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
In the evening we conducted her to her apartments. As we conversed
together, I perceived a couple of pistols upon her toilette. “Ah!
Ah!” said I, taking one of them up, “this is a patchbox of a new
construction: may I ask what is its use? I know you have other
arms which give more fire than those upon your table.” After a few
pleasantries of the same kind, she said to us, with an ingenuousness
which rendered her still more charming, “When I am complaisant to
persons whom I do not love, I make them pay for the weariness they cause
me; nothing can be more just; but if I suffer their caresses, I will
not bear their insults; nor miss the first who shall be wanting to me in
respect.”
At taking leave of her, I made another appointment for the next day.
I did not make her wait. I found her in ‘vestito di confidenza’, in an
undress more than wanton, unknown to northern countries, and which I
will not amuse myself in describing, although I recollect it perfectly
well. I shall only remark that her ruffles and collar were edged with
silk network ornamented with rose-colored pompons. This, in my eyes,
much enlivened a beautiful complexion. I afterwards found it to be the
mode at Venice, and the effect is so charming that I am surprised it has
never been introduced in France. I had no idea of the transports which
awaited me. I have spoken of Madam de Larnage with the transport which
the remembrance of her still sometimes gives me; but how old, ugly and
cold she appeared, compared with my Zulietta! Do not attempt to form to
yourself an idea of the charms and graces of this enchanting girl, you
will be far too short of truth. Young virgins in cloisters are not so
fresh: the beauties of the seraglio are less animated: the houris of
paradise less engaging. Never was so sweet an enjoyment offered to the
heart and senses of a mortal. Ah! had I at least been capable of fully
tasting of it for a single moment! I had tasted of it, but without a
charm. I enfeebled all its delights: I destroyed them as at will. No;
Nature has not made me capable of enjoyment. She has infused into my
wretched head the poison of that ineffable happiness, the desire of
which she first placed in my heart.
If there be a circumstance in my life, which describes my nature, it is
that which I am going to relate. The forcible manner in which I at
this moment recollect the object of my book, will here make me hold in
contempt the false delicacy which would prevent me from fulfilling it.
Whoever you may be who are desirous of knowing a man, have the courage
to read the two or three following pages, and you will become fully
acquainted with J. J. Rousseau.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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