



Produced by David Widger





THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)

Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society

London, 1903



BOOK II.


The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more
terrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeared
delightful.  To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,
in the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of my
business to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger:
to expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all the
temptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,
misfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evils
than those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn, the
natural consequence of my hazardous enterprise.  How different was the
idea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess was the
sole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty, I thought
everything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast theatre of
the world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I expected to
find amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to serve, and
mistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and the whole
universe would be interested in my concerns; not but I could have been
content with something less; a charming society, with sufficient means,
might have satisfied me.  My moderation was such, that the sphere in
which I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but then it was to
possess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself the principal
object.  A single castle, for instance, might have bounded my ambition;
could I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the daughter's
lover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I might have
been tolerably content, and sought no further.

In expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in the
environs of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, who
received me with more kindness than I should have met with in town; they
welcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live on
charity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance of
superiority to furnish out the idea.

I rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, at
about two leagues distance from Geneva.  The vicar was called M. de
Pontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught my
attention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of the
gentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this M. de
Pontverre, and was received with great civility.

He spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holy
mother church, and then invited me to dinner.  I had little to object to
arguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined to
believe that priests, who gave such excellent dinners, might be as good
as our ministers.  Notwithstanding M. de Pontverre's pedigree, I
certainly possessed most learning; but I rather sought to be a good
companion than an expert theologian; and his Frangi wine, which I thought
delicious, argued so powerfully on his side, that I should have blushed
at silencing so kind a host; I, therefore, yielded him the victory, or
rather declined the contest.  Any one who had observed my precaution,
would certainly have pronounced me a dissembler, though, in fact, I was
only courteous.

Flattery, or rather condescension, is not always a vice in young people;
'tis oftener a virtue.  When treated with kindness, it is natural to feel
an attachment for the person who confers the obligation; we do not
acquiesce because we wish to deceive, but from dread of giving
uneasiness, or because we wish to avoid the ingratitude of rendering evil
for good.  What interest had M. de Pontverre in entertaining, treating
with respect, and endeavoring to convince me?  None but mine; my young
heart told me this, and I was penetrated with gratitude and respect for
the generous priest; I was sensible of my superiority, but scorned to
repay his hospitality by taking advantage of it.  I had no conception of
hypocrisy in this forbearance, or thought of changing my religion, nay,
so far was the idea from being familiar to me, that I looked on it with a
degree of horror which seemed to exclude the possibility of such an
event; I only wished to avoid giving offence to those I was sensible
caressed me from that motive; I wished to cultivate their good opinion,
and meantime leave them the hope of success by seeming less on my guard
than I really was.  My conduct in this particular resembled the coquetry
of some very honest women, who, to obtain their wishes, without
permitting or promising anything, sometimes encourage hopes they never
mean to realize.

Reason, piety, and love