The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Complete
Jean-Jacques Rousseau · en
I apprehended that I should meet with difficulties, on account of having
changed my religion, but none occurred; the laws of Geneva being less
harsh in that particular than those of Berne, where, whoever changes
his religion, not only loses his freedom, but his property. My rights,
however, were not disputed: but I found my patrimony, I know not how,
reduced to very little, and though it was known almost to a certainty
that my brother was dead, yet, as there was no legal proof, I could not
lay claim to his share, which I left without regret to my father, who
enjoyed it as long as he lived. No sooner were the necessary formalities
adjusted, and I had received my money, some of which I expended in
books, than I flew with the remainder to Madam de Warens; my heart beat
with joy during the journey, and the moment in which I gave the money
into her hands, was to me a thousand times more delightful than that
which gave it into mine. She received this with a simplicity common to
great souls, who, doing similar actions without effort, see them without
admiration; indeed it was almost all expended for my use, for it
would have been employed in the same manner had it come from any other
quarter.
My health was not yet re-established; I decayed visibly, was pale as
death, and reduced to an absolute skeleton; the beating of my arteries
was extreme, my palpitations were frequent: I was sensible of a
continual oppression, and my weakness became at length so great, that I
could scarcely move or step without danger of suffocation, stoop without
vertigoes, or lift even the smallest weight, which reduced me to the
most tormenting inaction for a man so naturally stirring as myself.
It is certain my disorder was in a great measure hypochondriacal. The
vapors is a malady common to people in fortunate situations: the tears I
frequently shed, without reason; the lively alarms I felt on the falling
of a leaf, or the fluttering of a bird; inequality of humor in the
calm of a most pleasing life; lassitude which made me weary even of
happiness, and carried sensibility to extravagance, were an instance of
this. We are so little formed for felicity, that when the soul and
body do not suffer together, they must necessarily endure separate
inconveniences, the good state of the one being almost always injurious
to the happiness of the other. Had all the pleasure of life courted
me, my weakened frame would not have permitted the enjoyment of them,
without my being able to particularize the real seat of my complaint;
yet in the decline of life; after having encountered very serious and
real evils, my body seemed to regain its strength, as if on purpose
to encounter additional misfortunes; and, at the moment I write this,
though infirm, near sixty, and overwhelmed with every kind of sorrow, I
feel more ability to suffer than I ever possessed for enjoyment when in
the very flower of my age, and in the bosom of real happiness.