The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — CompleteRousseau, Jean-Jacques
Philosophy
The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Complete
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques
Authors, French -- 18th century -- Biography; Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 1712-1778
Never did I experience this so feelingly as in the perambulation I am
now describing. On coming to Paris, I had confined myself to ideas which
related to the situation I expected to occupy there. I had rushed
into the career I was about to run, and should have completed it with
tolerable eclat, but it was not that my heart adhered to. Some real
beings obscured my imagined ones--Colonel Godard and his nephew could
not keep pace with a hero of my disposition. Thank Heaven, I was soon
delivered from all these obstacles, and could enter at pleasure into
the wilderness of chimeras, for that alone remained before me, and I
wandered in it so completely that I several times lost my way; but this
was no misfortune, I would not have shortened it, for, feeling with
regret, as I approached Lyons, that I must again return to the material
world, I should have been glad never to have arrived there.
One day, among others, having purposely gone out of my way to take a
nearer view of a spot that appeared delightful, I was so charmed with
it, and wandered round it so often, that at length I completely lost
myself, and after several hours’ useless walking, weary, fainting with
hunger and thirst, I entered a peasant’s hut, which had not indeed a
very promising appearance, but was the only one I could discover near
me. I thought it was here, as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where
the inhabitants, living at ease, have it in their power to exercise
hospitality. I entreated the countryman to give me some dinner, offering
to pay for it: on which he presented me with some skimmed milk and
coarse barley-bread, saying it was all he had. I drank the milk
with pleasure, and ate the bread, chaff and all; but it was not very
restorative to a man sinking with fatigue. The countryman, who watched
me narrowly, judged the truth of my story by my appetite, and presently
(after having said that he plainly saw I was an honest, good-natured
young man, and did not come to betray him) opened a little trap door by
the side of his kitchen, went down, and returned a moment after with a
good brown loaf of pure wheat, the remains of a well-flavored ham, and
a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced my heart more than all the
rest: he then prepared a good thick omelet, and I made such a dinner as
none but a walking traveller ever enjoyed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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