Produced by David Widger
THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)
Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society
London, 1903
After two years' silence and patience, and notwithstanding myresolutions, I again take up my pen: Reader, suspend your judgmentas to the reasons which force me to such a step: of these you can be nojudge until you shall have read my book.
My peaceful youth has been seen to pass away calmly and agreeably withoutany great disappointments or remarkable prosperity. This mediocrity wasmostly owing to my ardent yet feeble nature, less prompt in undertakingthan easy to discourage; quitting repose for violent agitations, butreturning to it from lassitude and inclinations, and which, placing me inan idle and tranquil state for which alone I felt I was born, at adistance from the paths of great virtues and still further from those ofgreat vices, never permitted me to arrive at anything great, either goodor bad. What a different account will I soon have to give of myself!Fate, which for thirty years forced my inclinations, for thirty othershas seemed to oppose them; and this continued opposition, between mysituation and inclinations, will appear to have been the source ofenormous faults, unheard of misfortunes, and every virtue except thatfortitude which alone can do honor to adversity.
The history of the first part of my life was written from memory, and isconsequently full of errors. As I am obliged to write the second partfrom memory also, the errors in it will probably be still more numerous.The agreeable remembrance of the finest portion of my years, passed withso much tranquillity and innocence, has left in my heart a thousandcharming impressions which I love incessantly to call to my recollection.It will soon appear how different from these those of the rest of my lifehave been. To recall them to my mind would be to renew their bitterness.Far from increasing that of my situation by these sorrowful reflections,I repel them as much as possible, and in this endeavor often succeed sowell as to be unable to find them at will. This facility of forgettingmy misfortunes is a consolation which Heaven has reserved to me in themidst of those which fate has one day to accumulate upon my head. Mymemory, which presents to me no objects but such as are agreeable, is thehappy counterpoise of my terrified imagination, by which I foreseenothing but a cruel futurity.
All the papers I had collected to aid my recollection, and guide me inthis undertaking, are no longer in my possession, nor can I ever againhope to regain them.
I have but one faithful guide on which I can depend: this is the chain ofthe sentiments by which the succession of my existence has been marked,and by these the events which have been either the cause or the effect ofthe manner of it. I easily forget my misfortunes, but I cannot forget myfaults, and still less my virtuous sentiments. The remembrance of theseis too dear to me ever to suffer them to be effaced from my mind. I mayomit facts, transpose events, and fall into some errors of dates; but Icannot be deceived in what I have felt, nor in that which from sentimentI have done; and to relate this is the chief end of my present work. Thereal object of my confessions is to communicate an exact knowledge ofwhat I interiorly am and have been in every situation of my life. I havepromised the history of my mind, and to write it faithfully I have noneed of other memoirs: to enter into my own heart, as I have hithertodone, will alone be sufficient.
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