The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Volume 06 — Jean-Jacques Rousseau — John Shaqi
The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Volume 06
Jean-Jacques Rousseau · en
I was neither dissolute nor sottish, never in my whole life having been
intoxicated with liquor; my little thefts were not very indiscreet, yet
they were discovered; the bottles betrayed me, and though no notice was
taken of it, I had no longer the management of the cellar. In all this
Monsieur Malby conducted himself with prudence and politeness, being
really a very deserving man, who, under a manner as harsh as his
employment, concealed a real gentleness of disposition and uncommon
goodness of heart: he was judicious, equitable, and (what would not be
expected from an officer of the Marechausse) very humane.
Sensible of his indulgence, I became greatly attached to him, which made
my stay at Lyons longer than it would otherwise have been; but at length,
disgusted with an employment which I was not calculated for, and a
situation of great confinement, consequently disagreeable to me, after a
year's trial, during which time I spared no pains to fulfill my
engagement, I determined to quit my pupils; being convinced I should
never succeed in educating them properly. Monsieur Malby saw this as
clearly as myself, though I am inclined to think he would never have
dismissed me had I not spared him the trouble, which was an excess of
condescension in this particular, that I certainly cannot justify.
What rendered my situation yet more insupportable was the comparison I
was continually drawing between the life I now led and that which I had
quitted; the remembrance of my dear Charmettes, my garden, trees,
fountain and orchard, but, above all, the company of her who was born to
give life and soul to every other enjoyment. On calling to mind our
pleasures and innocent life, I was seized with such oppressions and
heaviness of heart, as deprived me of the power of performing anything as
it should be. A hundred times was I tempted instantly to set off on foot
to my dear Madam de Warrens, being persuaded that could I once more see
her, I should be content to die that moment: in fine, I could no longer
resist the tender emotions which recalled me back to her, whatever it
might cost me. I accused myself of not having been sufficiently patient,
complaisant and kind; concluding I might yet live happily with her on the
terms of tender friendship, and by showing more for her than I had
hitherto done. I formed the finest projects in the world, burned to
execute them, left all, renounced everything, departed, fled, and
arriving in all the transports of my early youth, found myself once more
at her feet. Alas! I should have died there with joy, had I found in
her reception, in her embrace, or in her heart, one-quarter of what I had
formerly found there, and which I yet found the undiminished warmth of.