in the arms of a woman, and a woman whom I adored. Was
I happy? No: I felt I know not what invincible sadness which
empoisoned my happiness: it seemed that I had committed an incest, and
two or three times, pressing her eagerly in my arms, I deluged her
bosom with my tears. As to her, she was neither sad nor glad, she
was caressing and calm. As she was not of a sensual nature and had not
sought voluptuousness, she did not feel the delight of it, nor the
stings of remorse.
  I repeat it, all her failings were the effect of her errors, never
of her passions. She was well born, her heart was pure, her manners
noble, her desires regular and virtuous, her taste delicate: she
seemed formed for that elegant purity of manners which she ever loved,
but never practiced, because instead of listening to the dictates of
her heart, she followed those of her reason, which led her astray: for
when once corrupted by false principles it will ever run counter to
its natural sentiments. Unhappily, she piqued herself on philosophy,
and the morals she drew thence clouded the purity of her heart.
  M. de Tavel, her first lover, was also her instructor in this
philosophy, and the principles he instilled into her mind were such as
tended to seduce her. Finding her firmly attached to her husband and
her duty, he attacked her by sophisms, endeavoring to prove that the
list of duties she thought so sacred, was but a sort of catechism, fit
only for children. That the connection of the sexes which she
thought so terrible, was, in itself, absolutely indifferent; that
all the morality of conjugal faith consisted in opinion, the
contentment of husbands being the only reasonable rule of duty in
wives; consequently that concealed infidelities, doing no injury,
could be no crimes; in a word, he persuaded her that the sin consisted
only in the scandal, that woman being really virtuous who took care to
appear so. Thus the deceiver obtained his end in subverting the reason
of a girl, whose heart he found it impossible to corrupt, and received
his punishment in a devouring jealousy, being persuaded she would
treat him as she had treated her husband.
  I don't know whether he was mistaken in this respect: the Minister
Perret passed for his successor; all I know, is, that the coldness
of temperament which it might have been supposed would have kept her
from embracing this system, in the end prevented her from renouncing
it. She could not conceive how so much importance should be given to
what seemed to have none for her; nor could she honor with the name of
virtue, an abstinence which would have cost her little.
  She did not, therefore, give in to this false principle on her own
account, but for the sake of others; and that from another maxim
almost as false as the former, but more consonant to the generosity of
her disposition.
  She was persuaded that nothing could attach a man so truly to any
woman as an unbounded freedom, and though she was only susceptible
of friendship, this friendship was so tender, that she made use of
every means which depended on her to secure the objects of it, and,
which is very extraordinary, almost always succeeded: for she was so
truly amiable, that an increase of intimacy was sure to discover
additional reasons to love and respect her. Another thing worthy of
remark is, that after her first folly, she only favored the
unfortunate. Lovers in a more brilliant station lost their labor
with her, but the man who at first attracted her pity, must have
possessed very few good qualities if in the end he did not obtain
her affection. Even when she made an unworthy choice, far from
proceeding from base inclinations (which were strangers to her noble
heart) it was the effect of a disposition too generous, humane,
compassionate, and sensible, which she did not always govern with
sufficient discernment.
  If some false principles misled her, how many admirable ones did she
not possess, which never forsook her! By how many virtues did she
atone for her failings! if we can call by that name errors in which
the senses had so little share. The man who in one particular deceived
her so completely, had given her excellent instructions in a
thousand others; and her passions, being far from turbulent, permitted
her to follow the dictates. She ever acted wisely when her sophisms
did not intervene, and her designs were laudable even in her failings.
False principles might lead her to do ill, but she never did
anything which she conceived to be wrong. She abhorred lying and
duplicity, was just, equitable, humane, disinterested, true to her
word, her friends, and those duties which she conceived to be such;
incapable of hatred or revenge, and not even conceiving that there was
a merit in pardoning; in fine (to return to those qualities which were
less excusable), though she did not properly value, she never made a
vile commerce of her favors; she lavished, but never sold them, though
continually reduced to expedients for a subsistence: and I dare
assert, that if Socrates could esteem Aspasia, he would have respected
Madam de Warrens.
  I am well aware that ascribing sensibility of heart with coldness of
temperament to the same person, I shall generally, and with great
appearance of reason, be accused of a contradiction. Perhaps Nature
sported or blundered, and this combination ought not to have
existed; I only know it did exist. All those who know Madam de Warrens
(a great number of whom are yet living) have had opportunities of
knowing this was a fact; I dare even aver she had but one pleasure
in the world, which was serving those she loved. Let every one argue
on the point as he pleases, and gravely prove that this cannot be;
my business is to declare the truth, and not to enforce a belief of
it.
  I became acquainted with the particulars I have just related, in
those conversations which succeeded our union, and alone rendered it
delicious. She was right when she concluded her complaisance would
be useful to me; I derived great advantages from it in point of useful
instruction. Hitherto she had used me as a child, she now began to
treat me as a man, and entertain me with accounts of herself.
Everything she said was so interesting, and I was so sensibly
touched with it, that, reasoning with myself, I applied these
confidential relations to my own improvement and received more
instruction from them than from her teaching. When we truly feel
that the heart speaks, our own opens to receive its instructions,
nor can all the pompous morality of a pedagogue have half the effect
that is produced by the tender, affectionate, and artless conversation
of a sensible woman, on him who loves her.
  The intimacy in which I lived with Madam de Warrens, having placed
me more advantageously in her opinion than formerly, she began to
think (notwithstanding my awkward manner) that I deserved
cultivation for the polite world, and that if I could one day show
myself there in an eligible situation, I should soon be able to make
my way. In consequence of this idea, she set about forming not only my
judgment, but my address, endeavoring to render me amiable, as well as
estimable; and if it is true that success in this world is
consistent with strict virtue (which, for my part, I do not
believe), I am certain there is no other road than that she had taken,
and wished to point out to me. For Madam de Warrens knew mankind,
and understood exquisitely well the art of treating all ranks, without
falsehood, and without imprudence, neither deceiving nor provoking
them; but this art was rather in her disposition than her precepts,
she knew better how to practice than explain it, and I was of all
the world the least calculated to become master of such an attainment;
accordingly, the means employed for this purpose were nearly lost
labor, as well as the pains she took to procure me a fencing and a
dancing master.
  Though very well made, I could never learn to dance a minuet; for
being plagued with corns, I had acquired a habit of walking on my
heels, which Roche, the dancing master, could never break me of. It
was still worse at the fencing-school, where, after three months'
practice, I made but very little progress, and could never attempt
fencing with any but my master. My wrist was not supple enough, nor my
arm sufficiently firm to retain the foil, whenever he chose to make it
fly out of my hand. Add to this, I had a mortal aversion both to the
art itself and to the person who undertook to teach it to me, nor
should I ever have imagined, that any one could have been so proud
of the science of sending men out of the world. To bring his vast
genius within the compass of my comprehension, he explained himself by
comparisons drawn from music, which he understood nothing of. He found
striking analogies between a hit in quarte or tierce with the
intervals of music which bear those names: when he made a feint, he
cried out, "Take care of this diesis," because anciently they called
the diesis a feint: and when he had made the foil fly from my hand, he
would add, with a sneer, that this was a pause: in a word, I never
in my life saw a more insupportable pedant.
  I made, therefore, but little progress in my exercises, which I
presently quitted from pure disgust; but I succeeded better in an
art of a thousand times more value, namely, that of being content with
my situation, and not desiring one more brilliant, for which I began
to be persuaded that Nature had not designed me. Given up to the
endeavor of rendering Madam de Warrens happy, I was ever best
pleased when in her company, and, notwithstanding my fondness for
music, began to grudge the time I employed in giving lessons to my
scholars.
  I am ignorant whether Anet perceived the full extent of our union;
but I am inclined to think he was no stranger to it. He was a young
man of great penetration, and still greater discretion; who never
belied his sentiments, but did not always speak them: without giving
me the least hint that he was acquainted with our intimacy, he
appeared by his conduct to be so; nor did this moderation proceed from
baseness of soul, but, having entered entirely into the principles
of his mistress, he could not reasonably disapprove of the natural
consequences of them. Though as young as herself, he was so grave
and thoughtful, that he looked on us as two children who required
indulgence, and we regarded him as a respectable man, whose esteem
we had to preserve. It was not until after she was unfaithful to Anet,
that I learned the strength of her attachment to him. She was fully
sensible that I only thought, felt, or lived for her; she let me
see, therefore, how much she loved Anet, that I might love him
likewise, and dwelt less on her friendship, than on her esteem, for
him, because this was the sentiment that I could most fully partake
of. How often has she affected our hearts and made us embrace with
tears, by assuring us that we were both necessary to her happiness!
Let not women read this with an ill-natured smile; with the
temperament she possessed, this necessity was not equivocal, it was
only that of the heart.
  Thus there was established, among us three, a union without example,
perhaps, on the face of the earth. All our wishes, our cares, our very
hearts, were for each other, and absolutely confined to this little.
circle. The habit of living together, and living exclusively from
the rest of the world, became so strong, that if at our repasts one of
the three was wanting, or a fourth person came in, everything seemed
deranged; and, notwithstanding our particular attachments, even our
tete-a-tetes were less agreeable than our reunion. What banished every
species of constraint from our little community, was a lively
reciprocal confidence, and dullness or insipidity could find no
place among us, because we were always fully employed. Madam de
Warrens, always projecting, always busy, left us no time for idleness,
though, indeed, we had each sufficient employment on our own
account. It is my maxim, that idleness is as much the pest of
society as of solitude. Nothing more contracts. the mind, or engenders
more tales, mischief, gossiping, and lies, than for people to be
eternally shut up in the same apartment together, and reduced, from
the want of employment, to the necessity of an incessant chat. When
every one is busy (unless you have really something to say), you may
continue silent; but if you have nothing to do, you must absolutely
speak continually, and this, in my mind, is the most burdensome and
the most dangerous constraint. I will go further, and maintain, that
to render company harmless, as well as agreeable, it is necessary, not
only that they should have something to do; but something that
requires a degree of attention.
  Knitting, for instance, is absolutely as bad as doing nothing; you
must take as much pains to amuse a woman whose fingers are thus
employed, as if she sat with her arms across; but let her embroider,
and it is a different matter; she is then so far busied, that a few
intervals of silence may be borne with. What is most disgusting and
ridiculous, during these intermissions of conversation, is to see,
perhaps, a dozen overgrown fellows, get up, sit down again, walk
backwards and forwards, turn on their heels, play with the chimney
ornaments, and rack their brains to maintain an inexhaustible chain of
words: what a charming occupation! Such people, wherever they go, must
be troublesome both to others and themselves. When I was at Motiers, I
used to employ myself in making laces with my neighbors, and were I
again to mix with the world, I would always carry a cup-and-ball in my
pocket; I would sometimes play with it the whole day, that I might not
be constrained to speak when I had nothing to discourse about; and I
am persuaded, that if every one would do the same, mankind would be
less mischievous, their company would become more rational, and, in my
opinion, a vast deal more agreeable: in a word, let wits laugh if they
please, but I maintain, that the only practical lesson of morality
within the reach of the present age, is that of the cup-and-ball.
  At Chambery they did not give us the trouble of studying
expedients to avoid weariness when by ourselves, for a troop of
importunate visitors gave us too much by their company, to feel any
when alone. The annoyance they formerly gave me had not diminished;
all the difference was, that I now found less opportunity to abandon
myself to my dissatisfaction. Poor Madam de Warrens had not lost her
old predilection for schemes and systems; on the contrary, the more
she felt the pressure of her domestic necessities, the more she
endeavored to extricate herself from them by visionary projects;
and, in proportion to the decrease of her present resources, she
contrived to enlarge, in idea, those of the future. Increase of
years only strengthened this folly: as she lost her relish for the
pleasures of the world and youth, she replaced it by an additional
fondness for secrets and projects: her house was never clear of
quacks, contrivers of new manufactures, alchemists, projects of all
kinds and of all descriptions, whose discourses began by a
distribution of millions and concluded by giving you to understand
that they were in want of a crown-piece. No one went from her
empty-handed; and what astonished me most was, how she could so long
support such profusion, without exhausting the source or wearying
her creditors.
  Her principal project at the time I am now speaking of, was that
of establishing a Royal Physical Garden at Chambery, with a
Demonstrator attached to it; it will be unnecessary to add for whom
this office was designed. The situation of this city, in the midst
of the Alps, was extremely favorable to botany, and as Madam de
Warrens was always for helping out one project with another, a College
of Pharmacy was to be added, which really would have been a very
useful foundation in so poor a country, where apothecaries are
almost the only medical practitioners. The retreat of the chief
physician, Grossi, to Chambery, on the demise of King Victor, seemed
to favor this idea, or perhaps, first suggested it; however this may
be, by flattery and attention she set about managing Grossi, who, in
fact, was not very manageable, being the most caustic and brutal,
for a man who had any pretensions to the quality of a gentleman,
that ever I knew. The reader may judge for himself by two or three
traits of character, which I shall add by way of specimen.
  He assisted one day at a consultation with some other doctors, and
among the rest, a young gentleman from Annecy, who was physician in
ordinary to the sick person. This young man, being but indifferently
taught for a doctor, was bold enough to differ in opinion from M.
Grossi, who only answered him by asking him when he should return,
which way he meant to take, and what conveyance he should make use of?
The other, having satisfied Grossi in these particulars, asked him
if there was anything he could serve him in? "Nothing, nothing,"
answered he, "only I shall place myself at a window in your way,
that I may have the pleasure of seeing an ass ride on horseback."
His avarice equaled his riches and want of feeling. One of his friends
wanted to borrow some money of him, on good security. "My friend,"
answered he, shaking him by the arm, and grinding his teeth, "should
St. Peter descend from heaven to borrow ten pistoles of me, and
offer the Trinity as sureties, I would not lend them." One day,
being invited to dinner with Count Picon, Governor of Savoy, who was
very religious, he arrived before it was ready, and found his
excellency busy at his devotions, who proposed to him the same
employment: not knowing how to refuse, he knelt down with a
frightful grimace, but had hardly recited two Ave-Marias, when, not
able to contain himself any longer, he rose hastily, snatched his
hat and cane, and, without speaking a word, was making towards the
door; Count Picon ran after him, crying, "Monsieur Grossi! Monsieur
Grossi! stop, there's a most excellent ortolan on the spit for you."
"Monsieur le Count," replied the other, turning his head, "though
you should give me a roasted angel, I would not stay." Such was M.
Grossi, whom Madam de Warrens undertook and succeeded in civilizing.
Though his time was very much occupied, he accustomed himself to
come frequently to her house, conceived a friendship for Anet,
seemed to think him intelligent, spoke of him with esteem, and, what
would not have been expected from such a brute, affected to treat
him with respect, wishing to efface the impressions of the past; for
though Anet was no longer on the footing of a domestic, it was known
that he had been one, and nothing less than the countenance and
example of the chief physician was necessary to set an example of
respect which would not otherwise have been paid him. Thus Claude
Anet, with a black coat, a well-dressed wig, a grave, decent behavior,
a circumspect conduct, and a tolerable knowledge in medical and
botanical matters, might reasonably have hoped to fill, with universal
satisfaction, the place of public demonstrator, had the proposed
establishment taken place. Grossi highly approved the plan, and only
waited an opportunity to propose it to the administration, whenever
a return of peace should permit them to think of useful
institutions, and enable them to spare the necessary pecuniary
supplies.
  But this project, whose execution would probably have plunged me
into botanical studies, for which I am inclined to think Nature
designed me, failed through one of those unexpected strokes which
frequently overthrow the best concerted plans. I was destined to
become an example of human misery; and it might be said that
Providence, who called me by degrees to these extraordinary trials,
disconcerted every opportunity that could prevent my encountering
them.
  In an excursion which Anet made to the top of the mountain to seek
for genipi, a scarce plant that grows only on the Alps, and which
Monsieur Grossi had occasion for, unfortunately he heated himself so
much, that he was seized with a pleurisy, which the genipi could not
relieve, though said to be specific in that disorder; and,
notwithstanding all the art of Grossi (who certainly was very
skillful), and all the care of his good mistress and myself, he died
the fifth day of his disorder, in the most cruel agonies. During his
illness he had no exhortations but mine, bestowed with such transports
of grief and zeal that, had he been in a state to understand them,
they must have been some consolation to him. Thus I lost the firmest
friend I ever had; a man estimable and extraordinary; in whom Nature
supplied the defects of education, and who (though in a state of
servitude) possessed all the virtues necessary to form a great man,
which, perhaps, he would have shown himself, and been acknowledged,
had he lived to fill the situation he seemed so perfectly adapted to.
  The next day I spoke of him to Madam de Warrens with the most
sincere and lively affection; when, suddenly, in the midst of our
conversation, the vile, ungrateful thought occurred, that I should
inherit his wardrobe, and particularly a handsome black coat, which
I thought very becoming. As I thought this, I consequently uttered it;
for when with her, to think and to speak was the same thing. Nothing
could have made her feel more forcibly the loss she had sustained,
than this unworthy and odious observation; disinterestedness and
greatness of soul being qualities which poor Anet had eminently
possessed. The generous Madam de Warrens turned from me, and
(without any reply) burst into tears. Dear and precious tears! your
reprehension was fully felt; ye ran into my very heart, washing from
thence even the smallest traces of such despicable and unworthy
sentiments, never to return.
  This loss caused Madam de Warrens as much inconvenience as sorrow,
since from this moment her affairs were still more deranged. Anet
was extremely exact, and kept everything in order: his vigilance was
universally feared, and this set some bounds to that profusion they
were too apt to run into; even Madam de Warrens, to avoid his censure,
kept her dissipation within bounds; his attachment was not sufficient,
she wished to preserve his esteem, and avoid the just remonstrances he
sometimes took the liberty to make her, by representing that she
squandered the property of others as well as her own. I thought as
he did, nay, I even sometimes expressed myself to the same effect, but
had not an equal ascendancy over her, and my advice did not make the
same impression. On his decease, I was obliged to occupy his place,
for which I had as little inclination as abilities, and therefore
filled it ill. I was not sufficiently careful, and so very timid, that
though I frequently found fault to myself, I saw ill-management
without taking courage to oppose it; besides, though I acquired an
equal share of respect, I had not the same authority. I saw the
disorder that prevailed, trembled at it, sometimes complained, but was
never attended to. I was too young and lively to have any pretension
to the exercise of reason, and when I would have acted the reformer,
Madam de Warrens, calling me her little Mentor, with two or three
playful slaps on the cheek, reduced me to my natural
thoughtlessness. Notwithstanding, an idea of the certain distress in
which her ill-regulated expenses, sooner or later, must necessarily
plunge her, made a stronger impression on me since I had become the
inspector of her household, and had a better opportunity of
calculating the inequality that subsisted between her income and her
expenses. I even date from this period the beginning of that
inclination to avarice which I have ever since been sensible of. I was
never foolishly prodigal, except by intervals; but till then I was
never concerned whether I had much or little money. I now began to pay
more attention to this circumstance, taking care of my purse, and
becoming mean from a laudable motive; for I only sought to insure
Madam de Warrens some resource against that catastrophe which I
dreaded the approach of. I feared her creditors would seize her
pension, or that it might be discontinued and she reduced to want,
when I foolishly imagined that the trifle I could save might be of
essential service to her; but to accomplish this, it was necessary I
should conceal what I meant to make a reserve of; for it would have
been an awkward circumstance, while she was perpetually driven to
expedients, to have her know that I hoarded money. Accordingly, I
sought out some hiding places, where I laid up a few louis,
resolving to augment this stock from time to time, till a convenient
opportunity to lay it at her feet; but I was so incautious in the
choice of my repositories, that she always discovered them, and, to
convince me that she did so, changed the louis I had concealed for a
larger sum in different pieces of coin. Ashamed of these
discoveries, I brought back to the common purse my little treasure,
which she never failed to lay out in clothes, or other things for my
use, such as a silver hilted sword, watch, etc. Being convinced that I
should never succeed in accumulating money, and that what I could save
would furnish but a very slender resource against the misfortune I
dreaded, made me wish to place myself in such a situation that I might
be enabled to provide for her, whenever she might chance to be reduced
to want. Unhappily, seeking these resources on the side of my
inclinations, I foolishly determined to consider music as my principal
dependence; and ideas of harmony rising in my brain, I imagined,
that if placed in a proper situation to profit by them, I should
acquire celebrity, and presently become a modern Orpheus, whose mystic
sounds would attract all the riches of Peru.
  As I began to read music tolerably well, the question was, how I
should learn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good
master, for, with the assistance of my Rameau alone, I despaired of
ever being able to accomplish it; and, since the departure of M. le
Maitre, there was nobody in Savoy that understood anything of the
principles of harmony.
  I am now about to relate another of those inconsequences, which my
life is full of, and which have so frequently carried me directly from
my designs, even when I thought myself immediately within reach of
them. Venture had spoken to me in very high terms of the Abbe
Blanchard, who had taught him composition; a deserving man,
possessed of great talents, who was music-master to the cathedral at
Besancon, and is now in that capacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I
therefore determined to go to Besancon, and take some lessons from the
Abbe Blanchard, and the idea appeared so rational to me, that I soon
made Madam de Warrens of the same opinion, who immediately set about
the preparations for my journey, in the same style of profusion with
which all her plans were executed. Thus this project for preventing
a bankruptcy, and repairing in future the waste of dissipation,
began by causing her to expend eight hundred livres; her ruin being
accelerated that I might be put in a condition to prevent it.
Foolish as this conduct may appear, the illusion was complete on my
part, and even on hers, for I was persuaded I should labor for her
emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine.
  I expected to find Venture still at Annecy, and promised myself to
obtain a recommendatory letter from him to the Abbe Blanchard; but
he had left that place, and I was obliged to content myself, in the
room of it, with a mass in four parts, of his composition, which he
had left with me. With this slender recommendation I set out for
Besancon by the way of Geneva, where I saw my relations; and through
Nion, where I saw my father, who received me in his usual manner,
and promised to forward my portmanteau, which, as I traveled on
horseback, came after me. I arrived at Besancon, and was kindly
received by the Abbe Blanchard, who promised me his instruction, and
offered his services in any other particular. We had just set about
our music, when I received a letter from my father, informing me
that my portmanteau had been seized and confiscated at Rousses, a
French barrier on the side of Switzerland. Alarmed at the news, I
employed the acquaintance I had formed at Besancon, to learn the
motive of this confiscation. Being certain there was nothing
contraband among my baggage, I could not conceive on what pretext it
could have been seized on; at length, however, I learned the rights of
the story, which (as it is a very curious one) must not be omitted.
  I became acquainted at Chambery with a very worthy old man, from
Lyons, named Monsieur Duvivier, who had been employed at the Visa,
under the regency, and for want of other business, now assisted at the
survey. He had lived in the polite world, possessed talents, was
good-humored, and understood music. As we both wrote in the same
chamber, we preferred each other's acquaintance to that of the
unlicked cubs that surrounded us. He had some correspondents at Paris,
who furnished him with those little nothings, those daily novelties,
which circulate one knows not why, and die one cares not when, without
any one thinking of them longer than they are heard. As I sometimes
took him to dine with Madam de Warrens, he in some measure treated
me with respect, and (wishing to render himself agreeable)
endeavored to make me fond of these trifles, for which I naturally had
such a distaste, that I never in my life read any of them. Unhappily
one of these cursed papers happened to be in the waistcoat pocket of a
new suit, which I had only worn two or three times to prevent its
being seized by the commissioners of the customs. This paper contained
an insipid Jansenist parody on that beautiful scene in Racine's
Mithridates: I had not read ten lines of it, but by forgetfulness left
it in my pocket, and this caused all my necessaries to be confiscated.
The commissioners at the head of the inventory of my portmanteau,
set a most pompous verbal process, in which it was taken for granted
that this most terrible writing came from Geneva for the sole
purpose of being printed and distributed in France, and then ran
into holy invectives against the enemies of God and the Church, and
praised the pious vigilance of those who had prevented the execution
of these most infernal machinations. They doubtless found also that my
shirts smelt of heresy, for on the strength of this dreadful paper,
they were all seized, and from that time I never received any
account of my unfortunate portmanteau. The revenue officers whom I
applied to for this purpose required so many instructions,
informations, certificates, memorials, etc., etc., that, lost a
thousand times in the perplexing labyrinth, I was glad to abandon them
entirely. I feel a real regret for not having preserved this verbal
process from the office of Rousses, for it was a piece calculated to
hold a distinguished rank in the collection which is to accompany this
Work.
  The loss of my necessaries immediately brought me back to
Chambery, without having learned anything of the Abbe Blanchard.
Reasoning with myself on the events of this journey, and seeing that
misfortunes attended all my enterprises, I resolved to attach myself
entirely to Madam de Warrens, to share her fortune, and distress
myself no longer about future events, which I could not regulate.
She received me as if I had brought back treasures, replaced by
degrees my little wardrobe, and though this misfortune fell heavy
enough on us both, it was forgotten almost as suddenly as it arrived.
  Though this mischance had rather damped my musical ardor, I did
not leave off studying my Rameau, and, by repeated efforts, was at
length able to understand it, and to make some little attempts at
composition, the success of which encouraged me to proceed. The
Count de Bellegarde, son to the Marquis of Antremont, had returned
from Dresden after the death of King Augustus. Having long resided
at Paris, he was fond of music, and particularly that of Rameau. His
brother, the Count of Nangis, played on the violin; the Countess de la
Tour, their sister sung tolerably; this rendered music the fashion
at Chambery, and a kind of public concert was established there, the
direction of which was at first designed for me, but they soon
discovered I was not competent to the undertaking, and it was
otherwise arranged. Notwithstanding this, I continued writing a number
of little pieces, in my own way, and, among others, a cantata, which
gained great approbation; it could not, indeed, be called a finished
piece, but the airs were written in a style of novelty, and produced a
good effect, which was not expected from me. These gentlemen could not
believe that, reading music so indifferently, it was possible I should
compose any that was passable, and made no doubt that I had taken to
myself the credit of some other person's labors. Monsieur de Nangis,
wishing to be assured of this, called on me one morning with a cantata
of Clerambault's which he had transposed, as he said, to suit his
voice, and to which another bass was necessary, the transposition
having rendered that of Clerambault impracticable. I answered, it
required considerable labor, and could not be done on the spot.
Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at
least the bass to a recitative: I did so, not well, doubtless, because
to attempt anything with success I must have both time and freedom,
but I did it at least according to rule, and he being present, could
not doubt but I understood the elements of composition. I did not,
therefore, lose my scholars, though it hurt my pride that there should
be a concert at Chambery in which I was not necessary.
  About this time, peace being concluded, the French army repassed the
Alps. Several officers came to visit Madam de Warrens, and among
others the Count de Lautrec, Colonel of the regiment of Orleans, since
Plenipotentiary of Geneva, and afterwards Marshal of France, to whom
she presented me. On her recommendation, he appeared to interest
himself greatly in my behalf, promising a great deal, which he never
remembered till the last year of his life, when no longer stood in
need of his assistance. The young Marquis of Sennecterre, whose father
was then ambassador at Turin, passed through Chambery at the same
time, and dined one day at Madam de Menthon's, when I happened to be
among the guests. After dinner, the discourse turned on music, which
the marquis understood extremely well. The opera of Jephtha was then
new; he mentioned this piece, it was brought him, and he made me
tremble by proposing to execute it between us. He opened the book at
that celebrated double chorus,

           La Terre, l' Enfer, le Ciel meme
           Tout tremble devant le Seigneur.*

  * The Earth, and Hell, and Heaven itself, tremble before the Lord.

  He said, "How many parts will you take? I will do these six." I
had not yet been accustomed to this trait of French vivacity, and
though acquainted with divisions, could not comprehend how one man
could undertake to perform six, or even two parts at the same time.
Nothing has cost me more trouble in music than to skip lightly from
one part to another, and have the eye at once on a whole division.
By the manner in which I evaded this trial, he must have been inclined
to believe I did not understand music, and perhaps it was to satisfy
himself in this particular that he proposed my noting a song for
Mademoiselle de Menthon, in such a manner that I could not avoid it.
He sang this song, and I wrote from his voice, without giving him much
trouble to repeat it. When finished he read my performance, and said
(which was very true) that it was very correctly noted. He had
observed my embarrassment, and now seemed to enhance the merit of this
little success. In reality, I then understood music very well, and
only wanted that quickness at first sight which I possess in no one
particular, and which is only to be acquired in this art by long and
constant practice. Be that as it may, I was fully sensible of his
kindness in endeavoring to efface from the minds of others, and even
from my own, the embarrassment I had experienced on this occasion.
Twelve or fifteen years afterwards, meeting this gentleman at
several houses in Paris, I was tempted to make him recollect this
anecdote, and show him I still remembered it; but he had lost his
sight since that time; I feared to give him pain by recalling to his
memory how useful it formerly had been to him, and was therefore
silent on that subject.
  I now touch on the moment that binds my past existence to the
present, some friendships of that period, prolonged to the present
time, being very dear to me, have frequently made me regret that happy
obscurity, when those who called themselves my friends were really so;
loved me for myself, through pure good will, and not from the vanity
of being acquainted with a conspicuous character, perhaps for the
secret purpose of finding more occasions to injure him.
  From this time I date my first acquaintance with my old friend
Gauffecourt, who, notwithstanding every effort to disunite us, has
still remained so.- Still remained so!- No, alas! I have just lost
him!- but his affection terminated only with his life- death alone
could put a period to our friendship. Monsieur de Gauffecourt was
one of the most amiable men that ever existed; it was impossible to
see him without affection, or to live with him without feeling a
sincere attachment. In my life I never saw features more expressive of
goodness and serenity, or that marked more feeling, more
understanding, or inspired greater confidence. However reserved one
might be, it was impossible even at first sight to avoid being as free
with him as if he had been an acquaintance of twenty years; for
myself, who find so much difficulty to be at ease among new faces, I
was familiar with him in a moment. His manner, accent, and
conversation, perfectly suited his features: the sound of his voice
was clear, full and musical; it was an agreeable and expressive
bass, which satisfied the ear, and sounded full upon the heart. It was
impossible to possess a more equal and pleasing vivacity, or more real
and unaffected gracefulness, more natural talents, or cultivated
with greater taste; join to all these good qualities an affectionate
heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing his favors
with too little caution; serving his friends with zeal, or rather
making himself the friend of every one he could serve, yet
contriving very dexterously to manage his own affairs, while warmly
pursuing the interest of others.
  Gauffecourt was the son of a clock-maker, and would have been a
clock-maker himself had not his person and desert called him to a
superior situation. He became acquainted with M. de la Closure, the
French Resident at Geneva, who conceived a friendship for him, and
procured him some connections at Paris, which were useful, and through
whose influence he obtained the privilege of furnishing the salts of
Valais, which was worth twenty thousand livres a year. This very amply
satisfied his wishes with respect to fortune, but with regard to women
he was more difficult; he had to provide for his own happiness, and
did what he supposed most conducive to it. What renders his
character most remarkable, and does him the greatest honor, is, that
though connected with all conditions, he was universally esteemed
and sought after without being envied or hated by any one, and I
really believe he passed through life without a single enemy.- Happy
man!
  He went every year to the baths of Aix, where the best company
from the neighboring countries resorted, and being on terms of
friendship with all the nobility of Savoy, came from Aix to Chambery
to see the young Count de Bellegarde and his father the Marquis of
Antremont. It was here Madam de Warrens introduced me to him, and this
acquaintance, which appeared at that time to end in nothing, after
many years had elapsed, was renewed on an occasion which I should
relate, when it became a real friendship. I apprehend I am
sufficiently authorized in speaking of a man to whom I was so firmly
attached, but I had no personal interest in what concerned him; he was
so truly amiable, and born with so many natural good qualities,
that, for the honor of human nature, I should think it necessary to
preserve his memory. This man, estimable as he certainly was, had,
like other mortals, some failings, as will be seen hereafter;
perhaps had it not been so, he would have been less amiable, since, to
render him as interesting as possible, it was necessary he should
sometimes act. in such a manner as to require a small portion of
indulgence.
  Another connection of the same time, that is not yet extinguished,
and continues to flatter me with the idea of temporal happiness, which
is so difficult to obliterate from the human heart, is Monsieur de
Conzie, a Savoyard gentleman, then young and amiable, who had a
fancy to learn music, or rather to be acquainted with the person who
taught it. With great understanding and taste for polite acquirements,
M. de Conzie possessed a mildness of disposition which rendered him
extremely attractive, and my temper being somewhat similar, when it
found a counterpart, our friendship was soon formed. The seeds of
literature and philosophy, which began to ferment in my brain, and
only waited for culture and emulation to spring up, found in him
exactly what was wanting to render them prolific. M. de Conzie had
no great inclination to music, and even this was useful to me, for the
hours destined for lessons were passed anyhow rather than musically;
we breakfasted, chatted, and read new publications, but not a word
of music.
  The correspondence between Voltaire and the Prince Royal of
Prussia then made a noise in the world, and these celebrated men
were frequently the subject of our conversation, one of whom
recently seated on a throne, already indicated what he would prove
himself hereafter, while the other, as much disgraced as he is now
admired, made us sincerely lament the misfortunes that seemed to
pursue him, and which are so frequently the appendage of superior
talents. The Prince of Prussia had not been happy in his youth, and it
appeared that Voltaire was formed never to be so. The interest we took
in both parties extended to all that concerned them, and nothing
that Voltaire wrote escaped us. The inclination I felt for these
performances inspired me with a desire to write elegantly, and
caused me to endeavor to imitate the coloring of that author, with
whom I was so much enchanted. Some time after, his philosophical
letters (though certainly not his best work) greatly augmented my
fondness for study; it was a rising inclination, which, from that
time, has never been extinguished.
  But the moment was not yet arrived when I should give in to it
entirely; my rambling disposition (rather contracted than
eradicated) being kept alive by our manner of living at Madam de
Warrens', which was too unsettled for one of my solitary temper. The
crowd of strangers who daily swarmed about her from all parts, and the
certainty I was in that these people sought only to dupe her, each
in his particular mode, rendered home disagreeable. Since I had
succeeded Anet in the confidence of his mistress, I had strictly
examined her circumstances, and saw their evil tendency with horror. I
had remonstrated a hundred times, prayed, argued, conjured, but all to
no purpose. I had thrown myself at her feet, and strongly
represented the catastrophe that threatened her, had earnestly
entreated that she would reform her expenses, and begin with myself,
representing that it was better to suffer something while she was
yet young, than by multiplying her debts and creditors, expose her old
age to vexation and misery.
  Sensible of the sincerity of my zeal, she was frequently affected,
and would then make the finest promises in the world: but only let
an artful schemer arrive, and in an instant all her good resolutions
were forgotten. After a thousand proofs of the inefficacy of my
remonstrances, what remained but to turn away my eyes from the ruin
I could not prevent; and fly myself from the door I could not guard! I
made therefore little journeys to Nion, to Geneva and Lyons, which
diverted my mind in some measure from this secret uneasiness, though
it increased the cause by these additional expenses. I can truly
aver that I should have acquiesced with pleasure in every
retrenchment, had Madam de Warrens really profited by it, but being
persuaded that what I might refuse myself would be distributed among a
set of interested villains, I took advantage of her easiness to
partake with them, and, like the dog returning from the shambles,
carried off a portion of that morsel which I could not protect.
  Pretenses were not wanting for all these journeys; even Madam de
Warrens would alone have supplied me with more than were necessary,
having plenty of connections, negotiations, affairs, and
commissions, which she wished to have executed by some trusty hand. In
these cases she usually applied to me; I was always willing to go, and
consequently found occasions enough to furnish out a rambling kind
of life. These excursions procured me some good connections, which
have since been agreeable or useful to me. Among others, I met at
Lyons, with M. Perrichon, whose friendship I accuse myself with not
having sufficiently cultivated, considering the kindness he had for
me; and that of the good Parisot, which I shall speak of in its place;
at Grenoble, that of Madam Deybens and Madam la Presidente de
Bardonanche, a woman of great understanding, and who would have
entertained a friendship for me had it been in my power to have seen
her oftener; at Geneva, that of M. de la Closure, the French Resident,
who often spoke to me of my mother, the remembrance of whom neither
death nor time had erased from his heart; likewise those of the two
Barillots, the father, who was very amiable, a good companion, and one
of the most worthy men I ever met, calling me his grandson. During the
troubles of the republic, these two citizens took contrary sides,
the son siding with the people, the father with the magistrates.
When they took up arms in 1737, I was at Geneva, and saw the father
and son quit the same house armed, the one going to the town-house,
the other to his quarters, almost certain to meet face to face in
the course of two hours, and prepared to give or receive death from
each other. This unnatural sight made so lively an impression on me,
that I solemnly vowed never to interfere in any civil war, nor
assist in deciding our internal dispute by arms, either personally
or by my influence, should I ever enter into my rights as a citizen. I
can bring proofs of having kept this oath on a very delicate occasion,
and it will be confessed (at least I should suppose so) that this
moderation was of some worth.
  But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which
the first sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as
may be conjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my
advantage, which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which
ought not to be omitted.
  My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some
years in the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan
of. My poor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt
lost, nearly at the same period, her son and husband. These losses
reanimated in some measure her affection for the nearest relative
she had remaining, which was myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned
her house my home, and amused myself with rummaging and turning over
the books and papers my uncle had left. Among them I found some
curious ones, and some letters which they certainly little thought of.
My aunt, who set no store by these dusty papers, would willingly
have given the whole to me, but I contented myself with two or three
books, with notes written by the Minister Bernard, my grandfather, and
among the rest, the posthumous works of Rohault in quarto, the margins
of which were full of excellent commentaries, which gave me an
inclination to the mathematics. This book remained among those of
Madam de Warrens', and I have since lamented that I did not preserve
it. To these I added five or six memorials in manuscript, and a
printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, a man of
considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but too
much, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly
treated by the magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the
fortress of Arberg, where he had been confined many years, for
being, as it was said, concerned in the conspiracy of Berne.
  This memorial was a judicious critique on the extensive but
ridiculous plan of fortification, which had been adopted at Geneva,
though censured by every person of judgment in the art, who was
unacquainted with the secret motives of the council, in the
execution of this magnificent enterprise. Monsieur de Micheli, who had
been excluded from the committee of fortification for having condemned
this plan, thought that, as a citizen, and a member of the two
hundred, he might give his advice at large, and therefore, did so in
this memorial, which he was imprudent enough to have printed, though
he never published it, having only those copies struck off which
were meant for the two hundred, and which were all intercepted at
the post-house by order of the senate.* I found this memorial among my
uncle's papers, with the answer he had been ordered to make to it, and
took both. This was soon after I had left my place at the survey,
and I yet remained on good terms with the Counselor de Coccelli, who
had the management of it. Some time after, the director of the
custom-house entreated me to stand godfather to his child, with
Madam Coccelli, who was to be godmother: proud of being placed on such
terms of equality with the counselor, I wished to assume importance,
and show myself worthy of that honor.

  * The grand council of Geneva, in December, 1728, pronounced this
paper highly disrespectful to the councils, and injurious to the
committee of fortification.

  Full of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show him
Micheli's memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove I
was connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were intrusted
with the secrets of the state, yet by a kind of reserve which I should
find it difficult to account for, I did not show him my uncle's
answer, perhaps, because it was manuscript, and nothing less than
print was worthy to approach the counselor. He understood, however, so
well the importance of this paper, which I had the folly to put into
his hands, that I could never after get it into my possession, and
being convinced that every effort for that purpose would be
ineffectual, I made a merit of my forbearance, transforming the
theft into a present. I made no doubt that this writing (more curious,
however, than useful) answered his purpose at the court of Turin,
where probably he took care to be reimbursed in some way or other
for the expense which the acquisition of it might be supposed to
have cost him. Happily, of all future contingencies, the least
probable, is, that the King of Sardinia ever should besiege Geneva,
but as that event is not absolutely impossible, I shall ever
reproach my foolish vanity with having been the means of pointing
out the greatest defects of that city to its most ancient enemy.
  I passed two or three years in this manner, between music,
magistery, projects, and journeys, floating incessantly from one
object to another, and wishing to fix though I knew not on what, but
insensibly inclining towards study. I was acquainted with men of
letters, I heard them speak of literature, and sometimes mingled in
the conversation, yet rather adopted the jargon of books, than the
knowledge contained. In my excursions, I frequently called on my
good old friend Monsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising
emulation by fresh news from the republic of letters, extracted from
Baillet or Colomies. I frequently saw too, at Chambery, a Jacobin
professor of physic, a good kind of friar, who often made little
chemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, I
attempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose
more than half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water,
the effervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to
unstop the bottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the
attempt, it burst in my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of
the orpiment and lime, that it nearly cost me my life. I remained
blind for six weeks, and by the event of this experiment learned to
meddle no more with experimental chemistry while the elements were
unknown to me.
  This adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for
some time past, had been visibly on the decline. This was rather
extraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it have
been expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rather
capacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was
short breathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily,
had palpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with
a lingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome. How
is it possible to fall into such a state in the flower of one's age,
without any inward decay, or without having done anything to destroy
health?
  It is sometimes said, "the sword wears out the scabbard," this was
truly the case with me: the violence of my passions both kept me alive
and hastened my dissolution. What passions? will be asked: mere
nothings: the most trivial objects in nature, but which affected me as
forcibly as if the acquisition of a Helen, or the throne of the
universe were at stake. In the first place- women, when I possessed
one my senses, for instance, were at ease with one woman, but my heart
never was, and the necessities of love consumed me in the very bosom
of happiness. I had a tender, respected and lovely friend, but I
sighed for a mistress; my prolific fancy painted her as such, and gave
her a thousand forms, for had I conceived that my endearments had been
lavished on Madam de Warrens, they would not have been less tender,
though infinitely more tranquil. If I had believed that I held Madam
de Warrens in my arms, when I held her there, my embraces would not
have been less spirited, but all my desires would have been
extinguished; I should have sobbed from love, but I should not have
enjoyed it. Enjoyment! Can ever man be so happy? Ah! If only once in
my life I had tasted all the delights of love in their fullness, I
imagine that my frail body would be inadequate, and I should have died
on the spot. But is it possible for man to taste, in their utmost
extent, the delights of love? I cannot tell, but I am persuaded my
frail existence would have sunk under the weight of them.
  I was, therefore, dying for love without an object, and this
state, is of all others, the most dangerous. I was tormented at the
bad state of poor Madam de Warrens' circumstances, and the
imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring to her
total ruin.
  Music was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming, from the
ardor with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of
the obscure books of Rameau; by an invincible resolution to charge
my memory with rules it could not contain; by continual application,
and by long and immense compilations which I frequently passed whole
nights in copying: but why dwell on these particularly, while every
folly that took possession of my wandering brain, the most transient
ideas of a single day, a journey, a concert, a supper, a walk, a novel
to read, a play to see, things in the world the least premeditated
in my pleasures or occupation became for me the most violent passions,
which by their ridiculous impetuosity conveyed the most serious
torments; even the imaginary misfortunes of, Cleveland, read with
avidity and frequent interruption, have, I am persuaded, disordered me
more than my own.
  There was a Genevese, named Bagueret, who had been employed under
Peter the Great, of the court of Russia, one of the most worthless,
senseless fellows I ever met with, full of projects as foolish as
himself, which were to rain down millions on those who took part in
them. This man, having come to Chambery on account of some suit
depending before the senate, immediately got acquainted with Madam
de Warrens, and with great reason on his side, since for those
imaginary treasures that cost him nothing, and which he bestowed
with the utmost prodigality, he gained, in exchange, the unfortunate
crown pieces one by one out of her pocket. I did not like him, and
he plainly perceived this, for with me it is not a very difficult
discovery, nor did he spare any sort of meanness to gain my good will,
and among other things proposed teaching me to play at chess, which
game he understood something of. I made an attempt, though almost
against my inclination, and after several efforts, having learned
the moves, my progress was so rapid, that before the end of the
first sitting I gave him the rook, which in the beginning he had given
me. Nothing more was necessary; behold me fascinated with chess! I buy
a chess-board and a "Calabrois," and shutting myself up in my
chamber pass whole days and nights in studying all the varieties of
the game, being determined by playing alone, without end or
relaxation, to drive them into my head, right or wrong. After
incredible efforts, during two or three months passed in this
curious employment, I go to the coffee-house, thin, sallow, and almost
stupid; I seat myself, and again attack M. Bagueret: he beats me,
once, twice, twenty times; so many combinations were fermenting in
my head, and my imagination was so stupefied, that all appeared
confusion. I tried to exercise myself with Philidor's or Stamma's book
of instructions, but I was still equally perplexed, and, after
having exhausted myself with fatigue, was further to seek than ever,
and whether I abandoned my chess for a time, or resolved to surmount
every difficulty by unremitted practice, it was the same thing. I
could never advance one step beyond the improvement of the first
sitting, nay, I am convinced that had I studied it a thousand ages,
I should have ended by being able to give Bagueret the rook and
nothing more.
  It will be said my time was well employed, and not a little of it
passed in this occupation, nor did I quit my first essay till unable
to persist in it, for on leaving my apartment I had the appearance
of a corpse, and had I continued this course much longer I should
certainly have been one.
  Any one will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially
in the ardor of youth, that such a head should suffer the body to
enjoy continued health; the alteration of mine had an effect on my
temper, moderating the ardor of my chimerical fancies, for as I grew
weaker they became more tranquil, and I even lost, in some measure, my
rage for traveling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy;
vapors succeeded passions, languor became sorrow: I wept and sighed
without cause, and felt my life ebbing away before I had enjoyed it. I
only trembled to think of the situation in which I should leave my
dear Madam de Warrens; and I can truly say, that quitting her, and
leaving her in these melancholy circumstances, was my only concern. At
length I fell quite ill, and was nursed by her as never mother
nursed a child. The care she took of me was of real utility to her
affairs, since it diverted her mind from schemes, and kept
projectors at a distance. How pleasing would death have been at that
time, when, if I had not tasted many of the pleasures of life, I had
felt but few of its misfortunes. My tranquil soul would have taken her
flight, without having experienced those cruel ideas of the
injustice of mankind which embitters both life and death. I should
have enjoyed the sweet consolation that I still survived in the dearer
part of myself: in the situation I then was, it could hardly be called
death; and had I been divested of my uneasiness on her account, it
would have appeared but a gentle sleep; yet even these disquietudes
had such an affectionate and tender turn, that their bitterness was
tempered by a pleasing sensibility. I said to her, "You are the
depository of my whole being, act so that I may be happy." Two or
three times, when my disorder was most violent, I crept to her
apartment to give her my advice respecting her future conduct and I
dare affirm these admonitions were both wise and equitable, in which
the interest I took in her future concerns were strongly marked. As if
tears had been both nourishment and medicine, I found myself the
better for those I shed with her, while seated on her bed-side, and
holding her hands between mine. The hours crept insensibly away in
these nocturnal discourses; I returned to my chamber better than I had
quitted it, being content and calmed by the promises she made, and the
hopes with which she had inspired me: I slept on them with my heart at
peace, and fully resigned to the dispensations of Providence. God
grant, that after having had so many reasons to hate life, after being
agitated with so many storms, after it has even become a burden,
that death, which must terminate all, may be no more terrible than
it would have been at that moment!
  By inconceivable care and vigilance, she saved my life; and I am
convinced she alone could have done this. I have little faith in the
skill of physicians, but depend greatly on the assistance of real
friends, and am persuaded that being easy in those particulars on
which our happiness depends, is more salutary than any other
application. If there is a sensation in life peculiarly delightful, we
experienced it in being restored to each other; our mutual
attachment did not increase, for that was impossible, but it became, I
know not how, more exquisitely tender, fresh softness being added to
its former simplicity. I became in a manner her work; we got into
the habit, though without design, of being continually with each
other, and enjoying, in some measure, our whole existence together,
feeling reciprocally that we were not only necessary, but entirely
sufficient for each other's happiness. Accustomed to think of no
subject foreign to ourselves, our happiness and all our desires were
confined to that pleasing and singular union, which, perhaps, had no
equal, which is not, as I have before observed, love, but a
sentiment inexpressibly more intimate, neither depending on the
senses, sex, age, nor figure, but an assemblage of every endearing
sensation that composes our rational existence and which can cease
only with our being.
  How was it that this delightful crisis did not secure our mutual
felicity for the remainder of her life and mine? I have the
consoling conviction that it was not my fault; nay, I am persuaded,
she did not willfully destroy it; the invincible peculiarity of my
disposition was doomed soon to regain its empire; but this fatal
return was not suddenly accomplished, there was, thank Heaven, a short
but precious interval, that did not conclude by my fault, and which
I cannot reproach myself with having employed amiss.
  Though recovered from my dangerous illness, I did not regain my
strength; my chest was weak, some remains of the fever kept me in a
languishing condition, and the only inclination I was sensible of, was
to end my days near one so truly dear to me; to confirm her in those
good resolutions she had formed; to convince her in what consisted the
real charms of a happy life, and, as far as depended on me, to
render hers so; but I foresaw that in a gloomy, melancholy house,
the continual solitude of our tete-a-tetes would at length become
too dull and monotonous: a remedy presented itself: Madam de Warrens
had prescribed milk for me, and insisted that I should take it in
the country; I consented, provided she would accompany me; nothing
more was necessary to gain her compliance, and whither we should go
was all that remained to be determined on. Our garden (which I have
before mentioned) was not properly in the country, being surrounded by
houses and other gardens, and possessing none of those attractions
so desirable in a rural retreat; besides, after the death of Anet,
we had given up this place from economical principles, feeling no
longer a desire to rear plants, and other views making us not regret
the loss of that little retreat. Improving the distaste I found she
began to imbibe for the town, I proposed to abandon it entirely, and
settle ourselves in an agreeable solitude, in some small house,
distant enough from the city to avoid the perpetual intrusion of her
hangers-on. She followed my advice, and this plan, which her good
angel and mine suggested, might fully have secured our happiness and
tranquility till death had divided us- but this was not the state we
were appointed to; Madam de Warrens was destined to endure all the
sorrows of indigence and poverty, after having passed the former
part of her life in abundance, that she might learn to quit it with
the less regret; and myself, by an assemblage of misfortunes of all
kinds, was to become a striking example to those, who, inspired with a
love of justice and the public good, and trusting too implicitly to
their own innocence, shall openly dare to assert truth to mankind,
unsupported by cabals, or without having previously formed parties
to protect them.
  An unhappy fear furnished some objections to our plan: she did not
dare to quit her ill-contrived house, for fear of displeasing the
proprietor. "Your proposed retirement is charming," said she, "and
much to my taste, but we are necessitated to remain here, for, on
quitting this dungeon, I hazard losing the very means of life, and
when these fail us in the woods, we must again return to seek them
in the city. That we may have the least possible cause for being
reduced to this necessity, let us not leave this house entirely, but
pay a small pension to the Count of Saint-Laurent, that he may
continue mine. Let us seek some little habitation, far enough from the
town to be at peace, yet near enough to return when it may appear
convenient."
  This mode was finally adopted; and after some small search, we fixed
at Charmettes, on an estate belonging to M. de Conzie, at a very small
distance from Chambery; but as retired and solitary as if it had
been a hundred leagues off. The spot we had concluded on was a
valley between two tolerably high hills, which ran north and south; at
the bottom, among the trees and pebbles, ran a rivulet, and above
the declivity, on either side, were scattered a number of houses,
forming altogether a beautiful retreat for those who love a peaceful
romantic asylum. After having examined two or three of these houses,
we chose that which we thought the most pleasing, which was the
property of a gentleman of the army, called M. Noiret. This house
was in good condition, before it a garden, forming a terrace; below
that on the declivity an orchard, and on the ascent, behind the house,
a vineyard: a little wood of chestnut trees opposite; a fountain
just by, and higher up the hill, meadows for the cattle; in short, all
that could be thought necessary for the country retirement we proposed
to establish. To the best of my remembrance, we took possession of
it towards the latter end of the summer of 1736. I was delighted on
going to sleep there- "Oh!" said I, to this dear friend, embracing her
with tears of tenderness and delight, "this is the abode of
happiness and innocence; if we do not find them here together it
will be in vain to seek them elsewhere."