 8. I was destined to be the outcast of ever, for not withstanding Monsieur Gatier gave the most favourable account he possibly could of my studies. They plainly saw the improvement I received, bore no proportion to the pains taken to instruct me, which was no encouragement to continue them. The bishop and superior therefore were disheartened, and I was sent back to Madame de Varance as a subject not even fit to make a priest of. But as they allowed at the same time that I was a tolerably good lad, and far from being vicious, this account counterbalanced the former and determined her not to abandon me. I carried back in triumph the dear music-book which had been so useful to me, the air of Alféus and Arithusa, being almost all I had learned at the seminary. My pre-delection for this art started the idea of making a musician of me. A convenient opportunity offered. Once a week at least she had a concert at her house, and the music-master from the cathedral, who directed this little band, came frequently to see her. This was a Parisian named Monsieur le Maître, a good composer, very lively, gay, young, well-made, of little understanding, but upon the whole a good sort of man. Madame de Varance made us acquainted. I attached myself to him, and he seemed not displeased with me. A pension was talked of and agreed on. In short I went home with him, and passed the winter the more agreeably at his chambers, as they were not above twenty paces distant from Madame de Varance, where we frequently subbed together. It may easily be supposed that this situation, ever gay, and singing with the musicians and children of the choir, was more pleasing to me than the seminary and fathers of St Lazarus. This life, though free, was regular. Here I learned to prize independence, but never to abuse it. For six whole months I never once went out, except to see Madame de Varance, or to church, nor had I any inclination to it. This interval is one of those in which I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction, and which I have ever recollected with pleasure. Among the various situations I have been placed in, some were marked with such an idea of virtuous satisfaction that the bare remembrance affects me as if they were yet present. I vividly recollect the time, the place, the persons, and even the temperature of the air, while the lively idea of a certain local impression peculiar to those times transports me back again to the very spot. For example, all that was repeated at our meetings, all that was sung in the choir, everything that passed there. The beautiful and noble habits of the canons, the chasuble of the priests, the mitres of the singers, the persons of the musicians, an old lame carpenter who played the counterbass, a little fair abbey who performed on the violin, the ragged cassock which Monsieur Le Maître, after taking off his sword, used to put over his secular habit, and the fine surplus with which he covered the rags of the former when he went to the choir, the pride with which I held my little flute to my lips and seated myself in the orchestra to assist in a recitative which Monsieur Le Maître had composed on purpose for me, the good dinner that afterwards awaited us and the good appetites we carried to it. This concourse of objects strongly retraced in my memory has charmed me a hundred times as much, not perhaps more, than ever the reality had done. I have always preserved an affection for a certain air of the Conditore Al Mesiderum, because one Sunday in Advent I heard that hymn sung on the steps of the cathedral, according to the custom of that place, as I lay in bed before daybreak. Mademoiselle Merceret, Madame de Varence's chambermaid, knew something of music. I shall never forget a little piece that Monsieur Le Maître made me sing with her, and which her mistress listened to with great satisfaction. In a word every particular, even down to the servant Perrine, whom the boys of the choir took such delight in teasing. The remembrance of these times of happiness and innocence, frequently returning to my mind, both ravish and affect me. I lived at Annecy during a year without the least reproach, giving universal satisfaction. Since my departure from Turin I had been guilty of no folly, committed none while under the eye of Madame de Varence. She was my conductor, and ever led me right. My attachment for her became my only passion, and what proves it was not a giddy one, my heart and understanding were in unison. It is true that a single sentiment absorbing all my faculties put me out of a capacity of learning even music, but this was not my fault. Since to the strongest inclination I added the utmost aciduity. I was attentive and thoughtful. What could I do? Nothing was wanting towards my progress that depended on me. Meantime it only required a subject that might inspire me to occasion the commission of new follies. That subject presented itself, chance arranged it, and as will be seen hereafter, my inconsiderate head gave into it. One evening, in the month of February, when it was very cold, being all sat round the fire, we heard someone knock at the street door. Perrine took a light, went down and opened it. A young man entering came upstairs, presented himself with an easy air, and making Monsieur Le Maître, a short but well-turned compliment, announced himself as a French musician, constrained by the state of his finances to take this liberty. The heart of the good Le Maître leapt at the name of a French musician, for he passionately loved both his country and profession. He therefore offered the young traveller his service, and use of his apartment, which he appeared to stand much in need of, and which he accepted without much ceremony. I observed him while he was chatting and warming himself before supper. He was short and thick, having some fault in his shape, though without any particular deformity. He had, if I may so express myself, an appearance of being hunchbacked with flat shoulders, and I think he limped. He wore a black coat, rather worn than old, which hung in tatters, a very fine but dirty shirt, frayed ruffles, a pair of splatter-dashes so large that he could have put both legs into either of them, and to secure himself from the snow a little hat, only fit to be carried under his arm. With this whimsical equipage, he had, however, something elegant in his manners and conversation. His countenance was expressive and agreeable, and he spoke with facility, if not with modesty. In short, everything about him bore the mark of a young, deep-or-chee, who did not crave assistance like a beggar, but as a thoughtless madcap. He told us his name was Venture de Villeneuve, that he came from Paris, had lost his way, and seeming to forget that he had announced himself for a musician, added that he was going to Grenoble to see a relation that was a member of Parliament. During supper we talked of music, on which subject he spoke well. He knew all the great virtuosi, all the celebrated works, all the actors, actresses, pretty women, and powerful lords. In short, nothing was mentioned but what he seemed thoroughly acquainted with. Though no sooner was any topic started than by some drollery, which set everyone a laughing, he made them forget what had been said. This was on a Saturday. The next day there was to be music at the cathedral. Monsieur Le Maître asked if he would sing there. Very willingly. What part would he choose? The counter-tenor, and immediately began speaking of other things. Before he went to church they offered him his part to peruse, but he did not even look at it. This gasconade surprised Le Maître. You'll see, said he whispering to me, that he does not know a single note. I replied, I am very much afraid of him. I followed them into the church, but was extremely uneasy, and when they began my heart beat violently so much was I interested in his behalf. I was presently out of pain. He sung his two recitatives with all imaginable taste and judgment, and what was yet more with a very agreeable voice. I never enjoyed a more pleasing surprise. After Mass, Monsieur Venture received the highest compliments from the canons and musicians, which he answered jokingly, though with great grace. Monsieur Le Maître embraced him heartily. I did the same. He saw I was rejoiced at his success, and appeared pleased at my satisfaction. It will easily be surmised that after having been delighted with Monsieur Bacle, who had little to attract my admiration, I should be infatuated with Monsieur Venture, who had education, wit, talents, and a knowledge of the world, and might be called an agreeable rake. This was exactly what happened, and would I believe have happened to any other young man in my place, especially supposing him possessed of better judgment to distinguish merit, and more propensity to be engaged by it. For Venture doubtless possessed a considerable share, and one in particular, very rare at his age, namely that of never being in haste to display his talents. It is true he boasted of many things he did not understand, but of those he knew, which were very numerous, he said nothing, patiently waiting some occasion to display them, which he then did with ease, though without forwardness, and thus gave them more effect. As there was ever some intermission between the proofs of his various abilities, it was impossible to conjecture whether he had ever discovered all his talents. Playful, giddy, inexhaustible, seducing in conversation, ever smiling but never laughing, and repeating the rudest things in the most elegant manner, even the most modest women were astonished at what they endured from him. It was in vain for them to determine to be angry. They could not assume the appearance of it. It was extraordinary that with so many agreeable talents, in a country where they are so well understood, and so much admired, he so long remained only a musician. My attachment to Monsieur Venture, more reasonable in its cause, was also less extravagant in its effects, though more lively and durable than that I had conceived for Monsieur Bacle. I loved to see him, to hear him. All his actions appeared charming. Everything he said was an oracle to me. But the enchantment did not extend far enough to disable me from quitting him. I spoke of him with transport to Madame de Varence. Le maître likewise spoke in his praise, and she consented we should bring him to her house. This interview did not succeed. He thought her affected. She found him a libertine, and alarmed that I had formed such an ill acquaintance, not only forbade me bringing him there again, but likewise painted so strongly the danger I ran with this young man, that I became a little more circumspect in giving in to the attachment. And very happily, both for my manners and wits, we were soon separated. Monsieur Le Maître, like most of his profession, loved good wine. At table he was moderate, but when busy in his closet he must drink. His maid was so well acquainted with this humour, that no sooner had he prepared his paper to compose, and taken his vial on cello, than the bottle and glass arrived, and was replenished from time to time. Thus without being ever absolutely intoxicated he was usually in a state of elevation. This was really unfortunate, for he had a good heart, and was so playful that Madame de Varence used to call him the kitten. Unhappily he loved his profession laboured much and drank proportionately, which injured his health, and at length soured his temper. Sometimes he was gloomy and easily offended, though incapable of rudeness, or giving offence to any one, for never did he utter a harsh word, even to the boys of the choir. On the other hand he would not suffer another to offend him, which was but just. The misfortune was, having little understanding, he did not properly discriminate, and was often angry without cause. Section 9 The chapter of Geneva, where so many princes and bishops formally thought it an honour to be seated, though in exile it lost its ancient splendour, retained without any diminution its pride. To be admitted you must either be a gentleman or doctor of the Sorbonne. If there is a pardonable pride, after that derived from personal merit, it is doubtless that arising from birth, though in general priests having laymen in their service treat them with sufficient haughtiness, and thus the cannons behaved to pour le mètre. The chanter in particular, who was called the Abbe de Vidon, in other respects a well-behaved man, but too full of his nobility, did not always show him the attention his talents merited. Monsieur le mètre could not bear these indignities patiently, and this year, during Passion Week, they had a more serious dispute than ordinary. At an institution dinner that the bishop gave the cannons, and to which Monsieur le mètre was always invited, the Abbe failed in some formality, adding at the same time some harsh words which the other could not digest. He instantly formed the resolution to quit them the following night. Nor could any consideration make him give up his design, though Madame de Varence, whom he went to take leave of, spared no pains to appease him. He could not relinquish the pleasure of leaving his tyrants embarrassed for the Easter Feast, at which time he knew they stood in greatest need of him. He was most concerned about his music which he wished to take with him, but this could not easily be accomplished, as it filled a large case, and was very heavy, and could not be carried under the arm. Madame de Varence did what I should have done in her situation, and indeed what I should yet do, after many useless efforts to retain him, seeing he was resolved to depart whatever might be the event, she formed the resolution to give him every possible assistance. I must confess le mètre deserved it of her, for he was, if I may use the expression, dedicated to her service, in whatever appertained to either his art or knowledge, and the readiness with which he obliged gave a double value to his complacence. Thus she only paid back on an essential occasion the many favours he had been long conferring on her. Though I should observe, she possessed a soul that to fulfil such duties had no occasion to be reminded of previous obligations. Accordingly she ordered me to follow le mètre de Lyon, and to continue with him as long as he might have occasion for my services. She has since avowed that a desire of detaching me from venture had a great hand in this arrangement. She consulted Claude Anne about the conveyance of the above-mentioned case. He advised that instead of hiring a beast at Annecy, which would infallibly discover us, it would be better, at night, to take it to some neighbouring village, and there hire an ass to carry it to Seychelles, in which, being in the French dominions, we should have nothing to fear. This plan was adopted. We departed the same night at seven, and Madame de Varence, under pretense of paying my expenses, increased the purse of pour le mètre by an addition that was very acceptable. Claude Anne, the gardener, and myself carried the case to the first village, then hired an ass, and the same night reached Seychelles. I think I have already remarked that there are times in which I am so unlike myself, that I might be taken for a man of a direct opposite disposition. I shall now give an example of this. Monsieur Redelet, curate of Seychelles, was canon of St Peter's, consequently known to Monsieur le Mètre, and one of the people from whom he should have taken most pains to conceal himself. My advice, on the contrary, was to present ourselves to him, and under some pretext, entreat entertainment, as if we visited him by consent of the chapter. Le Mètre adopted the idea, which seemed to give his revenge the appearance of satire and waggery. In short, we went boldly to Heidele, who received us very kindly. Le Mètre told him he was going to Belet by desire of the bishop, that he might superintend the music during the Easter holidays, and that he proposed returning that way in a few days. To support this tale I told a hundred others, so naturally that Monsieur Heidele thought me a very agreeable youth, and treated me with great friendship and civility. We were well regaled and well lodged. Monsieur Heidele scarcely knew how to make enough of us, and we parted the best friends in the world, with a promise to stop longer on our return. We found it difficult to refrain from laughter, or wait till we were alone, to give free vent to our mirth. Indeed, even now, the bare recollection of it forces a smile, for never was waggery better or more fortunately maintained. This would have made us merry during the remainder of our journey, if Monsieur Le Mètre, who did not cease drinking, had not been two or three times attacked with a complaint that he afterwards became very subject to, and which resembled an epilepsy. These fits threw me into the most fearful embarrassments, from which I resolved to extricate myself with the first opportunity. According to the information given to Monsieur Heidele, we passed our Easter holidays at Belé, and though not expected there, we are received by the music master, and welcomed by everyone with great pleasure. Monsieur Le Mètre was of considerable note in his profession, and indeed merited that distinction. The music master of Belé, who was fond of his own works, endeavoured to obtain the approbation of so good a judge. For besides being a connoisseur, Monsieur Le Mètre was equitable, neither a jealous ill-natured critic, nor a servile flatterer. He was so superior to the generality of country music masters, and they were so sensible of it, that they treated him rather as their chief than a brother musician. Having passed four or five days very agreeably at Belé, we departed, and continuing our journey, without meeting with any accidents, except those I have just spoken of, arrived at Lyon, and were lodged at Notre-Dame-de-Pitié. While we waited for the arrival of the before mentioned case, which by the assistance of another lie, and the care of our good patron, Monsieur de Heidele, we had embarked on the rhone. Monsieur Le Mètre went to visit his acquaintance, and among others father Cato, a cordelier, who will be spoken of hereafter, and the Abbe d'Artin, count of Lyon, both of whom received him well, but afterwards betrayed him, as will be seen presently. Indeed, his good fortune terminated with Monsieur Heidele. Two days after our arrival at Lyon, as we passed a little street not far from our inn, Le Mètre was attacked by one of his Fitz, but it was now so violent as to give me the utmost alarm. I screamed with terror, called for help, and, naming our inn, entreated someone to bear him to it. Then, while the people were assembled, and busy, round a man that had fallen senseless in the street, he was abandoned by the only friend on whom he could have any reasonable dependence. I seized the instant when no one heeded me, turned the corner of the street, and disappeared. Thanks to heaven, I have made my third painful confession. If many such remained, I should certainly abandon the work I have undertaken. Of all the incidents I have yet related, a few traces are remaining in the places where I have lived. But what I have to relate in the following book is almost entirely unknown. These are the greatest extravagances of my life, and it is happy they have not worse conclusions. My head, if I may use the simile, screwed up to the pitch of an instrument it did not naturally accord with, had lost its diapasin. In time it returned to it again, when I discontinued my follies, or at least gave in to those more consonant to my disposition. This epoch of my youth I am least able to recollect, nothing having passed sufficiently interesting to influence my heart to make me clearly retrace the remembrance. In so many successive changes it is difficult not to make some transpositions of time or place. I write absolutely from memory, without notes or materials to help my recollection. Some events are as fresh in my idea as if they had recently happened, but there are certain chasms which I cannot fill up, but by the aid of recital as confused as the remaining traces of those to which they refer. It is possible, therefore, that I may have erred in trifles, and perhaps shall again, but in every matter of importance I can answer that the account is faithfully exact, and with the same veracity the reader may depend I shall be careful to continue it. My resolution was soon taken after quitting Le Mètre. I set out immediately for Annecy. The cause and mystery of our departure had interested me for the security of our retreat. This interest, which entirely employed my thoughts for some days, had banished every other idea. But no sooner was I secure and in tranquility than my predominant sentiment regained its place. Nothing flattered, nothing tempted me. I had no wish but to return to Madame de Vérance. The tenderness and truth of my attachment to her had rooted from my heart every imaginable project and all the follies of ambition. I conceived no happiness but living near her, nor could I take a step without feeling that the distance between us was increased. I returned, therefore, as soon as possible with such speed and with my spirits in such a state of agitation that, though I recall with pleasure all my other travels, I have not the least recollection of this, only remembering my leaving Lyon and reaching Annecy. Let any one judge whether this last event can have slipped my memory when informed that on my arrival I found Madame de Vérance was not there, having set out for Paris. I was never well informed of the motives of this journey. I am certain she would have told me had I asked her, but never was man less curious to learn the secrets of his friend. My heart is ever so entirely filled with the present, or with past pleasures, which become a principal part of my enjoyment, that there is not a chink or corner for curiosity to enter. All that I conceive from what I heard of it is that in the revolution caused at Turin by the abdication of the King of Sardinia, she feared being forgotten, and was willing by favour of the intrigues of Monsieur de Bonne to seek the same advantage in the court of France, where she has often told me she should have preferred it, as the multiplicity of business there prevents your conduct from being so closely inspected. If this was her business, it is astonishing that on her return she was not ill-received. Be that as it will, she continued to enjoy her allowance without any interruption. Many people imagined she was charged with some secret commission, either by the bishop, who then had business at the court of France, where he himself was soon after obliged to go, or someone yet more powerful, who knew how to ensure her a gracious reception at her return. If this was the case, it is certainly ambassadrice was not ill-chosen. Since being young and handsome, she had all the necessary qualifications to succeed in a negotiation. End of Section 9. Let anyone judge my surprise and grief at not finding her on my arrival. I now felt regret at having abandoned Monsieur Le Mètre, and my uneasiness increased when I learned the misfortunes that had befallen him. His box of music containing all the things that I had learned, and all the things that I had learned, and all the things that I had learned, these were the misfortunes that had befallen him. His box of music containing all his fortune, that precious box preserved with so much care and fatigue, had been seized on at Lyon, by means of Comte d'Artennes, who had received information from the chapter having absconded with it. In vain did Lemaître reclaim his property, his means of existence, the labor of his life. His right to the music in question was at least subject to litigation, but even that liberty was not allowed him, the affair being instantly decided on the principle of superior strength. Thus poor Lemaître lost the fruit of his talents, the labor of his youth, and principle dependence for the support of old age. Nothing was wanting to render the news I had received truly afflicting, but I was at an age when even the greatest calamities are to be sustained. Accordingly, I soon found consolation. I expected shortly to hear news of Madame de Varence, though I was ignorant of the address and she knew nothing of my return. As to my desertion of Lemaître, all things considered I did not find it so very culpable. I had been serviceable to him at his retreat. It was not in my power to give him any further assistance. Had I remained with him in France, it would not have cured his complaint. I could not have saved his music, and should only have doubled his expense. In this point of view I then saw my conduct. I see it otherwise now. It frequently happens that a villainous action does not torment us at the instant we committed, but on recollection. And sometimes even after a number of years have elapsed, for the remembrance of crimes is not to be extinguished. The only means I had to obtain news of Madame de Varence was to remain at Annecy. Where should I seek her in Paris, or how bear the expense of such a journey? Sooner or later there was no place where I could be so certain to hear of her as that I was now at. This consideration determined me to remain there, though my conduct was very indifferent. I did not go to the bishop, who had already befriended me, and might continue to do so. My patroness was not present, and I feared his reprimands on the subject of our flight. Neither did I go to the seminary. Monsieur Gras was no longer there. In short I went to none of my acquaintances. I should gladly have visited the intendant's lady, but did not dare. I did worse. I sought out Monsieur Venture, whom notwithstanding my enthusiasm I had never thought of since my departure. I found him quite gay in high spirits, and the universal favourite of the ladies of Annecy. This success completed my infatuation. I saw nothing but Monsieur Venture. He almost made me forget even Madame de Varence. That I might profit more at ease by his instructions and example, I proposed to share his lodgings, to which he readily consented. It was at a shoemaker's, a pleasant jovial fellow who in his country dialect called his wife nothing but trial-up, an appellation which she certainly merited. Venture took care to augment their differences, though under an appearance of doing the direct contrary. Throwing out in a distant manner and provincial accents, hints that produced the utmost effect, and furnished such scenes as were sufficient to make anyone die with laughter. Thus the mornings passed without our thinking of them. At two or three o'clock we took some refreshment. Venture then went to his various engagements, where he supped, while I walked alone, meditating on his great merit, coveting and admiring his rare talents, and cursing my own unlucky stars, that did not call me to so happy a life. How little did I then know of myself! Mine had been a thousand times more delightful, had I not been such a fool, or known better how to enjoy it. Madame de Varence had taken no one with her but Année. Merceré, the chambermaid whom I have before mentioned, still remained in the house. Merceré was something older than myself, not pretty, but tolerably agreeable. Good-natured, free from malice, having no fault to my knowledge, but being a little refractory with her mistress. I often went to see her. She was an old acquaintance who recalled to my remembrance one more beloved, and this made her dear to me. She had several friends, and among others one Mademoiselle Giraud, a Genevise, who for the punishment of my sins, took it in her head to have an inclination for me, always pressing Merceré when she returned her visits to bring me with her. As I liked Merceré, I felt no disinclination to accompany her, besides I met there with some young people whose company pleased me. Before Mademoiselle Giraud, who offered every kind of enticement, nothing could increase the aversion I had for her. When she drew near me with her dried black snout, smeared with Spanish snuff, it was with the utmost difficulty that I could refrain from expressing my distaste. But being pleased with her visitors, I took patience. Among these were two girls, whom either to pay their court to Mademoiselle Giraud or myself paid me every possible attention. I conceived this to be only friendship, but have since thought it depended only on myself to have discovered something more, though I did not even think of it at the time. There was another reason for my stupidity. Semstresses, chambermaids, or milliners never tempted me. I sighed for ladies. Everyone has his peculiar taste. This has ever been mine. Everything in this particular of a different opinion from Horace. Yet it is not vanity of riches or rank that attracts me. It is a well-preserved complexion, fine hands, elegance of ornaments, an air of delicacy and neatness throughout the whole person, more in taste in the manner of expressing themselves, a finer or better-made gown, a well-turned ankle, small foot, ribbons, lace and well-dressed hair. I even prefer those who have less natural beauty, provided they are elegantly decorated. I freely confess this preference is very ridiculous, yet my heart gives into it, spite of my understanding. Well, even this advantage presented itself, and it only depended on my own resolution to have seized the opportunity. How do I love, from time to time, to return to those moments of my youth, which were so charmingly delightful, so short, so scarce, and enjoyed at so cheap a rate? How fondly do I wish to dwell on them? Even yet the remembrance of these scenes warms my heart with a chaste rapture, which appears necessary to reanimate my drooping courage, and enable me to sustain the weariness of my latter days. The appearance of Aurora seemed so delightful one morning that, putting on my clothes, I hastened into the country to see the rising of the sun. I enjoyed that pleasure in its utmost extent. It was one week after mid-summer. The earth was covered with verdure and flowers. The nightingales, whose soft warblings were almost concluded, seemed to vie with each other, and in concert with birds of various kinds, to bid adieu to spring, and hail the approach of a beautiful summer's day. One of those lovely days that are no longer to be enjoyed at my age, and which have never been seen on the melancholy soil I now inhabit. I had rampled insensibly to a considerable distance from the town. The heat augmented. I was walking in the shade along a valley by the side of a brook. I heard behind me the steps of horses, and the voice of some females, who though they seemed embarrassed, did not laugh the less heartily on that account. I turn round, hear myself called by name, and approaching find two young people of my acquaintance, Mademoiselle de Gé and Mademoiselle Gallé, who not being very excellent horsewomen could not make their horses cross the rivulet. Mademoiselle de Gé was a young lady of Berne, very amiable, who, having been sent from that country for some youthful folly, had imitated Madame de Varence, at whose house I had sometimes seen her, but not having, like her, a pension. She had been fortunate in this attachment to Mademoiselle Gallé, who had prevailed on her mother to engage her young friend as a companion, till she could be otherwise provided for. Mademoiselle Gallé was one year younger than her friend, handsomer, more delicate, more ingenious, and to complete all extremely well-made. They loved each other tenderly, and the good disposition of both could not fail to render their union durable if some lover did not derange it. They informed me they were going to tune an old castle belonging to Madame Gallé, and implored my assistants to make their horses cross the stream, not being able to compass it themselves. I would have given each a cut or two with the whip, but they feared I might be kicked, and themselves thrown. I therefore had recourse to another expedient. I took hold of Mademoiselle Gallé's horse, and led him through the brook, the water reaching halfway up my legs. The other followed without any difficulty. This done, I would have paid my compliments to the ladies, and walked off like a great booby as I was. But after whispering to each other, Mademoiselle Gallé said, No, no, you must not think to escape thus. You have got wet in our service, and we wrought in conscience to take care and dry you. If you please, you must go with us. You are now our prisoner. My heart began to beat. I looked at Mademoiselle Gallé. Yes, yes, said she, laughing at my fearful look. Our prisoner of war, come get up behind her. We shall have a good account of you. But Mademoiselle continued high, I have not the honour to be acquainted with your mother. What will she say on my arrival? Her mother, replied Mademoiselle Gallé, is not at dune. We are alone. We shall return at night, and you shall come back with us. The stroke of electricity has not a more instantaneous effect than these words produced on me. Leaping behind Mademoiselle Gallé, I trembled with joy, and when it became necessary to clasp her in order to hold myself on, my heart beat so violently that she perceived it, and told me hers beat also from a fear of falling. In my present posture I might naturally have considered this an invitation to satisfy myself of the truth of her assertion. But I did not dare, and during the whole way my arms served as a girdle, a very close one I must confess, without being a moment displaced. Some women that may read this would be forgiving me a box on the ear, and truly I deserved it. The gaiety of the journey, and the chat of these girls so enlivened me, that during the whole time we passed together we never ceased talking a moment. They had set me so thoroughly at ease, that my tongue spoke as fast as my eyes, though not exactly the same things. For a few minutes, indeed, when I was left alone with either, the conversation became a little embarrassed, but neither of them was absent long enough to allow time for explaining the cause. Section 10. Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmayer Surrey. Section 11 of Confessions, Vol. 3 and 4. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson. Confessions, Vol. 3 and 4. Recording by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Anonymously translated. Section 11. Arrived at Toon, and myself well dried, we breakfasted together, after which it was necessary to settle the important business of preparing dinner. The young ladies cooked, kissing from time to time the farmer's children, while the poor scullion looked on grumbling. Provisions had been sent for from town, and there was everything necessary for a good dinner, but unhappily they had forgotten wine. This forgetfulness was by no means astonishing to girls who seldom drank any, but I was sorry for the omission, as I had reckoned on its help, thinking it might add to my confidence. They were sorry likewise, and perhaps from the same motive. Though I have no reason to say this, for their lively and charming gaiety was innocence itself. Besides there were two of them, what could they expect from me? They went everywhere about the neighborhood to seek for wine, but none could be procured, so pure and sober are the peasants in those parts. As they were expressing their concern, I begged them not to give themselves any uneasiness on my account, for while with them I had no occasion for wine to intoxicate me. This was the only gallantry I ventured at during the whole of the day, and I believe the sly rogue saw well enough that I said nothing but the truth. We dined in the kitchen. The two friends were seated on the benches, one on each side the long table, and their guest at the end between them on a three-legged stool. What a dinner! How charming the remembrance! While we can enjoy at so small an expense, such pure, such true delights, why should we be solicitous for others? Never did those petite soup, so celebrated in Paris, equal this. I do not only say for real pleasure and gaiety, but even for sensuality. After dinner we were economical. Instead of drinking the coffee we had reserved at breakfast, we kept it for an afternoon collation with cream, and some cake they had brought with them. To keep our appetites in play we went into the orchard, meaning to finish our dessert with cherries. I got into a tree, throwing them down bunches, from which they returned the stones through the branches. One time Mademoiselle Gallet, holding out her apron, and drawing back her head, stood so fair, and I took such good aim, that I dropped a bunch into her bosom. On her laughing I said to myself, Why are not my lips cherries? How gladly would I throw them there likewise! Thus the day passed with the greatest freedom, yet with the utmost decency. Not a single equivocal word, not one attempt at double-meaning pleasantry. Yet this delicacy was not affected, we only performed the parts our hearts dictated. In short my modesty, some will say my folly, was such that the greatest familiarity that escaped me was once kissing the hand of Mademoiselle Gallet. It is true the attending circumstances helped to stamp a value on this trifling favour. We were alone. I was embarrassed. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, and my lips, instead of uttering words, were pressed on her hand, which she drew gently back after the salute, without any appearance of displeasure. I know not what I should have said to her. But her friend entered, and at that moment I thought her ugly. At length they bethought themselves that they must return to town before night. Even now we had but just time to reach it by daylight, and we hastened our departure in the same order we came. Had I pleased myself, I should certainly have reversed this order, for the glance of Mademoiselle Gallet had reached my heart. But I dared not mention it, and the proposal could not reasonably come from her. On the way we expressed our sorrow that the day was over, but far from complaining of the shortness of its duration we were conscious of having prolonged it by every possible amusement. I quitted them in nearly the same spot where I had taken them up. With what regret did we part? With what pleasure did we form project to renew our meeting? Delightful hours which we passed innocently together, yet were worth ages of familiarity. The sweet remembrance of those days cost those amiable girls nothing. The tender union which reigned among us equalled more lively pleasures with which it could not have existed. We loved each other without shame or mystery, and wished to continue our reciprocal affection. There is a species of enjoyment connected with innocence of manners which is superior to any other because it has no interval. For myself the remembrance of such a day touches me nearer, delights me more, and returns with greater rapture to my heart than any other pleasure I ever tasted. I hardly knew what I wished with those charming girls. I do not say that had the arrangement been in my power I should have divided my heart between them. I certainly felt some degree of preference. Though I should have been happy to have had Mademoiselle de Gé for a mistress, I think by choice I should have liked her better as a confidante. Be that as it may, I felt on leaving them as though I could not live without either. Who would have thought that I should never see them more, and that here our ephemeral amours must end? Those who read this will not fail to laugh at my gallantries, and remark that after very promising preliminaries my most forward adventures concluded by a kiss of the hand. Yet be not mistaken, reader, in your estimate of my enjoyments. I have, perhaps, tasted more real pleasure in my amours, which concluded by a kiss of the hand, than you will ever have in yours, which at least begin there. Venture, who had gone to bed late the night before, came in soon after me. I did not now see him with my usual satisfaction, and took care not to inform him how I had passed the day. The ladies had spoken of him slightly, and appeared discontented at finding me in such bad hands. This hurt him in my esteem. Perhaps whatever diverted my ideas from them was at this time disagreeable. However, he soon brought me back to him and myself by speaking of the situation of my affairs, which was too critical to last. Although I spent very little, my slender finances were almost exhausted. I was without resource. No news of Madame de Vérance, not knowing what would become of me, and feeling a cruel pang at heart to see the friend of mademoiselle Gallet reduced to beggary. I now learned from Venture that he had spoken of me to the judge-major, and would take me next day to dine with him, that he was a man who by means of his friends might render me essential service. In other respects he was a desirable acquaintance, being a man of wit and letters, of agreeable conversation, one who possessed talents and loved them in others. After this discourse, mingling the most serious concerns with the most trifling frivolity, he showed me a pretty cuplet which came from Paris, on an air in one of Moret's operas, which was then playing. Monsieur Simon, the judge-major, was so pleased with this cuplet that he determined to make another in answer to it on the same air. He had desired Venture to write one, and he wished me to make a third, that as he expressed it they might see cuplets start up next day like incidents in a comic romance. In the night, not being able to sleep, I composed a cuplet, as my first essay in poetry. It was passable, better or at least composed with more taste than it would have been the preceding night, the subject being tenderness, to which my heart was now entirely disposed. In the morning I showed my performance to Venture, who, being pleased with the cuplet, put it in his pocket, without informing me whether he had made his. We dined with Monsieur Simon, who treated us very politely. The conversation was agreeable, indeed it could not be otherwise between two men of natural good sense, improved by reading. For me I acted my proper part, which was to listen without attempting to join in the conversation. Neither of them mentioned the cuplet, nor do I know that it ever passed for mine. Monsieur Simon appeared satisfied with my behaviour. Indeed it was almost all he saw of me at this interview. We had often met at Madame de Vérance, but he had never paid much attention to me. It is from this dinner, therefore, that I date our acquaintance, which, though of no use in regard to the object I then had in view, was afterwards productive of advantages which make me recollect it with pleasure. I should be wrong not to give some account of this person, since from his office of magistrate and the reputation of wit on which he peaked himself, no idea could be formed of it. The judge-major, Simon, certainly was not two feet high. His legs, spare, straight and tolerably long, would have added something to his stature had they been vertical, but they stood in the direction of an open pair of compasses. His body was not only short, but thin, being in every respect of most inconceivable smallness. When naked he must have appeared like a grass-hopper. His head was of the common size, to which I pertained a well-formed face, a noble look, and tolerably fine eyes. In short it appeared a borrowed head stuck on a miserable stump. He might very well have dispensed with dress, for his large wig alone covered him from head to foot. He had two voices perfectly different, which intermingled perpetually in his conversation, coming at first a diverting, but afterwards a very disagreeable contrast. One grave and sonorous was, if I may hazard the expression, the voice of his head, the other clear, sharp and piercing the voice of his body. When he paid particular attention, and spoke leisurely, so as to preserve his breath, he could continue his deep tone. But if he was the least animated or attempted a lively accent, his voice sounded like the whistling of a key, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could return to the base. With the figure I have just described, and which is by no means overcharged, Monsieur Simon was gallant, ever entertaining the ladies with soft tails, and carrying the decoration of his person even to phoppery. Willing to make use of every advantage, he during the morning gave audience in bed, for when a handsome head was discovered on the pillow, no one could have imagined what belonged to it. This circumstance gave birth to scenes which I am certain are yet remembered by all anisee. End of section 11 Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmayer Surrey. Section 12 One morning when he expected to give audience in bed, or rather on the bed, having on a handsome nightcap ornamented with rose-coloured ribbon, a countryman arriving knocked at the door. The maid happened to be out. The judge therefore, hearing the knock, repeated, cried, Come in! And as he spoke rather loud, it was in his shrill tone. The man entered, looked about, endeavouring to discover whence the female voice preceded. And at length, seeing a handsome headdress set off with ribbons, was about to leave the room, making the supposed lady a hundred apologies. Monsieur Simon, in a rage, screamed the more. And the countryman, yet more confirmed in his opinion, conceiving himself to be insulted, began railing in his turn, saying that apparently she was nothing better than a common street-walker, and that the judge-major should be ashamed of setting such ill examples. The enraged magistrate, having no other weapon than the Jordan under his bed, was just going to throw it at the poor fellow's head as his servant returned. This dwarf, ill-used by nature as to his person, was recompensed by possessing an understanding naturally agreeable, and which he had been careful to cultivate. Though he was esteemed a good lawyer, he did not like his profession, delighting more in the finer parts of literature, which he studied with success. Of all, he possessed that superficial brilliancy, the art of pleasing in conversation, even with the ladies. He knew by heart a number of little stories, which he perfectly well knew how to make the most of, relating with an air of secrecy, and as an anecdote of yesterday, what happened sixty years before? He understood music, and could sing agreeably. In short, for a magistrate, he had many pleasing talents. By flattering the ladies of annacy, he became fashionable among them, appearing continually in their train. He even pretended to favours, at which they were much amused. A madame de Pigniche used to say, the greatest favour he could aspire to was to kiss a lady on her knees. As he was well read, and spoke fluently, his conversation was both amusing and instructive. When I afterwards took a taste for study, I cultivated his acquaintance, and found my account in it, when at Chambery I frequently went from thence to see him. His praises increased my emulation, to which he added some good advice respecting the prosecution of my studies, which I found useful. Unhappily, this weakly body contained a very feeling soul. Some years after, he was chagrined by, I know not what, unlucky affair, but it cost him his life. This was really unfortunate, for he was a good little man, who, matter first acquaintance, one laughed at, but afterwards loved. Though our situations in life were very little connected with each other, as I received some useful lessons from him, I thought gratitude demanded that I should dedicate a few sentences to his memory. As soon as I found myself at liberty, I ran into the street where Mademoiselle Gallet lived, flattering myself that I should see someone go in or out, or at least open a window. But I was mistaken. Not even a cat appeared. The house remaining as close all the time as if it had been uninhabited. The street was small and lonely. Anyone loitering about was consequently more likely to be noticed. From time to time people passed in and out of the neighbourhood. I was much embarrassed, thinking my person might be known, and the cause that brought me there conjectured. This idea tortured me, for I have ever preferred the honour and happiness of those I love to my own pleasures. At length weary of playing the Spanish lover, and having no guitar, I determined to write to Mademoiselle de Gé. I should have preferred writing to her friend, but did not dare take that liberty, as it appeared more proper to begin with her to whom I owed the acquaintance, and with whom I was most familiar. Having written my letter, I took it to Mademoiselle Gé. As the young ladies had agreed at parting, they having furnished me with this expedient, Mademoiselle Gé was a quilter, and sometimes worked at Madame Galais, which procured her free admission to the house. I must confess, I was not thoroughly satisfied with this messenger, but was cautious of starting difficulties, fearing that if I objected to her, no other might be named, and it was impossible to intimate that she had an inclination to me herself. I even felt humiliated that she should think I could imagine her of the same sex as those young ladies. In a word I accepted her agency rather than none, and availed myself of it at all events. At the very first word that she discovered me, I must own this was not a difficult matter, for if sending a letter to young girls had not spoken sufficiently plain, my foolish, embarrassed air would have betrayed me. It will easily be supposed that the employment gave her little satisfaction. She undertook it, however, and performed it faithfully. The next morning I ran to her house, and found an answer ready for me. How did I hurry away, that I might have an opportunity to read it, and kiss it, alone? Though this need not have been told, but the plan adopted by mademoiselle Jeho, and in which I found more delicacy and moderation than I had expected, should. She had sense enough to conclude that her thirty-seven years, hair's eyes, daubed nose, shrill voice, and black skin, stood no chance against two elegant young girls, in all the height and bloom of beauty. She resolved, therefore, neither to betray nor assist them, choosing rather to lose me entirely than entertain me for them. As Merceré had not heard from her mistress for some time, she thought of returning to Fribourg, and the persuasions of Jeho determined her, nay more she intimated it was proper someone should conduct her to her father's, and proposed me. As I happened to be agreeable to little Merceré, she approved the idea, and the same day they mentioned it to me as a fixed point. Seeing nothing displeasing in the manner they had disposed of me, I consented, thinking it could not be above a week's journey at most. But Jeho, who had arranged the whole affair, thought otherwise. It was necessary to avow the state of my finances, and the conclusion was that Merceré should defray my expenses. But to retrench on one hand what was expended on the other, I advised that her little baggage should be sent on before, and that we should proceed by easy journeys on foot. I am sorry to have so many girls in love with me, but as there is nothing to be very vain of in the success of these amours, I think I may tell the truth without scruple. Merceré, younger and less artful than Jeho, never made me so many advances, but she imitated my manners, my actions, repeated my words, and showed me all those little attentions I ought to have had for her. Being very timorous, she took great care that we should both sleep in the same chamber, a circumstance that usually produces some consequences between a lad of twenty and a girl of twenty-five. For once, however, it went no further, my simplicity being such that though Merceré was by no means a disagreeable girl, an idea of gallantry never entered my head, and even if it had, I was too great a novice to have profited by it. I could not imagine how two young persons could bring themselves to sleep together, thinking that such familiarity must require an age of preparation. If poor Merceré paid my expenses in hopes of any return, she was terribly cheated, for we arrived at Fribourg exactly as we had quitted and see. I passed through Geneva without visiting anyone. While going over the bridges, I found myself so affected that I could scarcely proceed. Never could I see the walls of that city, never could I enter it, without feeling my heart sink from excess of tenderness, at the same time that the image of liberty elevated my soul. The ideas of equality, union, and gentleness of manners touched me even to tears, and inspired me with a lively regret at having forfeited all these advantages. What an error I was in! But yet how natural! I imagined I saw all this in my native country, because I bore it in my heart. It was necessary to pass through Nyon. Could I do this without seeing my good father? Had I resolved on doing so, I must afterwards have died with regret. I left Merceré at the inn, and ventured to his house. How wrong was I to fear him! On seeing me, his soul gave way to the parental tenderness with which it was filled. What tears were mingled with our embraces! He thought I was returned to him! I related my history, and informed him of my resolution. He opposed it feebly, mentioning the dangers to which I exposed myself, and telling me the shortest follies were best, but did not attempt to keep me by force, in which particular I think he acted right. But it is certain he did not do everything in his power to detain me, even by fair means. Whether after the step I had taken he thought I ought not to return, or was puzzled at my age to know what to do with me, I have since found that he conceived a very unjust opinion of my travelling companion. My stepmother, a good woman, a little coaxingly, put on an appearance of wishing me to stay to supper. I did not, however, comply, but told them I proposed remaining longer with them on my return, leaving as a deposit my little packet that had come by water, and would have been an encumbrance had I taken it with me. I continued my journey the next morning, well satisfied that I had seen my father, and had taken courage to do my duty. We arrived without any accident at Fribourg. Once the conclusion of the journey the politeness of Mademoiselle Merceré rather diminished, and after our arrival she treated me even with coldness. Her father, who was not in the best circumstances, did not show me much attention, and I was obliged to lodge at an ale-house. I went to see them the next morning, and received an invitation to dine there, which I accepted. We separated without tears at night. I returned to my paltry lodging, and departed the second day after my arrival, almost without knowing whether to go to. This was a circumstance of my life in which Providence offered me precisely what was necessary to make my days pass happily. Merceré was a good girl, neither witty, handsome nor ugly, not very lively, but tolerably rational, except while under the influence of some little humours, which usually evaporated in tears, without any violent outbreak of temper. She had a real inclination for me. I might have married her without difficulty, and followed her father's business. My taste for music would have made me love her. I should have settled at Fribourg, a small town, not pretty, but inhabited by very worthy people. I should certainly have missed great pleasures, but should have lived in peace to my last hour. And I must know best what I should have gained, by such a step. Anonymously translated, Section Thirteen I did not return to Neon, but to Lausanne, wishing to gratify myself with a view of that beautiful lake, which is seen there in its utmost extent. The greater part of my secret motives have not been so reasonable. Distant expectation has rarely strengthened enough to influence my actions. The uncertainty of the future ever making me regard projects whose execution requires a length of time as deceitful lures. I give in to visionary scenes of hope as well as others, provided they cost nothing. But if attended with any trouble, I have done with them. The smallest, the most trifling pleasure that is conveniently within my reach tempts me more than all the joys of paradise. I must accept, however, those pleasures which are necessarily followed by pain. I only love those enjoyments which are unadulterated, which can never be the case where we are conscious they must be followed by repentance. It was necessary I should arrive at some place, and the nearest was best. Before having lost my way on the road, I found myself in the evening at Moudon, where I spent all that remained of my little stock, except ten croitzers, which served to purchase my next day's dinner. Arriving in the evening at Lausanne, I went into an ale-house, without a penny in my pocket to pay for my lodging, or knowing what would become of me. I found myself extremely hungry. Setting therefore a good face on the matter, I ordered supper, made my meal, went to bed without thought, and slept with great composure. In the morning, having breakfasted and reckoned with my host, I offered to leave my waistcoat in pledge for seven baths, which was the amount of my expenses. The honest man refused this, saying, thank heaven he had never stripped anyone, and would not now begin for seven baths. Everything I should keep my waistcoat, and pay him when I could. I was affected with this unexpected kindness, but felt it less than I ought to have done, or have since experienced on the remembrance of it. I did not fail sending him his money, with thanks by one I could depend on. Fifteen years after, passing Lausanne, on my return from Italy, I felt a sensible regret at having forgotten the name of the landlord and house. I wished to see him, and should have felt real pleasure in recalling to his memory that worthy action. Others which doubtless have been much more important, but rendered with ostentation, have not appeared to me so worthy of gratitude as the simple, unaffected humanity of this honest man. As I approached Lausanne, I thought of my distress, and the means of extricating myself without appearing in want to my stepmother. I compared myself, in this walking pilgrimage, to my friend Venture, on his arrival at Annecy, and was so warmed with the idea that without recollecting that I had neither his gentility nor his talents, I determined to act the part of little Venture at Lausanne, to teach music which I did not understand, and say I came from Paris, where I had never been. In consequence of this noble project, as there was no company where I could introduce myself without expense, and not choosing to venture among professional people, I inquired for some little inn, where I could lodge cheap, and was directed to one named Perot, who took in boarders. This Perot was one of the best men in the world, received me very kindly, and after having heard my feigned story and profession, promised to speak of me, and endeavoured to procure me scholars, saying he should not expect any money till I had earned it. His price for board, though moderate in itself, was a great deal to me. He advised me therefore to begin with half-board, which consisted of good soup only for dinner, but a plentiful supper at night. I closed with this proposition, and the poor Perot trusted me with great cheerfulness, sparing meantime no trouble to be useful to me. Having found so many good people in my youth, why do I find so few in my age? Is their race extinct? No, but I do not seek them in the same situation I did formerly, among the commonality, where violent passions predominate only at intervals, and where nature speaks her genuine sentiments. In more elevated stations they are entirely smothered, and under the mask of sentiment only interest or vanity is heard. Being written to my father from Lausanne, he sent my packet and some excellent advice, of which I should have profited better. I have already observed that I have moments of inconceivable delirium, in which I am entirely out of myself. The adventure I am about to relate is an instance of this. To comprehend how completely my brain was turned, and to what degree I had vanturised, if I may be allowed the expression, the many extravagances I ran into at the same time should be considered. Behold me, then, a singing master, without knowing how to note a common song, for if the five or six months passed with Le Maître had improved me, they could not be supposed sufficient to qualify me for such an undertaking. Besides, being taught by a master was enough, as I have before observed, to make me learn ill. Being a Parisian from Geneva, and a Catholic in a Protestant country, I thought I should change my name with my religion and country, still approaching as near as possible to the great model I had in view. He called himself Vantur de Villeneuve. I changed by anagram the name Housseau into that of Vaucer, calling myself Monsieur Vaucer de Villeneuve. Vantur was a good composer, though he had not said so. Without knowing anything of the art, I boasted of my skill to everyone. This was not all. Being presented to Monsieur de Fray-Torrance, professor of law, who loved music and who gave concerts at his house, nothing would do but I must give him a proof of my talents, and accordingly I set about composing a piece for his concerts, as boldly as if I had really understood the science. I had the constancy to labour a fortnight at this curious business, to copy it fair, write out the different parts, and distribute them with as much assurance as if they had been masterpieces of harmony. In short, what will hardly be believed, though strictly true, I tacked a very pretty minuet to the end of it, that was commonly played about the streets, and which many may remember from these words so well known at that time. Quel caprice, quel injustice, quoi tu claris, taillerais tes feux? Vantur had taught me this air with the bass set to other words, by the help of which I had retained it, thus at the end of my composition I put this minuet and bass, suppressing the words, and uttering it for my own, as confidently as if I had been speaking to the inhabitants of the moon. They assembled to perform my piece. I explained to each the movement, taste of execution, and references to his part. I was fully occupied. They were five or six minutes preparing, which were for me so many ages. At length everything is adjusted, myself in a conspicuous situation, a fine roll of paper in my hand, gravely preparing to beat time. I gave four or five strokes with my paper, attending with, take care. They begin. No, never since French operas existed was there such a confused discord. The minuet, however, presently put all the company in a good humour. Hardly was it begun before I heard bursts of laughter from all parts. Then congratulated me on my pretty taste for music, declaring this minuet would make me spoken of, and that I merited the loudest praise. It is not necessary to describe my uneasiness, or to own how much I deserved it. Last day one of the musicians named Loutalt came to see me, and was kind enough to congratulate me on my success. The profound conviction of my folly, shame, regret, and the state of despair to which I was reduced, with the impossibility of concealing the cruel agitation of my heart, made me open it to him. Giving therefore a loose to my tears, not content with owning my ignorance, I told all, conjuring him to secrecy. He kept his word, as everyone will suppose. The same evening all Lozane knew who I was. But what is remarkable no one seemed to know, not even the good Pérote, who notwithstanding what had happened, continued to lodge and board me. I led a melancholy life here. The consequences of such an essay had not rendered Lozane a very agreeable residence. Scholars did not present themselves in crowds, not a single female, and not a person of the city. I had only two or three great dances, as stupid as I was ignorant, who fatigued me to death, and in my hands were not likely to edify much. At length I was sent forth to a house where a little serpent of a girl amused herself by showing me a parcel of music that I could not read a note of, and which she had the malice to sing before her master, to teach him how it should be executed. For I was so unable to read an air at first sight, that in the charming concert I have just described, I could not possibly follow the execution a moment, or know whether they played truly what lay before them, and I myself had composed. In the midst of so many humiliating circumstances I had the pleasing consolation from time to time of receiving letters from my two charming friends. I have ever found the utmost consolatory virtue in the fair. When in disgrace nothing softens my affliction more than to be sensible that an amiable woman is interested for me. This correspondence ceased soon after, and was never renewed. Indeed it was my own fault, for in changing situations I neglected sending by address, and forced by necessity to think perpetually of myself, I soon forgot them. End of section 13 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey