Читать книгу The Reveries of the Solitary Walker - Jean-Jacques Rousseau - Страница 3

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BEHOLD me, then, as if alone upon the earth, having neither brother, relative, friend, or society, but my own thoughts; the most social and affectionate of men, proscribed, as it were, by unanimous consent. They have sought in the refinement of their hatred, what would be the most cruel torment to my susceptible soul, and have rent asunder every bond which attached me to them. I should have loved mankind in spite of themselves, and it was only by throwing off humanity that they could avoid my affection. At length, then, behold them strangers, unknown, as indifferent to me as they desired to be; but thus detached from mankind, and everything that relates to them, what am I? This remains to be sought. Unhappily, the search must be preceded by casting a glance on my own situation, since I must necessarily pass through this examination, in order to judge between them and myself.

It is now above fifteen years since I have been in this strange situation, which yet appears to me like a dream; ever imagining, that disturbed by indigestion, I sleep uneasily, but shall soon awake, freed from my troubles, and surrounded by my friends. Yes, surely, I have glided unconsciously from nightly watchings into profound sleep, or rather from life to death; dragged, I know not how, from the natural order of things, I find myself precipitated into an incomprehensible chaos, where I can distinguish nothing, and the more I consider my present situation, the less I seem to comprehend it.

How could I possibly foresee the destiny that awaited me? Or, how can I even now, though betrayed into this state, form any adequate idea of it? Could I, if in my right senses, suppose that one day, the man I was, and yet remain, should be taken, without any kind of doubt, for a monster, a poisoner, an assassin, the horror of the human race, the sport of the rabble, my only salutation to be spit upon, and that a whole generation would unanimously amuse themselves in burying me alive? When this strange revolution first happened, taken by unawares, I was overwhelmed with astonishment; my agitation, my indignation, plunged me into a delirium, which ten years have scarcely been able to calm: during this interval, falling from error to error, from fault to fault, and folly to folly, I have, by my imprudence, furnished the contrivers of my fate with instruments, which they have artfully employed to fix it without resource.

For a long time, my struggles were as violent as unavailing, employed without art, dissimulation, or prudence: warm, open, impatient, and frank in my disposition, every endeavour to disengage myself did but entangle me the more, and give my enemies incessant advantages, which they took care to improve: at length, finding all my efforts useless, all my uneasiness vain, I adopted the only means that remained; which was, to submit without murmuring to my fate; and found an indemnification for my misfortunes, by the tranquillity, which this resignation procured me, and which could not be allied with the continual struggle of a painful and ineffectual resistance.

Another circumstance has contributed to this tranquillity: in the eagerness of their malice, my persecutors had omitted one thing highly necessary to the accomplishment of their designs, this was, to portion out the effects of their malice in such a manner that they might maintain and renew my sorrows by successive oppressions. Had they possessed the skill to have left me some beam of hope, they might have held me by that, and continued me their play-thing by false lures, till at length they had totally overwhelmed me by successive torments, arising from deceived expectation; but they exhausted all their inventions at once, and in stripping me of every hope, deprived themselves of every resource. The defamation, oppression, scandal, and derision with which they have loaded me, are no more capable of augmentation than they are of being palliated, and can no more increase my misfortunes, than I can remove them; they have been so precipitate in bringing my misery to the utmost pitch, that all the powers on earth, aided by all the machinations of hell, can add nothing to it; even bodily pains, instead of augmenting my calamities, serve only to divert them, and while they extort groans, prevent shudderings; the pangs of my body making me less sensible to those of my soul.

What then have I to fear from mankind, since my situation cannot be rendered worse? No more can they alarm me; inquietude and fear are evils from which they have delivered me forever; which is no insignificant consolation. Present evils make little impression on me; when I encounter them, I readily take my measures; but it is different with those that keep me in doubt; alarmed imagination combines, turns, extends, and augments the idea of them, tormenting me an hundred times more than their reality can do, the threat being ever more terrible than the stroke. When misfortunes actually arrive, being stripped of every imaginary horror, and reduced to their real weight, I always think them much less than I had feared, and find relief even in the midst of my sufferings. In this state, freed from fear, and delivered from suspense and hope, even custom alone will suffice to render that situation daily more supportable, which no calamities can render worse. By degrees, the sensation of unhappiness becomes less acute, when there remains no possibility of giving it re-animation; and this service I have received from my persecutors, for by showering down at once the whole violence of their animosity, they have lost all authority over me, and hereafter I can securely laugh at their malice.

For about two months since, a complete calm has been re-established in my heart. I had long been a stranger to fear; but I continued to encourage hope; this sentiment sometimes flattered, sometimes frustrated, was a medium, through which a thousand different passions found means to agitate me: an event, as melancholy as it was unforeseen, has at length banished from my heart every beam of hope, and made me consider my worldly destiny as irrevocably fixed; since then, I have resigned myself without reserve, and have regained my tranquillity. When I became acquainted with the extent of the plot formed against me, I totally gave tip the idea of regaining, during life, the good opinion of the public; and even was this acquisition possible, the confidence could not be reciprocal, and consequently must be useless. Should mankind return to me it would be vain, I am no longer to be found; they have inspired me with such disgust, that their commerce would not only be insipid, but painful; and I am an hundred times happier in my solitude, than I could possibly be in their company. They have torn from my heart all the sweets of society, which at my age can never spring up again; 'tis too late!—henceforward let them do me good or harm it is perfectly indifferent, my contemporaries can never give me a moment of concern.

I once looked forward to the future, and hoped for a better generation, who, examining with care and impartiality the opinion formed by the present, and thence forming a judgment between us, would easily unravel the artifice of those who gave rise to it, and view me as I really am. This hope suggested the idea of writing my Dialogues, with a thousand useless expedients to make them reach posterity, and though distant, kept my mind in the same agitation as when I endeavoured to find a mind actuated by principles of justice in the present age, still rendering me the sport of my contemporaries. I have mentioned in my Dialogues, on what this expectation was founded; it was a mistake, and I have happily discovered my error time enough to enjoy before my last hour an interval of perfect tranquillity. This interval began from the time I have already mentioned, and I have reason to believe will never more be interrupted.

Few days pass, without my being confirmed by new reflections, how much I erred in flattering myself that I should ever recover the good opinion of the public, even in a future age; considering it is conducted by guides who are perpetually renewed in those very societies that hold me in such implacable aversion. Particulars die, but collective bodies never can; the same passions are perpetuated, and their ardent hatred, immortal as the demon that inspires it, has ever the same activity. Though all my particular enemies should be no more, Physicians and Oratorians will still exist, and should I have no other persecutors, those two description of people, I may be assured, will show no more savour to my memory, than they have done to my person. Perhaps in the course of time, the Physicians whom I have really offended, might be appeased; but the Oratorians, whom I loved, esteemed, in whom I placed the utmost confidence, and whom I never offended, the Oratorians,* church-men, and half-monks, will be forever implacable, their own iniquity being my crime, which self-love can never par on; and the public, whose animosity they will continually increase and re-animate, will no more be appeased than themselves.

[* An order of priests, who take their name from the orator of St. Jerome, at Rome.]

My fate, therefore, is absolutely fixed; no circumstance can bring me either good or evil; nothing remains for me either to hope or fear in this world; yet, though plunged into this fearful abyss, behold me tranquil!—poor, unfortunate, and infirm; but completely beyond the reach of suffering.

Every future occurrence will be immaterial to me; I have in the world neither relative, friend, or brother; I am on the earth, as if I had fallen into some unknown planet; if I contemplate anything around me, it is only distressing, heart rending objects; everything I cast my eyes on, conveys some new subject either of indignation or affliction; I will endeavour, henceforward, to banish from my mind all painful ideas, which unavailingly distress me. Alone for the rest of my life, I must only look for consolation, hope, or peace, in my own breast; and neither ought, or will, henceforward, think of anything but myself. It is in this state, that I return to the continuation of that severe and just examination which I formerly called my Confessions; I consecrate my latter days to the study of myself; and to the preparation of that account, which I must shortly render up of my actions. I resign my thoughts entirely to the pleasure of conversing with my own soul; that being the only consolation that man cannot deprive me of. If by dint of reflection on my internal propensities, I can, attain to putting them in better order, and correcting the evil that remains in me, their meditations will not be utterly useless; and though I am accounted worthless on earth, shall not cast away my latter days. The leisure of my daily walks has frequently been filled with charming contemplations, which I regret having forgot; but will write down those that occur in future; then, every time I read them over, I shall forget my misfortunes, disgraces, and persecutors, on recollecting, and contemplating, the integrity of my own heart.

These sheets will only contain a concise journals of my reveries, treating principally of myself, because a solitary must be very much employed with his own person, but if during my walk other ideas pass through my mind, they shall equally find place. I will relate my thoughts, precisely as they strike me, and with as little connection as the ideas of yesterday have with those of today, since from these will result a clearer knowledge of my temper, with the complexion and tendency of those thoughts and sentiments which are my daily food, in the singular situation I am thrown into, than could otherwise be obtained. These sheets, should, therefore be looked on as an appendix to my Confessions; but I no longer give them that name, since I have more anything to say that suits the appellation my heart is purified by repeated strokes of adversity and I can hardly find, though I search with the utmost care, any remains of reprehensible inclinations. What should I confess then, when all terrestrial affections are erased? I have as little to praise as blame, for henceforward I am nothing among mankind; nor can I ever be otherwise, possessing no actual relation or real society'; no longer having it in my power to attempt any good, which would not turn to evil, nor to act without injuring either others or myself, thus obstinacy has become my greatest duty, and I maintain it to the utmost of my power. But in this inactive state of body my soul is still alive, producing thoughts and sentiments; its moral and internal faculties, appear to have augmented by the death of every earthly and temporal concern; my body is only an embarrassment, an obstacle, which I already endeavour to disengage myself from.

A situation so singular, certainly deserves to be both examined and described; it is to this examination I consecrate my future days, and in order to accomplish it with success, I should proceed with circumspection and methods but I am incapable of such labour, nay it would even divert me from my purpose, which is to render an account to myself of the successive modifications of my soul. In some measure, I perform the operation on myself, which physicians do on the air, in order to ascertain the daily condition of it; applying (if I may use the expression) the barometer to my soul, not doubting but these experiments, well directed, and constantly repeated, will procure information equally to be depended on; but I do not equally extend my views, content with keeping a register of operations, without seeking to reduce them into a system. I undertake the same enterprise Montaigne did, but for a direct contrary purpose; he wrote his Essays only for others, I my Reveries entirely for myself. If in my more advanced age, and on the verge of dissolution, I remain (according to my present wish) in the same disposition, I shall recollect, on reading these Reveries, the pleasure I experienced on writing them; and thus, recalling past time, shall redouble my existence. Even in spite of mankind, I shall yet enjoy the charms of society, and, when decrepit with age, hold converse with myself, as I now should with a friend younger than I am.

I wrote the first of my Confessions, and my Dialogues, in continual care; being anxious to preserve them from the rapacious hands of my enemies, and transmit them, if possible, to other generations, This uneasiness no longer torments me, I know what I write will be useless, and a desire to be better known by mankind is extinguished in my heart, where nothing remains but profound indifference on the fate of my real writings and monuments of my innocence, which, perhaps, are by this time totally annihilated. Let them watch all my motions, and disquiet themselves about these sheets; let them seize, suppress, and defame them, it is henceforward absolutely equal to me; I will neither conceal, or endeavour to make them public; if they are taken from me while I live, they cannot deprive me of the pleasure of having wrote them, the remembrance of their contents, or the solitary meditations of which they are the transcript, and whose source can only be exhausted with my being.

If, at the beginning of my calamities, I had but known how to refrain from struggling with my fate; could I have adopted the method I do at present; all the efforts of man, all their tremendous contrivances, would have been ineffectual; their plots would no more have destroyed my tranquillity, than the success of them can henceforward. Let them enjoy my disgrace, they cannot debar me from the enjoyment of my innocence; and I shall conclude my days in peace, spite of all their machinations.