 section 7 of Confessions volumes 5 and 6. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. Confessions volumes 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Anonymously translated. At Chambéry they did not give us the trouble of studying expedience to avoid weariness when by ourselves, for a troop of important 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 Madame de Varence had not lost her old pre-delection for schemes and systems. On the contrary, the more she felt the pressure of her domestic necessities, the more she endeavoured 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 manufacturers, 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 peace. 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 physics garden at Chambéry, 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 favourable to Botany, and as Madame de Varence 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 Chambéry, on the demise of King Victor, seemed to favour this idea, or perhaps first suggest 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 made judge for himself by two or three trays 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-inordinary to the sick person. This young man, being but indifferently taught for a doctor, was bold enough to differ in opinion from Monsieur 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 equalled his riches and want of feeling. One of his friends wanted to borrow some money off 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 pistols of me, and offer the trinity as securities, I would not lend them. One day, being invited to dinner with Caute Piquant, Governor of Savoy, who was very religious, he arrived before it was ready, and found his Excellency busy with 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 Maria's, when not being able to contain himself any longer, he rose hastily, snatched his hat and cane, and without speaking a word was making towards the door. Caute Piquant ran after him, crying, Monsieur Grosse, Monsieur Grosse, stop, there's a most excellent autolan on the spit for you. Monsieur Le Caute, replied the other, turning his head, though you should give me a roasted angel, I would not stay. Such was Monsieur Grosse, who Madame de Varence undertook and succeeded in civilising. Though his time was very much occupied, he accustomed himself to come frequently to her house, conceived a friendship for Anne, seemed to think him intelligent, spoke of him with esteem, and what would not have been expected of such a brute, affected to treat him with respect, wishing to efface the impressions of the past. For though Anne 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 Anne, with a black coat, a well-dressed wig, a grave decent behaviour, 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. Grosse 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 Anne made to the top of the mountain, to seek for jennipi, a scarce plant that grows only on the alps, and which Monsieur Grosse had occasion for, unfortunately he heated himself so much that he was seized with a pleurisy, which the jennipi could not relieve, though said to be specific in that disorder, and notwithstanding all the art of Grosse, 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. 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 Madame de Vrance, 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 that poor Anne had eminently possessed. The generous Madame de Vrance 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 Madame de Vrance as much inconvenience as sorrow, since from this moment her affairs were still more deranged. Anne 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 Madame de Vrance, 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 pretentions to the exercise of reason. And when I would have acted the reformer, madame de Varence, 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 ensure madame de Varence some resources 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 expedience, to have her know that I hoarded money. Accordingly I sought out some hiding-place, 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 should I learn composition? The difficulty lay in meeting with a good master, for with the assistance of my Ramoa alone, I despaired of ever being able to accomplish it, and since the departure of Monsieur Le Maître, there was nobody in Savoy who understood anything of the principles of harmony. End of Section 7 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey Section 8 of Confessions volumes 5 and 6 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson Confessions volumes 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau Anonymously translated Section 8 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 Besançon, and is now in that capacity at the Chapel of Versailles. I therefore determined to go to Besançon and take some lessons from the Abbe Blanchard, and the idea appeared so rational to me that I soon made Madame de Varance 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 leave, 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 labour for her emolument, and she thought she was highly promoting mine. I expected to find Venture still at Anci 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 Besançon by way of Geneva, where I saw my relations, and through Nyon, where I saw my father, who received me in his usual manner, and promised to forward my portmanteau, which as I travelled on horseback came after me. I arrived at Besançon 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 Rousse, a French barrier on the side of Switzerland. Alarmed at the news, I employed the acquaintance I had formed at Besançon 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 rites of the story, which as it is a very curious one must not be omitted. I became acquainted at Chambéry with a very worthy old man from Lyon, named Monsieur du Vivier, 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-humoured, 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 correspondence 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 anyone thinking of them longer than they are heard. As I sometimes took him to dine with Madame de Varence, 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 west-cut 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, information, 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 Rousse, for it was a piece calculated to hold a distinguished rank in the collection which is to accompany this work. The loss of my necessities immediately brought me back to Chambéry, 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 Madame de Varence, 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 dampened my musical ardour, I did not leave off studying my Ramon, 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 Belgard, son of the Marquis d'Entremont, had returned from Dresden after the death of King Augustus. Having long resided at Paris, he was fond of music, and particularly that of Ramon. His brother, the Count de Nongis, played on the violin. The Countess de Latour, their sister, sung tolerably. This rendered music the fashion at Chambéry, 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 heirs 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 labours. Monsieur de Nongis, wishing to be assured of this, called on me one morning with a cantata of Clérambot, which he had transposed, as he said, to suit his voice, and to which another base was necessary, the transposition having rendered that of Clérambot impracticable. I answered it required considerable labour, and could not be done on the spot. Being convinced I only sought an excuse, he pressed me to write at least the base 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 Chambéry, in which I was not necessary. About this time, peace being concluded, the French army re-passed the Alps. Several officers came to visit madame de Varangues, and among others, the Côte de l'Utrec, colonel of the Regiment of Orléans, 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 I no longer stood in need of his assistance. The young Marquis de Sénéctère, whose father was then ambassador at Turin, passed through Chambéry at the same time, and dined one day at Monsieur de Menton'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 Jephthah 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 that celebrated double chorus. La terre, l'enfer, le ciel même, 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 tray 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 by noting a song for Mademoiselle de Montagne, in such a manner that I could not avoid it. He sang this song, and I wrote it 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 endeavouring 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 formally had been to him, and was therefore silent on that subject. End of Section 8 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere Surrey Section 9 of Confessions Vol. 5 and 6 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson Confessions Vol. 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau Anonymously translated Section 9 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 Gofekour, 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 Gofekour 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 and affection at heart, but loving rather too diffusively, and bestowing his favours 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 interests of others. Gofkour was the son of a clockmaker, and would have been a clockmaker himself, had not his person and dessert called him to a superior situation. He became acquainted with Monsieur 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 sorts of valets, 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 honour, 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 believed he passed through life without a single enemy. Happy man! He went every year to the Baths of Exe, where the best company from the neighbouring countries resorted, and being on terms of friendship with all the nobility of Savoy, came from Exe to Chambéry, to see the young Count de Belguarde, and his father the Marquis d'Entremont. It was here Madame de Varence 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 authorised 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 honour 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 it 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, Monsieur 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. Monsieur 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 colourings 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 Madame de Vérance, 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 Anne 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 schema 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 Geneva and Lyon, 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 madame de Vance 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 madame de Vance 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 Lyon with monsieur Paris Champ, 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 madame Déban, and madame la présidente de Bardonange, 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 monsieur 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 bavilliers, 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 townhouse, 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. End of Section 9. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeer Surrey. Section 10 of Confessions Vol. 5 and 6. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Confessions Vol. 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Anonymously translated. Section 10. My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some years in the building of Charlestown 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 Roau in Courtauld, the margins of which were full of excellent commentaries, which gave me an inclination to the mathematics. This book remained among those of Madame de Verras, 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 Michelin 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 Aarburg, where he had been confined many years, for being, as it was said, concerned in the conspiracy of Bern. 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 Michelin, who had been excluded from the Committee of Fortification for having condemned this plan, thought that as a citizen and a member of the 200, 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 200, and which were all intercepted at the post house by order of the Senate. The Grand Council of Geneva in December 1728 pronounced this paper highly disrespectful to the councils and injurious to the Committee of Fortification. 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 counsellor de Coachelli, who had the management of it. Some time after, the director of the Custom House entreated me to stand Godfather to his child, with Madame Coachelli, who was to be Godmother. Proud of being placed on such terms of equality with the counsellor, I wished to assume importance, and show myself worthy of that honour. Full of this idea, I thought I could do nothing better than show him Michelis' memorial, which was really a scarce piece, and would prove I was connected with people of consequence in Geneva, who were entrusted 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 counsellor. 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 ever the King of Sardinia 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 three or four years in this manner, between music, magistry, 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 had heard them speak of literature, and sometimes mingled in the conversation, but rather adopted the jargon of books than the knowledge they contained. In my excursions to Geneva, 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 Bayer or Colomiers. I frequently saw, too, at Chambéry, a Dominican professor of physics, a good kind of friar, whose name I have forgotten, 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 quick lime, or pigment, 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 opiment 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 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 hellen, or the throne of the universe where it's stake. 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 Madame de Varres, they would not have been less tender, though infinitely more tranquil. 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 there for dying for love without an object, and this state, perhaps, is of all others the most dangerous. I was likewise uneasy, tormented at the bad state of poor Madame de Varres's circumstances, and the imprudence of her conduct, which could not fail to bring them in a short time, to total ruin. My tortured imagination, which ever paints misfortunes in the extremity, continually beheld this in its utmost excess, and in all the horror of its consequences. I already saw myself forced by want to quit her, to whom I had consecrated my future life, and without whom I could not hope for happiness. Thus was my soul continually agitated, and hopes and fears devoured me alternately. Music was a passion less turbulent, but not less consuming from the ardour with which I attached myself to it, by the obstinate study of the obscure books of Hamou, 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 Genevieve's named Bagaret, 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 Chambéry on account of some suit, depending before the Senate, immediately got acquainted with Madame de Verrance, 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 march, 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 board with the rest of the apparatus, 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 Monsieur 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 Filidares or Stammer'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. End of section 10 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey Section 11 of Confessions volumes 5 and 6 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen Confessions volumes 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau Anonymously Translated Section 11 Anyone will allow that it would have been extraordinary, especially in the ardour 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 ardour of my chimerical fancies. For as I grew weaker, they became more tranquil, and I even lost in some measure my rage for travelling. I was not seized with heaviness, but melancholy. Vapour's succeeded passions. Langer 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 Madame de Varence, 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 was 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 bedside 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, 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 stomach 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 tet-a-tet would at length become too dull and monotonous. A remedy presented itself. Madame du Varence 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 whether 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 Anne, 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. Madame de Vrance 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 the 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. But 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 court de 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 Charmette, on an estate belonging to Monsieur de Consier, at a very small distance from Chambéry, 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 Monsieur Noiré. 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 toward 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, end of Volume 5. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Section 12 of Confessions, Vol. 5 and 6. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Confessions, Vol. 5 and 6 by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Anonymously translated. Section 12. Volume 6. Juggis aquaifons et paululum silwae subberis for et. I cannot add auctius adcuedi melius fecere, but no matter, the former is enough for my purpose. I had no occasion to have any property there. It was sufficient that I enjoyed it. For I have long since both said and felt that the proprietor and possessor are two very different people, even leaving husbands and lovers out of the question. At this moment began the short happiness of my life. Those peaceful and rapid moments, which have given me a right to say, I have lived. Precious and ever-regretted moments. Oh, recommends your delightful course. Pass more slowly through my memory, if possible, than you actually did in your fugitive succession. How shall I prolong, according to my inclination, this recital, at once so pleasing and simple? How shall I continue to relate the same occurrences, without wearying my readers with the repetition, any more than I was satiated with the enjoyment? Again, if all this consisted of facts, actions, or words, I could somehow or other convey an idea of it. But how shall I describe what was neither said, nor done, nor even thought, but enjoyed, felt, without being able to particularise any other object of my happiness than the bare idea? I rose with the sun and was happy. I walked and was happy. I saw Madame de Varence and was happy. I quitted her and still was happy. Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills, or strolled along the valley, red was idle, worked in the garden, or gathered fruits. Happiness continually accompanied me. It was fixed on no particular object. It was within me. Nor could I depart from it a single moment. Nothing that passed during that charming epoch nothing that I did, said, or thought has escaped my memory. The time that preceded or followed it, I only recollect by intervals, unequally and confused. But here I remember all as distinctly as if it existed at this moment. Imagination, which in my youth was perpetually anticipating the future, but now takes a retrograde course, makes some amends by these charming recollections for the deprivation of hope, which I have lost forever. I no longer see anything in the future that contempt my wishes. It is a recollection of the past alone that can flatter me, and the remembrance of the period I am now describing is so true and lively that it sometimes makes me happy, even in spite of my misfortunes. Of these recollections, I shall relate one example, which may give some idea of their force and precision. The first day we went to sleep at Les Charmettes, the way being uphill, and Madame de Varence, rather heavy, she was carried in a chair while I followed on foot. Fearing the chairmen would be fatigued, she got out about halfway, designing to walk the rest of it. As we passed along, she saw something blue in the hedge, and said, there's some periwinkle in flower yet. I had never seen any before, nor did I stop to examine this. My sight is too short to distinguish plants on the ground, and I only cast a look at this as I passed. An interval of near thirty years had elapsed before I saw any more periwinkle, at least before I observed it. When being at Crécier in 1764, with my friend Monsieur du Peru, we went up a small mountain, on the summit of which there is a level spot, called with Rise and Bellevue. I was then beginning to herbalise. Walking and looking among the bushes, I exclaimed with rapture, ah, there's some periwinkle. Du Peru, who perceived my transport, was ignorant of the cause, but will some day be informed. I hope on reading this. The reader may judge by this impression, made by so small an incident, what an effect must have been produced by every occurrence of that time. Meantime the air of the country did not restore my health. I was languishing and became more so. I could not endure milk, and was obliged to discontinue the use of it. Water was at this time the fashionable remedy for every complaint. Accordingly, I entered on a course of it, and so indiscreetly, that it almost released me not only from my illness, but also from my life. The water I drank was rather hard and difficult to pass, as water from mountains generally is. In short, I managed so well that in the course of two months I totally ruined my stomach, which until that time had been very good, and no longer digesting anything properly had no reason to expect a cure. At this time an accident happened, as singular in itself, as in its subsequent consequences, which can only terminate with my existence. One morning, being no worse than usual, while putting up the leaf of a small table, I felt a sudden and almost inconceivable revolution throughout my whole frame. I know not how to describe it better than as a kind of tempest which suddenly rose in my blood, and spread in a moment over every part of my body. My arteries began beating so violently that I not only felt their motion, but even heard it, particularly that of the carotids, attended by a loud noise in my ears, which was of three or rather four distinct kinds. For instance, first a grave hollow buzzing, then a more distinct murmur, like the running of water, then an extremely sharp hissing, attended by the beating I before mentioned, and whose throbs I could easily count without feeling my pulse or putting a hand to any part of my body. This internal tumult was so violent that it has injured my auricular organs, and rendered me from that time not entirely deaf but hard of hearing. My surprise and fear may easily be conceived. Imagining it was the stroke of death I went to bed, and the physician being sent for, trembling with apprehension, I related my case, judging it past all cure. I believe the doctor was of the same opinion. However, he performed his office, running over a long string of causes and effects, beyond my comprehension, after which, in consequence of this sublime theory, he set about, in Anima Wili, the experimental part of his art. But the means he was pleased to adopt in order to effect a cure were so troublesome, disgusting, and followed by so little effect that I soon discontinued it, and after some weeks, finding I was neither better nor worse, left my bed, and returned to my usual method of living. But the beating of my arteries and the buzzing in my ears has never quitted me a moment during the thirty years' time which has elapsed since that time. Till now I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of repose with other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it even to this time persuaded me I had but a short time to live. This idea tranquilized me for a time. I became less anxious about a cure, and being persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ the remainder of it as usefully as possible. This was practicable by a particular indulgence of nature, which in this melancholy state exempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I should have experienced. I was incommodated by the noise, but felt no pain, nor was it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnal wakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath which is not violent enough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I attempted to run or use any degree of exertion. This accident which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my body only killed my passions, and I have reason to thank heaven for the happy effect produced by it on my soul. I can truly say I only began to live when I considered myself as entering the grave. For estimating at their real value those things I was quitting, I began to employ myself on nobler objects, namely by anticipating those I hoped shortly to have the contemplation of, and which I had hitherto too much neglected. I had often made light of religion, but was never totally devoid of it. Consequently it cost me less pain to employ my thoughts on that subject, which is generally thought melancholy, though highly pleasing to those who make it an object of hope and consolation. Madame de Varence, therefore, was more useful to me on this occasion than all the theologians in the world would have been. She who brought everything into a system had not failed to do as much by religion, and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinity to each other. Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous, being made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, and prejudices derived from education. Men in general make God like themselves, the virtuous make him good, and the profligate make him wicked. Ill-tempered and billious devotees see nothing but hell, because they would willingly dam all mankind, while loving and gentle souls disbelieve it altogether. And one of the astonishments I could never overcome is to see the good Phinellin speak of it in his Telemachus, as if he really gave credit to it. But I hope he lied in that particular, for however strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely must lie sometimes. Madame de Varence spoke truth with me, and that soul, made up without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angry God, saw only clemency and forgiveness, where devotees bestowed inflexible justice and eternal punishment. She frequently said there would be no justice in the supreme being, should he be strictly just to us, because not having bestowed what was necessary to render us essentially good, it would be requiring more than he had given. The most whimsical idea was that not believing in hell, she was firmly persuaded of the reality of purgatory. This arose from her not knowing what to do with the wicked, being loath to dam them utterly, nor yet caring to place them with the good till they had become so. And we must really allow that, both in this world and the next, the wicked are very troublesome company. It is clearly seen that the doctrine of original sin and the redemption of mankind is destroyed by this system, consequently that the basis of the Christian dispensation, as generally received, is shaken, and that the Catholic faith cannot subsist with these principles. Madame de Varence, notwithstanding, was a good Catholic, or at least pretended to be one, and certainly desired to become such. But it appeared to her that the scriptures were too literally and harshly explained, supposing that all we read of everlasting torments were figurative threatenings, and the death of Jesus Christ an example of charity, truly divine, which should teach mankind to love God and each other. In a word, faithful to the religion she had embraced, she acquiesced in all its professions of faith. But on a discussion of each particular article, it was plain she thought diametrically opposite to that church whose doctrines she professed to believe. In these cases she exhibited simplicity of art, a frankness more eloquent than sophistry, which frequently embarrassed her confessor, for she disguised nothing from him. I am a good Catholic, she would say, and will ever remain so. I adopt with all the powers of my soul the decisions of our Holy Mother Church. I am not mistress of my faith, but I am of my will, which I submit to you without reserve. I will endeavour to believe all. What can you require more? Had there been no Christian morality established, I am persuaded she would have lived as if regulated by its principles. So perfectly did they seem to accord with her disposition. She did everything that was required, and she would have done the same had there been no such requisition. But all this morality was subordinate to the principles of Monsieur Tavel, or rather she pretended to see nothing in religion that contradicted them. Thus she would have favoured twenty lovers in a day, without any idea of a crime. Her conscience being no more moved in that particular than her passions. I know that a number of devotees are not more scrupulous, but the difference is they are seduced by constitution. She was blinded by her sophisms. In the midst of conversations the most affecting, I might say the most edifying, she would touch on this subject without any change of air or manner, and without being sensible of any contradiction in her opinions. So much was she persuaded that our restrictions on that head are merely political, and that any person of sense might interpret, apply, or make exceptions to them, without any danger of offending the Almighty. Though I was far enough from being of the same opinion in this particular, I confess I dared not combat hers. Indeed, as I was situated, it would have been putting myself in rather awkward circumstances, since I could only have sought to establish my opinion for others, myself being an exception. Besides, I entertained but little hopes of making her alter hers, which never had any great influence on her conduct, and at the time I am speaking of none. But I have promised faithfully to describe her principles, and I will perform my engagement. I now return to myself. Finding in her all those ideas I had occasion for to secure me from the fears of death and its future consequences, I drew confidence and security from this source. My attachment became warmer than ever, and I would willingly have transmitted to her my whole existence, which seemed ready to abandon me. From this redoubled attachment, a persuasion that I had but a short time to live, and profound security on my future state, arose an habitual and even pleasing serenity, which, calming every passion that extends our hopes and fears, made me enjoy without inquiritude or concern the few days which I imagined remained for me. What contributed to render them still more agreeable was an endeavour to encourage her rising taste for the country. By every amusement I could possibly devise, wishing to attach her to her garden, poultry, pigeons, and cows. I amused myself with them, and these little occupations, which employed my time without injuring my tranquility, were more serviceable than a milk diet, or all the remedies bestowed on my poor shattered machine, even to effecting the utmost possible re-establishment of it. The vintage and gathering in our fruit employed the remainder of the year. We became more and more attached to a rustic life, and the society of our honest neighbours. We saw the approach of winter with regret, and returned to the city, as if going into exile. To me this return was particularly gloomy, who never expected to see the return of spring, and thought I took an everlasting leave of Lish-Armet. I did not quit it without kissing the very earth and trees, casting back many a wishful look as I went towards Chamberry.