The Confessions

  After that came Latin. That was my most painful task, and I have never made much progress with it. At first I began learning by the Port-Royal method, but without result. The barbarous verses disgusted me, and I could not get them into my head. I got lost among that crowd of rules, and when I learned die last forgot everything that had gone before. The study of words is not the right thing for a man without a memory, and it was precisely in order to force my memory to improve that I persisted in studying Latin, though in the end I had to give it up. I knew sufficient of the construction, however, to be able to read an easy author with the help of the dictionary. I persisted in doing this, and succeeded fairly well. I applied myself to translations, not on paper but in my head, and stopped there. After much time and practice, I succeeded in reading Latin authors fluently enough, but never in speaking or writing in the language, which has put me into difficulties when I have found myself, for some reason or other, numbered among the men of letters. Another drawback arising from this method of learning is that I have never understood prosody, still less the rules of versification. Wishing, however, to appreciate the harmony of the language in verse as well as in prose I have tried hard to do so, but I am convinced that without a master it is almost impossible. Having learnt the structure of the easiest of all the verses, which is the hexameter, I had the patience to scan almost the whole of Virgil, marking the feet and the quantities. Then when I was in doubt whether a syllable was long or short I referred to my Virgil. This led me into many errors, as can be imagined, on account of the variations allowed by the rules of prosody. For if there is one advantage in being one’s own teacher, there are also great disadvantages, the chief of which is the incredible labour involved. I know that better than anyone else.

  Before noon I left my books and, if dinner was not ready, went to visit my friends the pigeons, or to work in the garden until it was. When I was called I hurried gladly to table with a huge appetite. For another remarkable thing is that, however ill I may be, my appetite never fails me. We dined very pleasantly, talking of our affairs, until Mamma was able to eat. Two or three times a week, when the weather was fine, we went and took our coffee in a cool and shady arbour at the back of the house, which I had decorated with hops, and which we very much enjoyed during the heat. We spent quite a little time out there, inspecting our vegetables and our flowers, and discussing matters relative to our way of life – which made us more conscious of its pleasures. At the bottom of the garden I had another small family: the bees. I never failed to pay them a visit, and sometimes Mamma came with me. I was greatly interested in their labours, and was vastly amused to see them returning from their foraging with their small thighs sometimes so loaded that they could hardly move. In the early days my curiosity made me too curious; and two or three times I got stung. But soon we came to know one another so well that however close I came they let me alone; and however full their hives were when they were ready to swarm, though sometimes I might have them all round me, on my hand and on my face, none of them would ever sting me. All creatures rightly distrust man; but once they are sure that he does not mean to harm them, their confidence becomes so great that one must be worse than a barbarian to abuse it.

  I returned to my books, but my afternoon occupations might better be described as recreation and amusement than serious study. I have never been able to endure working at the desk after my dinner and, in general, any effort tries me during the heat of the day.

  Nevertheless, I busied myself in reading, without studying, working to no rule and almost without a system. The subjects I pursued with most regularity were history and geography; and as they demanded no great concentration I made as much progress in them as my faulty memory allowed. I tried to study Father Pétau, and immersed myself in the obscurities of chronology; but I was repelled by its critical side, which seems to be quite limitless, and preferred to apply myself to the exact measurements of time and to the motions of the heavenly bodies. I might have got quite a liking for astronomy if I had possessed any instruments. But I had to be content with some rudiments taken from books, and a few crude observations made with a telescope, merely to learn the general features of the heavens; for I am too short-sighted to be able to distinguish the stars clearly with the naked eye. I remember one astronomical adventure the thought of which has often made me laugh. I had bought a chart of the heavens in order to study the constellations. This I had fastened to a frame, and on nights when the sky was clear I used to go out in the garden, and put the frame up on four legs of about my own height with the chart turned downwards. The candle to light it I put in a bucket between the four legs, so that the wind should not blow it out. Then looking alternately at the chart with my naked eye and at the sky through the telescope, I practised recognizing the individual stars and making out the constellations. I think I have said that M. Noiret’s was a terraced garden; everything that was done there could be seen from the road. One evening some peasants passing rather late saw me, in grotesque clothes, busy at this work. The light falling on my chart, the source of which they could not see because the candle was hidden by the rim of the bucket, those four posts, the great sheet of paper scrawled with figures, the frame, and the movements of my telescope, which kept appearing and disappearing, gave the whole proceeding an air of sorcery, which terrified them. My clothing was not calculated to reassure them. A flapping hat on top of my cap, and a short padded dressing-gown of Mamma’s, which she had compelled me to put on, presented to their eyes the true picture of a sorcerer; and as it was nearly midnight they had no doubt that a sabbath was about to begin. Feeling little curiosity to see more, they rushed off in great alarm, and woke their neighbours to tell them of the apparition; and so quickly did the story circulate that next day everyone in the neighbourhood knew how a sabbath had been held at M. Noiret’s. I do not know what this rumour would finally have led to if one of the peasants who had seen my conjurations had not that day carried his complaint to two Jesuits, who used to visit us and who disabused their minds on the spot, although they did not know what it was all about. They told us the story; I gave them the explanation, and we laughed a great deal. However it was decided that, through fear of a repetition, I should henceforth take my observations without a candle, and go indoors to consult my chart of the heavens. Those who have read of my magic in Venice, in my Letters from the Mountain,* will realize, I am sure, that I had a long-standing vocation for sorcery.

  Such was my way of life at Les Charmettes when I was not busy with country pursuits. For they always had the preference, and in so far as my strength would allow I worked like a peasant. It is true, however, that under this head my extreme weakness allowed me little more than the merit of good intentions. Besides, I was trying to do two jobs at once, and for that reason did neither of them well. I had made the resolve deliberately to improve my memory, and persisted in trying to learn a great deal by heart. For that purpose I always carried some book with me, which I took incredible pains to study and repeat to myself as I worked. I do not know how it was that my persistence in these vain and continuous efforts did not end by reducing me to stupidity. I must have learnt and relearnt Virgil’s Eclogues a good twenty times, but I do not know a single word of them. I have lost or dismembered quantities of books owing to my habit of carrying them everywhere with me, to the pigeon-house, the garden, the orchard, and the vineyard. When I was otherwise employed, I put my book down at the foot of the tree or on the hedge, and always forgot to pick it up again. Often after a fortnight I would find it rotted, or eaten by ants or slugs. This ardour for learning became a mania which reduced me almost to stupidity, so incessantly was I busy muttering something through my teeth.

  The writings of Port-Royal and the Oratory, being my most frequent reading, had made me half a Jansenist, and sometimes, for all my trust in God, I was really frightened by their harsh theology. The fear of Hell, which had bothered me very little before, gradually disturbed my ease of mind; and if Mamma had not calmed my troubled spirit,
that terrible doctrine would finally have upset me altogether. My confessor, who was also hers, helped likewise to keep me in a calm state of mind. He was Father Hemet,* a good and sensible old Jesuit, whose memory I shall always respect. Although of that order, he had the simplicity of a child; and his moral standpoint, which was gentle rather than lax, was just what I needed to counterbalance the melancholy effect of Jansenism. This kind man and his colleague Father Coppier † often came to see us at Les Charmettes, although the road was very rough and somewhat long for men of their years. Their visits did me a great deal of good. May God reward their souls for it! For they were too old then for me to suppose that they are still alive. I used also to visit them at ChambÉry, and gradually became quite at home in their house; their library was at my disposal. So intimately is my memory of that happy time linked with my recollectioiis of these Jesuits that I love one for the sake of. the other; and although their doctrine has always seemed to me dangerous I have never found it in me genuinely to hate them.

  I should like to know whether such childish notions pass through other men’s hearts as sometimes pass through mine. In the midst of my studies and of a life as innocent as any man could lead, I was. still frequently disturbed by the fear of Hell, no matter what anyone might say. ‘In what state am I?’ I asked myself. ‘If I were to die at this moment, should I be damned?’ According to my Jansenists the matter was past all doubt; but according to my conscience it seemed quite otherwise. Being always fearful, and now a prey to this cruel uncertainty, I resorted to the most ludicrous expedients to overcome it. I should not hesitate, in fact, to have a man shut up in a madhouse if I saw him acting as I did. One day, when brooding on this melancholy subject, I began throwing stones at the tree trunks, and this with my usual skill, which meant that I hardly hit one. While engaged in this noble exercise, it occurred to me to draw a sort of omen from it, to allay my anxiety. ‘I am going to throw this stone’, I said to myself, ‘at the tree facing me. If I hit it, it is a sign that I am saved; if I miss it I am damned.’ As I said this I threw my stone with a trembling hand and a terrible throbbing of the heart, but so accurately that it hit the tree full in the middle; which really was not very difficult, since I had taken care to choose a very large tree very near to me. Since then I have never again doubted my salvation. But as I recall this incident I do not know whether I ought to laugh or weep. You great men, who are most certainly laughing, are welcome to congratulate yourselves. But do not insult my misery, for I feel it most, deeply, I assure you.

  These troubles and alarms, however, though perhaps an inevitable part of the religious life, were not a permanent state. In general I was calm enough, and the effect on my mind of the prospect of early death was not so much one of sadness as of peaceful languor, which even had its charms. I have recently discovered amongst some old papers a kind of exhortation that I made for myself, congratulating myself upon dying at an age when a man has enough courage in his heart to envisage death, and without having suffered any great physical or mental ills in the course of my life. How right I was! I was frightened by the presentiment of living on only to suffer. It was as if I foresaw the fate that awaited me in my old age. I have never been so near to wisdom as during those happy days. Since I had no great remorse for the past, and was free of all care for the future, the dominant feeling in my heart was a constant enjoyment of the present. Religious people ordinarily possess a limited but very keen sensuality which makes them savour to the full such innocent pleasures as they are allowed. The worldly call this a crime, I do not know why; or rather I know very well. It is because they envy them the enjoyment of simple pleasures for which they have themselves lost the taste. I had that taste, and it delighted me to satisfy it with an easy conscience. My heart, which was still fresh, gave itself to everything with the joy of a child, or rather, if I may say so, with the rapture of an angel; for these quiet pleasures are in very truth as serene as the joys of Paradise. Picnic dinners at Montagnole, suppers in the arbour, the fruit-picking, the grape harvest, the evenings stripping the hemp with our servants; all these were for. us so many festivals, in which Mamma took as much pleasure as I. Our more solitary walks had a still greater charm, for the heart had then more freedom for its out-pourings. One in particular forms a landmark in my memory. It is one which we took on a Saint Louis’ day, which was Mamma’s name day. We set out alone together in the early morning, after a mass that had been read by a visiting Carmelite at daybreak in a chapel belonging to the house. I had suggested walking along the opposite slope of the valley, where we had not yet been. We had sent our provisions on ahead, for the expedition was to take all day. Mamma, although somewhat round and fat, was not a bad walker, and we went from hill to hill and from wood to wood, sometimes in the sun and sometimes in the shade, resting from time to time and forgetting our cares for hours on end, talking of ourselves, of our relationship, and of the sweetness of our lot, and offering up prayers for its continuance, which were not granted. Everything seemed to conspire to add to the day’s happiness. It had rained a short while before. There was no dust, and the streams were full. A little fresh wind shook the leaves. The air was clear and the horizon free from clouds. Serenity prevailed in the heavens, as it prevailed in our hearts. We took our dinner in a peasant’s hut, sharing it with his family, who gave us their heartfelt blessings. These poor Savoyards are such good creatures! After dinner we went into the shade of some large trees where Mamma amused herself by botanizing amongst the undergrowth while I gathered dry twigs to boil our coffee. Then she took flowers from the bunch I had gathered for her on the way, and showed me a thousand curious details about their formation. This pleased me greatly and should have given me a taste for botany but the moment had not arrived. I was preoccupied with too many other studies. An idea struck me which diverted my mind from flowers and plants. The state of mind I was in, everything that we had said and done that day, all the objects which had caught my attention, combined to call to my mind the waking dream I had had at Annecy seven or eight years before, which I have already described in its place. The similarities were so striking that as I thought of it I was moved to tears. In an access of emotion I embraced my dear friend. ‘Mamma, Mamma,’ I cried passionately. ‘This day has long been promised to me, I can imagine nothing more beautiful. Thanks to you, my happiness is at its height. May it not decline hereafter! May it last as long as I continue to desire it, and it will only end with my life.’

  Thus my happy days flowed by; the happier because I saw nothing that could disturb them, and so foresaw no end to them that was not also my own. It was not that the flood of my anxiety was completely exhausted; but I saw it taking another course. I did my best to direct it to useful purposes so that it might bring its remedy with it. Mamma had a natural love for the country, which did not cool while she was with me. Little by little she got the taste for country pursuits; she was anxious to make the estate pay, and enjoyed the practical application of her knowledge in such matters. Not content with the land belonging to the house she had taken, she would rent first a field, then a meadow. Finally she applied her speculative talents to agriculture and, instead of remaining idly at home, was soon on the way to becoming a large farmer. I was not too happy at seeing her launch out in this manner, and I opposed it as much as I could. For I was sure that people would always deceive her, and that her generous and extravagant nature would always lead her into expenses exceeding her revenue. I consoled myself, however, with the thought that at least her receipts must amount to something, and would help her to live. Of all the schemes that she might have embarked on this seemed to me the least ruinous; and although I did not share her belief that it would be profitable, I saw in it a continuous occupation that would protect her against swindles and impostors. For this reason I was eager to regain sufficient health and strength to watch over her affairs, and to be her foreman or leading worker; the exercise this involved frequently took me from my books and my preoccupations about my state, and was naturally bound
to improve my health.

  1737–1741 The following winter Barillot came back from Italy, bringing me several books, amongst them the Bontempi and the Cartella per musica of Father Banchieri, which gave me a taste for the history of music and for researches into the theory of that art. Barillot stayed with us for a while, and as I had been of age for some months it was agreed that I should go to Geneva in the following spring to claim my mother’s fortune, or at least the part that fell to me, until it could be ascertained what had become of my brother. The plan was carried out as arranged. I went to Geneva, and my father met me there. He had been visiting the city at intervals for some time without being molested, although the decree against him had never been reversed. But as he was admired for his courage and respected for his honesty, they pretended to have forgotten his affair. The magistrates, indeed, were extremely busy with their great project, which they burst on the world shortly afterwards, and did not want to alarm the middle classes prematurely by reminding them of an old injustice at an awkward moment.

  I was afraid that I might meet with difficulties on account of my change of religion; but there were none. The laws of Geneva are less harsh in this respect than those of Berne, where anyone changing his faith not only loses his status but his property as well. So my rights were not disputed. But I found the inheritance, for some reason I do not understand, reduced to a very small sum. Although it was almost certain that my brother was dead, there was no judicial proof. I had not sufficient title to claim his share, and I did not regret leaving it. It helped to support my father, and he had the use of it so long as he lived. As soon as the judicial formalities were completed and I had received my money, I invested some part of it in books, and flew with the rest to lay it at Mamma’s feet.* My heart pounded with joy on the road, and the moment when I put it in her hands was a thousand times sweeter to me than that in which it had come into mine. She received it with a simple-heartedness common in great souls, who are not surprised by such deeds in others since they perform them without effort themselves. This money was spent almost entirely upon me, and with the same simple-heartedness. She would have used it no differently if it had come to her from another source.