The Confessions

by Jean-Jacques Rousseau

  While waiting for a reply, I began to reflect on my situation, and to consider what course of action I should follow. I saw so many difficulties on every side, my sorrows had so affected me, and my health at that moment was so bad, that I allowed myself to break down entirely, and the effect of my prostration was to deprive me of the few resources which might possibly still remain in my head for extricating myself from my melancholy situation in the most efficient way. No matter what place I might choose for a refuge, I clearly could not safeguard myself against either of the two methods which had been used to expel me, the first of inciting the population against me by underground intrigues, and the second of expelling me by naked force without offering any reasons. I could not, therefore, count on any safe retreat unless I were to go much further than my strength or the season seemed to allow. All this brought me back to the ideas that had just been preoccupying me; and I ventured to put forward my wish that they should keep me in perpetual captivity rather than send me as a ceaseless wanderer over the face of the earth, expelled from every refuge I might choose, one after another. Two days after my first letter I wrote M. de Graffenried again, asking him to put this proposal before Their Excellencies. The reply from Berne to both these letters was an order, couched in the most formal and severe language, to leave the island and all territory belonging directly or indirectly to the Republic within the space of twenty-four hours and never to return, under pain of grievous penalties.

  It was a terrible moment. I have found myself since in worse anguish but never in greater difficulties. But what most distressed me was to be forced to give up the scheme by which I had planned to spend the winter on the island. It is time to relate the fatal incident which came as a crowning disaster, and dragged after me to their ruin an unfortunate people, whose budding virtues already promised one day to equal those of Sparta and of Rome. I had spoken of the Corsicans in The Social Contract as an unspoiled people, the only people in Europe which was not ruined by legislation; and I had observed what great hopes might be placed in such a people if they should be so fortunate as to find a wise instructor. My work was read by some Corsicans who appreciated the respectful terms in which I had spoken of them; and it occurred to their chief men who were working for the establishment of a republic to ask my advice about the task on which they were engaged. A M. Buttafuoco, a member of one of the leading families of the island and a captain in the French Royal Italian Regiment, wrote to me on the subject, and provided me with several documents for which I had asked, that would give me information about the history of the Corsicans and the state of their country. M. Paoli* also wrote to me several times; and although I felt such an enterprise to be beyond my strength, I did not think that I could refuse my assistance in so great and noble a task, once I had obtained all the necessary information I required. It was to this effect that I answered them both, and our correspondence continued until my departure.

  Precisely at this moment I learnt that France was sending troops to Corsica and had made a treaty with the Genoese. Both the treaty and the despatch of troops disturbed me; and although I did not yet imagine that all this had anything to do with me, I concluded that it would be absurd and impossible to work on a project requiring such complete tranquillity as the organization of a people, at a moment when they were perhaps on the point of being subjugated. I did not conceal my concern from M. Buttafuoco, who calmed me by the assurance that if there were any clauses in the treaty which compromised the freedom of his people, a good citizen like himself would not remain, as he was, in the French service. Indeed his zeal for a Corsican constitution and his close connexion with M. Paoli made it impossible for me to suspect his attitude; and when I learnt that he made frequent journeys to Versailles and to Fontainebleau and that he was in touch with M. de Choiseul, I merely concluded that he had assurances as to the true intentions of the French Court which he would tell me by word of mouth, but which he did not care boldly to set out in letters.

  All this partially reassured me. However, being still quite unable to understand the despatch of French troops, or reasonably to suppose that they were there to defend Corsican liberty, which the Corsicans were perfectly capable of defending against the Genoese without assistance, I could not set my mind completely at rest, or seriously concern myself with the proposed constitution, until I had solid proof that the whole thing was not a joke at my expense. I should very much have liked an interview with M. Buttafuoco, the only real way of getting the explanations which I wanted. He held out hopes, and I looked forward to a meeting with the greatest impatience. I do not know whether he, for his part, seriously intended to meet me. But even if he had my disasters would have prevented my taking advantage of any opportunity.

  The more I thought over the proposed undertaking and the more closely I examined the documents that had been sent me, the more I felt the necessity of studying on the spot the people to be legislated for, the soil they inhabited, and all the circumstances governing the application of new laws to the Corsicans. Every day I was more conscious that I could not acquire at a distance all the knowledge I needed to guide me. I told Buttafuoco this by letter, he realized it himself, and though I did not exactly decide to go to Corsica I thought a good deal about ways of making the journey. I spoke of it to M. Dastier, who had once served on the island under M. de Maillebois, and so of course knew it. He did all he could to dissuade me from the idea; and I admit that the frightful picture of the Corsicans and their country that he drew for me greatly tempered my desire to go and live among them.

  But when my persecution at Motiers made me think of leaving Switzerland, this desire was rekindled by the hope of finding at last among the islanders the tranquillity that was denied me everywhere. Only one thing about this journey alarmed me: my unfitness for the active life to which I should be condemned, and the aversion I had always felt towards it. I was formed to meditate at leisure and in solitude, but not to speak, act, and do business amongst men. Nature, in endowing me with the former capacities, had denied me the latter. I felt, however, that without taking a direct part in public affairs I should be compelled, as soon as I landed in Corsica, to yield to popular pressure and to hold frequent conferences with the leaders. The very object of my voyage required that, instead of seeking retirement, I should gather the information I needed from amongst the people themselves. It was clear that I should no longer be my own master; that I should be dragged despite myself into a vortex for which I was unfitted; that in it I should lead a life quite contrary to my inclinations, and should always show myself at a disadvantage. I foresaw that in the flesh I should disappoint the expectations of my capabilities which the Corsicans had probably formed from my books; that I should discredit myself in their eyes, as much to their detriment as to my own; and that I should lose the confidence they had placed in me, without which I could not successfully carry out the task they expected of me. I was certain that by thus departing from my own sphere, I should become useless to them, and make myself unhappy.

  A tortured creature, battered by every kind of storm, and wearied by many years of travelling and persecutions, I strongly felt the need of that repose which my savage enemies denied me for their own amusement. More than ever did I sigh for that delightful idleness, for that sweet repose of body and spirit, which I had coveted so dearly and in which, cured now of my desire for love and friendship, I knew my sole and supreme felicity to be. I could envisage with nothing but apprehension the labours I was about to undertake and the tumultuous life to which I should be abandoning myself; and though the greatness, the beauty, and usefulness of the cause gave me some encouragement, the impossibility of successfully taking a personal part in it completely sapped me of strength. Twenty years of profound and solitary meditation would have cost me less than six months of active life among men and affairs, with the certainty of failure at the end of it.

  I thought of an expedient which seemed likely to settle everything. Pursued wherever I took refuge by the underground plots of my
secret persecutors, and seeing no place but Corsica in which I could hope for peace in my old age, which they were trying to deny me everywhere, I decided to go there, under the direction of M. Buttafuoco, as soon as I had the chance. But in order to live there at peace I resolved to give up, at least ostensibly, my work on the legislation and to confine myself to writing their history on the spot, as a means of to some extent repaying my hosts for their hospitality. I made the reservation, however, that I would quietly gather the information which would enable me to be more useful to them, should I see any prospect of success. Beginning in this way by committing myself to nothing, I hoped to reach a state in which I could think out, in secret and at greater leisure, a plan which might suit them; and that without seriously encroaching on my beloved solitude or submitting myself to a kind of life unbearable to me and for which I had no faculty.

  But as I was situated the journey was not an easy one to take. To judge from M. Dastier’s information about Corsica I should have none of the simplest comforts of life there, unless I took them: linen, clothes, crockery, kitchen utensils, paper, and books, all these I should have to carry with me. To get myself there with Thérèse, I should have to cross the Alps, and drag a whole outfit with me for six hundred miles. I should have to pass through the territory of various princes and, considering the general attitude to me throughout Europe, I should now naturally have to be prepared, after all my troubles, to meet with obstacles everywhere; and to find everyone rejoicing to heap some fresh misfortune on my head, and in my person to violate all the laws of men and nations. The immense cost, and the fatigues and risks of such a journey, obliged me to look ahead and carefully to assess all the difficulties. The thought of finding myself in the end alone and without resources, at my age and far from all acquaintances, at the mercy of the cruel and savage people that M. Dastier described, was sufficient to make me reflect upon such a plan before putting it into execution. I passionately desired the interview which Buttafuoco had led me to hope for, and I awaited the result of it before coming to a final decision.

  Whilst I was thus hesitating there came my persecution at Motiers, which forced me to retire. I was not prepared for a long journey, especially to Corsica. I was waiting to hear from Buttafuoco, and took refuge on the island of Saint-Pierre, from which I was driven at the beginning of the winter, as I have already recorded. The Alps were covered with snow, and departure in that direction was consequently impracticable, particularly at the short notice afforded me. It is true that the order was too preposterous to be capable of execution. For in my lonely retreat, surrounded by water, with only twenty-four hours allowed me from the reception of the order in which to prepare my departure, to find boats to take me from the island and carriages in which to leave Bernese territory; even if I had possessed wings I should have found it difficult to obey. I told the Governor of Nidau this in my reply to his letter, and I hastened to depart from that land of iniquity. Thus I was compelled to give up my cherished scheme, and having been unable in my dejection to prevail on them to arrange for me themselves, I decided, at my Lord Marshal’s invitation, to go to Berlin, leaving Thérèse with my books and possessions to winter on the island of Saint-Pierre, and depositing my papers in Du Peyrou’s keeping. I made such haste that I left the island the very next morning and was in Bienne before midday. But my journey was almost terminated there by an incident which I must not omit to describe.

  As soon as the report got around that I had been ordered to leave my refuge I received an influx of visitors from the neighbourhood, especially of Bernese, who came with the most detestable hypocrisy to flatter and soothe me, and to protest that advantage had been taken of the holidays and the absence of many senators to pass and convey to me this order, at which they assured me the whole Two Hundred were indignant. Among this crowd of comforters came some from the town of Bienne, a small free state enclosed within the territory of Berne, and among them a young man called Wildremet whose family was a leading one and the most influential in that little town, and who begged me warmly on behalf of his fellow citizens to take shelter amongst them. He assured me that they were fervently anxious to receive me, that they would consider it an honour and a pleasure to make me forget the persecution I had suffered, and that I had no reason to fear any Bernese influence upon them; for Bienne was a free city, under no one’s jurisdiction, and its citizens were unanimously determined to pay no attention to any request prejudicial to me.

  When he saw that I remained unmoved, Wildremet summoned several other persons to his aid, from Bienne and its district and even from Berne, amongst them that same Kirchberger whom I have mentioned, who had sought me out on my retirement to Switzerland, and whose abilities and principles had attracted me to him. But more unexpected and weightier arguments came from M. Barthès, the secretary to the French Embassy, who came to see me with Wildremet, strongly urged me to accept his invitation, and astonished me by the lively and kindly interest he appeared to take in me. I did not know M. Barthès at all. Nevertheless I seemed to detect all the warmth and eagerness of friendship in his words, and I saw that he was really anxious to persuade me to settle at Bienne. He praised the town and its inhabitants in high-flown language, and seemed to be on such intimate terms with the latter that several times he spoke of them in my presence as his patrons and his fathers.

  This move of Barthès upset all my theories. I had always suspected M. de Choiseul of being the hidden author of all the persecutions I had suffered in Switzerland. The behaviour of the French Resident at Geneva and of the Ambassador at Solcure lent only too strong a confirmation to my suspicions. I saw secret French influence behind all that had happened at Berne, at Geneva, and at Neuchâtel; and I thought that the one powerful enemy I had in France was the Duke de Choiseul. What could I make then of Barthès’ visit and of the friendly interest he seemed to take in my fortunes? My misfortunes had not yet destroyed the trustfulness that was in my nature, and experience had not yet taught me to see a snare in every show of kindness. In great surprise, I looked for a reason for this benevolence of Barthès, not being stupid enough to suppose that he was acting on his own initiative. I could see an ostentation, and even some air of pretence, about his behaviour that spoke of a hidden purpose. For I had certainly never found in any of these inferior agents the boldness and generosity which often coursed through my own veins when I was in a similar post.

  I had once been slighdy acquainted with the Chevalier de Beauteville at M. de Luxembourg’s, and he had shown me some kindness. Since becoming ambassador, he had given me an occasional sign that he had not forgotten me, and had even invited me to visit him at Soleure. I had been touched by his invitation, but I had not accepted it, being unaccustomed to such polite treatment from those in high places. I accordingly assumed that M. de Beauteville, though compelled to follow his instructions in matters concerning Geneva, nevertheless pitied me in my distress and had procured me by his private endeavours this refuge at Bienne, where I should be able to live quietly under his protection. I was grateful for this kindness, though I did not mean to take advantage of it. For I had quite made up my mind to go to Berlin, and was eagerly looking forward to the moment when I should be with my Lord Marshal again, being convinced that only with him should I find real repose and lasting happiness.

  When I left the island Kirchberger accompanied me to Bienne, and there I found Wildremet and some of his fellow citizens waiting for me to land. We all dined together at the inn; and when I got there my first care was to order a conveyance, since I intended to leave next morning. During the meal these gentlemen again tried to persuade me to remain with them, and this with such warmth and such touching protestations that, despite all my resolutions, my heart, which has never been able to withstand affection, was moved by theirs. As soon as they saw that I was hesitating they redoubled their entreaties with such success that I finally allowed myself to be overborne and agreed to stay at Bienne at least until the spring.

  Immediately Wildremet rushed to f
ind me a lodging, and glowingly described as a great find a wretched little third-floor room at the back of a house, looking on to a courtyard, where I had for a view the display of stinking skins belonging to a leather-dresser. My landlord was a little unpleasant-looking man and a fair rascal who, as I learned next morning, was a rake and a gambler with a very poor reputation in his district. He had neither wife nor children nor servants; and though I was in the most delightful country in the world so miserable was my lodging that in the sad confinement of my solitary room I felt liable to the of melancholy within a very few days. What most affected me was that, despite all that had been said of the inhabitants’ eagerness to welcome me, I observed no civility in their behaviour to me as I walked through the streets, and no friendliness in their looks. I was, however, quite determined to stay there until I learnt, saw, and felt on the very next day that the town was in a state of violent excitement on my account. Several people obligingly hastened to warn me that tomorrow I should be served with an order, in the stiffest possible terms, commanding me to leave the State – that is the town. I had no one whom I could trust; all those who had persuaded me to stay had scattered. Wildremet had disappeared, I heard no more of Barthès, and it did not look as if his recommendation had won me any great favour with his patrons and fathers of whom he had boasted in front of me. A M. de Vau-Travers, a Bernese who had a pretty house near the town, nevertheless offered me a refuge there, in the hope, as he said, that there at least I should avoid being stoned. That attraction did not seem to me a tempting enough reason for prolonging my stay among this hospitable people.