I began living over again the first years of my life, and recalling tomyself the conversations of that guide whom God in his mercy had givenme, and whom in his severity he had too soon withdrawn.
In fact, the talents granted to a single individual do not benefithimself alone, but are gifts to the world; everyone shares them, foreveryone suffers or benefits by his actions. Genius is a lighthouse,meant to give light from afar; the man who bears it is but the rock uponwhich this lighthouse is built.
Sometimes, however, the minister still gives way to his old feelings; hereceives or visits his friends privately; he shuts himself up with them,and talks of the times when they could be open friends. By dint ofprecautions they have hitherto succeeded in concealing this blot offriendship against policy; but sooner or later the newspapers will beinformed of it, and will denounce him to the country as an object ofdistrust.
Who knows whether we do not obey the same instinct in submitting to thehand of power? Apart from the requirements of a gradation of ranks, orthe consequences of a conquest, the multitude delight to surround theirchiefs with privileges--whether it be that their vanity makes them thusto aggrandize one of their own creations, or whether they try to concealthe humiliation of subjection by exaggerating the importance of those whorule them. They wish to honor themselves through their master; theyelevate him on their shoulders as on a pedestal; they surround him with ahalo of light, in order that some of it may be reflected upon themselves.
One day, as he was going toward the wood of Viroflay, he met, close toit, a stranger who was occupied in botanizing and in sorting the plantshe had just gathered. He was an elderly man with an honest face; but hiseyes, which were rather deep-set under his eyebrows, had a somewhatuneasy and timid expression. He was dressed in a brown cloth coat, agray waistcoat, black breeches, and worsted stockings, and held an ivory-headed cane under his arm. His appearance was that of a small retiredtradesman who was living on his means, and rather below the golden meanof Horace.
I took leave of my friend, and here I am at home. What I have just seenis an answer to my doubts the other day. Now I know with what pangs menpay for their dignities; now I understandThat Fortune sells what we believe she gives.
[Henry VIII., Act II., Scene 3.]
Just then they reached the paved road which led from Meudon Castle tothat of Versailles; a carriage was passing.
But, among the arrows shot at him from every side, would no one be foundpoisoned? Would not one reach some spot in his heart where the woundwould be incurable? What is the worth of a life exposed to the attacksof envious hatred or furious conviction? The Christians yielded only thefragments of their flesh to the beasts of the amphitheatres; the man inpower gives up his peace, his affections, his honor, to the cruel bitesof the pen.
12th, seven oclock, P.M.--On coming home this evening, I saw, standingat the door of a house, an old man, whose appearance and featuresreminded me of my father. There was the same beautiful smile, the samedeep and penetrating eye, the same noble bearing of the head, and thesame careless attitude.
My father insisted upon it with his habitual good-nature; but, the moreeagerness he showed, the more obstinately the old man refused; it evenseemed to my father that his good intention at last excited hissuspicion. He therefore contented himself with pointing out the road tothe stranger, whom he saluted, and he soon lost sight of him.
How many similar inscriptions are there! Seas, continents, mountains,stars, and monuments, have all in succession served the same purpose! Wehave turned the whole world into a Golden Book, like that in which thestate of Venice used to enroll its illustrious names and its great deeds.
The new minister has old friends whose opinions he opposes, though hestill retains his personal regard for them. Though separated from themby the colors he fights under, they remain united by old associations;but the exigencies of party forbid him to meet them. If theirintercourse continued, it would awaken suspicion; people would imaginethat some dishonorable bargain was going on; his friends would be held tobe traitors desirous to sell themselves, and he the corrupt ministerprepared to buy them. He has, therefore, been obliged to break offfriendships of twenty years standing, and to sacrifice attachments whichhad become a second nature.
Whenever you wish to know the worth of fame, remember that you have seenRousseau."
The stranger asked him with a smile if he might without impertinence askthe name of it. My father answered that it was Rousseaus Emile.
What shall I say of the falls in which its possessors are precipitatedfrom the heights of heaven to the very depths of the earth? of that pathof pain along which they must forever bear the burden of theirresponsibility? of that chain of decorums and ennuis which encompassesevery act of their lives, and leaves them so little liberty?
Tis better to be lowly born,And range with humble livers in content,Than to be perkd up in a glistering grief,And wear a golden sorrow.
In ancient Rome this latter month was called Quintiles (the fifth),because the year, which was then divided into only ten parts, began inMarch. When Numa Pompilius divided it into twelve months this name ofQuintiles was preserved, as well as those that followed--Sexteles,September, October, November, December--although these designations didnot accord with the newly arranged order of the months. At last, after atime the month Quintiles, in which Julius Caesar was born, was calledJulius, whence we have July. Thus this name, placed in the calendar, isbecome the imperishable record of a great man; it is an immortal epitaphon Times highway, engraved by the admiration of man.
My father remained motionless, confounded, and amazed, his eyes wideopen, and his hands clasped.
"It is a Deutaria heptaphyllos," said he; "I have not yet seen any ofthem in these woods; did you find it near here, sir?"
Yesterday the month dedicated to Juno (Junius, June) by the Romans ended.
My father, who had great respect for age, civilly raised his hat to himas he passed. In doing so, a plant he held fell from his hand; thestranger stooped to take it up, and recognized it.
Among the stories with which he enlivened our walks or our evenings,there is one which now returns to my memory, doubtless because the timeis come to derive its lesson from it.
My father, who was apprenticed at the age of twelve to one of thosetrading collectors who call themselves naturalists, because they put allcreation under glasses that they may sell it by retail, had always led alife of poverty and labor. Obliged to rise before daybreak, by turnsshop-boy, clerk, and laborer, he was made to bear alone all the work of atrade of which his master reaped all the profits. In truth, this latterhad a peculiar talent for making the most of the labor of other people.
Then the carriage disappeared in the distance.
"A thousand thanks, sir," said he to my father. "I have found all thatyou told me of, and I am indebted to you for a charming walk."
My father was a slave all the week, and could call himself his own onlyon Sunday. The master naturalist, who used to spend the day at the houseof an old female relative, then gave him his liberty on condition that hedined out, and at his own expense. But my father used secretly to takewith him a crust of bread, which he hid in his botanizing-box, and,leaving Paris as soon as it was day, he would wander far into the valleyof Montmorency, the wood of Meudon, or among the windings of the Marne.
My father, astonished at the excitement with which his companionpronounced these last words, did not know what to answer.
The stranger immediately became grave.
And yet I have only glanced at some of the sufferings attached to power.
July 8th, noon.--I went this morning to call upon a friend from the sameprovince as myself, who is the first usher-in-waiting to one of ourministers. I took him some letters from his family, left for him by atraveller just come from Brittany. He wished me to stay.
Not that he endeavored to make me feel it so: my father feared everythingthat had the appearance of a lesson. He used to say that virtue couldmake herself devoted friends, but she did not take pupils: therefore hewas not desirous to teach goodness; he contented himself with sowing theseeds of it, certain that experience would make them grow.
He was loaded with plants, the collection of which seemed to have put himinto high good-humor.
says Voltaire, "by reading it one can tell all that the sovereigns ofSpain have done, or will do, from Philip II to the day of judgment." Itwas by this law that Philip III, when sick, was obliged to endure such anexcess of heat that he died in consequence, because the Duke of Uzeda,who alone had the right to put out the fire in the royal chamber,happened to be absent.
Near me there was a man looking on with hollow cheeks and eager eyes,whose thin black coat was threadbare. He followed with envious looksthese possessors of the privileges ofpower or of fame, and I read on hislips, which curled with a bitter smile, all that passed in his mind.
"You see," said he, with the bitter misanthropy which his latermisfortunes had produced in him, "Jean Jacques cannot even hide himself:
Sunday, July 1st.
This servile vanity is not less natural or less common than the vanity ofdominion. Whoever feels himself incapable of command, at least desiresto obey a powerful chief.Serfs have been known to consider themselvesdishonored when they became the property of a mere count after havingbeen that of a prince, and Saint-Simon mentions a valet who would onlywait upon marquises.
"To-day," said he, "the Minister gives no audience: he takes a day ofrest with his family. His younger sisters are arrived; he will take themthis morning to St. Cloud, and in the evening he has invited his friendsto a private ball. I shall be dismissed directly for the rest of theday. We can dine together; read the news while you are waiting for me."
Though unfit himself for the execution of any kind of work, no one knewbetter how to sell it. His words were a net, in which people foundthemselves taken before they were aware. And since he was devoted tohimself alone, and looked on the producer as his enemy, and the buyer asprey, he used them both with that obstinate perseverance which avariceteaches.
The partisans of despotism adhere with reason to forms and ceremonies.
Excited by the fresh air, the penetrating perfume of the growingvegetation, or the fragrance of the honeysuckles, he would walk on untilhunger or fatigue made itself felt. Then he would sit under a hedge, orby the side of a stream, and would make a rustic feast, by turns onwatercresses, wood strawberries, and blackberries picked from the hedges;he would gather a few plants, read a few pages of Florian, then ingreatest vogue, of Gessner, who was just translated, or of Jean Jacques,of whom he possessed three old volumes. The day was thus passedalternately in activity and rest, in pursuit and meditation, until thedeclining sun warned him to take again the road to Paris, where he wouldarrive, his feet torn and dusty, but his mind invigorated for a wholeweek.
My father respectfully rose, and made a civil reply. The stranger hadgrown quite familiar, and even asked if his young "brother botanist" didnot think of returning to Paris. My father replied in the affirmative,and opened his tin box to put his book back in it.
Do genius and authority really wear life as a crown, while the greaterpart of mankind receive it as a yoke? Is the difference of rank but adifferent use of mens dispositions and talents, or a real inequality intheir destinies? A solemn question, as it regards the verification ofGods impartiality.
The ladies who were in it perceived the old man, uttered an exclamationof surprise, and leaning out of the window repeated:
He was then about to read these accusations, to suffer silently the abuseof all those tongues which were holding him up to indignation or toscorn! Like the Roman victor in his triumph, he had to endure theinsults of him who followed his car, relating to the crowd his follies,his ignorance, or his vices.
Just as I had finished reading, a secretary came for them to take them tohis master.
When the wife of Charles II was run away with on a spirited horse, shewas about to perish before anyone dared to save her, because etiquetteforbade them to touch the queen. Two young officers endangered theirlives for her by stopping the horse. The prayers and tears of her whomthey had just snatched from death were necessary to obtain pardon fortheir crime. Every one knows the anecdote related by Madame Campan ofMarie Antoinette, wife of Louis XVI. One day, being at her toilet, whenthe chemise was about to be presented to her by one of the assistants, alady of very ancient family entered and claimed the honor, as she had theright by etiquette; but, at the moment she was about to fulfil her duty,a lady of higher rank appeared, and in her turn took the garment she wasabout to offer to the queen; when a third lady of still higher title camein her turn, and was followed by a fourth, who was no other than thekings sister. The chemise was in this manner passed from hand to hand,with ceremonies, courtesies, and compliments, before it came to thequeen, who, half naked and quite ashamed, was shivering with cold for thegreat honor of etiquette.
But, after all, these idols are men, and, if the exclusive life they mustlead is an insult to the dignity of others, it is also a torment tothemselves. Everyone knows the law of the Spanish court, which used toregulate, hour by hour, the actions of the king and queen; "so that,"
It seems that mankind feels a necessity for honoring itself in its electones, and that it raises itself in its own eyes by choosing heroes fromamong its own race. The human family love to preserve the memory; of theparvenus of glory, as we cherish that of a great ancestor, or of abenefactor.
"And how do you know," said he, mildly, "whether Jean Jacques would notexchange the reputation which you seem to envy for the life of one of thewood-cutters whose chimneys smoke we see? What has fame brought himexcept persecution? The unknown friends whom his books may have made forhim content themselves with blessing him in their hearts, while thedeclared enemies that they have drawn upon him pursue him with violenceand calumny! His pride has been flattered by success: how many times hasit been wounded by satire? And be assured that human pride is like theSybarite who was prevented from sleeping by a crease in a roseleaf. Theactivity of a vigorous mind, by which the world profits, almost alwaysturns against him who possesses it. He expects more from it as he growsolder; the ideal he pursues continually disgusts him with the actual; heis like a man who, with a too-refined sight, discerns spots and blemishesin the most beautiful face. I will not speak of stronger temptations andof deeper downfalls. Genius, you have said, is a kingdom; but whatvirtuous man is not afraid of being a king? He who feels only his greatpowers, is--with the weaknesses and passions of our nature--preparing forgreat failures. Believe me, sir, the unhappy man who wrote this book isno object of admiration or of envy; but, if you have a feeling heart,pity him!"
July 7th, seven oclock P. M.--I have just now been up the Boulevards;it was the opera night, and there was a crowd of carriages in the RueLepelletier. The foot-passengers who were stopped at a crossingrecognized the persons in some of these as we went by, and mentionedtheir names; they were those of celebrated or powerful men, thesuccessful ones of the day.
How often has good grain fallen thus into a corner of the heart, and,when it has been long forgotten, all at once put forth the blade and comeinto ear! It is a treasure laid aside in a time of ignorance, and we donot know its value till we find ourselves in need of it.
Many hours passed by, and he thought no more of the meeting. He hadreached the copses of Chaville, where, stretched on the ground in a mossyglade, he read once more the last volume of Emile. The delight ofreading it had so completely absorbed him that he had ceased to see orhear anything around him. With his cheeks flushed and his eyes moist,he repeated aloud a passage which had particularly affected him.
For whether hatred be honest or dishonest, it never shrinks from anyaccusation. Sometimes it even proceeds to crime. The usher assured methat several warnings had been given the minister which had made him fearthe vengeance of an assassin, and that he no longer ventured out on foot.
"There is Jean Jacques--there is Rousseau!"
Then, from one thing to another, I learned what temptations came in tomislead or overcome his judgment; how he found himself fatally led intoobliquities which he could not but deplore. Misled by passion, over-persuaded by entreaties, or compelled for reputations sake, he has manytimes held the balance with an unsteady hand. How sad the condition ofhim who is in authority! Not only are the miseries of power imposed uponhim, but its vices also, which, not content with torturing, succeed incorrupting him.
"Look at them, the lucky fellows!" thought he; "all the pleasures ofwealth, all the enjoyments of pride, are theirs. Their names arerenowned, all their wishes fulfilled; they are the sovereigns of theworld, either by their intellect or their power; and while I, poor andunknown, toil painfully along the road below, they wing their way overthe mountain-tops gilded by the broad sunshine of prosperity."
They walked for some time side by side, my father expressing, with thewarmth of a heart still throbbing with emotion, all that this work hadmade him feel; his companion remaining cold and silent. The formerextolled the glory of the great Genevese writer, whose genius had madehim a citizen of the world; he expatiated on this privilege of greatthinkers, who reign in spite of time and space, and gather together apeople of willing subjects out of all nations; but the stranger suddenlyinterrupted him:
I sat down at a table covered with newspapers, all of which I looked overby turns. Most of them contained severe criticisms on the last politicalacts of the minister; some of them added suspicions as to the honor ofthe minister himself.
I love to dwell upon these thoughts; they explain to me in what consistsour admiration for glory. When glory has benefited men, that admirationis gratitude; when it is only remarkable in itself, it is the pride ofrace; as men, we love to immortalize the most shining examples ofhumanity.
THE PRICE OF POWER AND THE WORTH OF FAME
If men wish to give unlimited power to their fellow-man, they must keephim separated from ordinary humanity; they must surround him with acontinual worship, and, by a constant ceremonial, keep up for him thesuperhuman part they have granted him. Our masters cannot remainabsolute, except on condition of being treated as idols.
To-day we enter on July.
This explains to me the reason why Charles V aspired to the repose of thecloister.
While I was musing upon these dangers of greatness, the usher enteredhastily. Important news had been received: the minister is just summonedto the council; he will not be able to take his sisters to St. Cloud.
I have come home in deep thought. Is it true that there are theseinequalities, I do not say in the fortunes, but in the happiness of men?
Nine oclock.--Ah! now I understand my fathers story! It contains theanswer to one of the questions I asked myself a week ago. Yes, I nowfeel that fame and power are gifts that are dearly bought; and that, whenthey dazzle the soul, both are oftenest, as Madame de Stael says, but undeuil eclatant de bonheur!
An exclamation uttered close by him awoke him from his ecstasy; he raisedhis head, and perceived the tradesman-looking person he had met before onthe crossroad at Viroflay.
My father replied that it was to be found in abundance on the top of thehill, toward Sevres, as well as the great Laserpitium.
We prolonged our conversation till it was interrupted by the ministersreturn. He threw himself out of the carriage with a handful of papers,and with an anxious manner went into his own room. An instant afterwardhis bell was heard; his secretary was called to send off notices to allthose invited for the evening; the ball would not take place; they spokemysteriously of bad news transmitted by the telegraph, and in suchcircumstances an entertainment would seem to insult the public sorrow.
The usher came back discontented and disappointed. The more or less ofliberty which he is allowed to enjoy, is his barometer of the politicalatmosphere. If he gets leave, all goes well; if he is kept at his post,the country is in danger. His opinion on public affairs is but acalculation of his own interest. My friend is almost a statesman.
It is still the fable of the dog who contents himself with the chain andcollar, so that they are of gold.
I had some conversation with him, and he told me several curiousparticulars of public life.
"That, too!" repeated the old man more briskly. "Ah! I shall go andlook for them; I have gathered them formerly on the hillside of Robaila."
When my father spoke, it was not only to bring our two minds together byan interchange of thought, but his words always contained instruction.
Rousseau, who had shuddered on hearing his name spoken, turned towardhim:
I saw, through the windows, the young ladies, who were waiting at thedoor, sorrowfully go upstairs again, while their brother went off to thecouncil. The carriage, which should have gone filled with so much familyhappiness, is just out of sight, carrying only the cares of a statesmanin it.
My father proposed to take him. The stranger accepted his proposal withthanks, and hastened to collect together the plants he had gathered; butall of a sudden he appeared seized with a scruple. He observed to hiscompanion that the road he was going was halfway up the hill, and led inthe direction of the castle of the Dames Royales at Bellevue; that bygoing to the top he would consequently turn out of his road, and that itwas not right he should take this trouble for a stranger.
he is an object of curiosity to some, of malignity to others, and to allhe is a public thing, at which they point the finger. It would signifyless if he had only to submit to the impertinence of the idle; but, assoon as a man has had the misfortune to make himself a name, he becomespublic property. Every one rakes into his life, relates his most trivialactions, and insults his feelings; he becomes like those walls, whichevery passer-by may deface with some abusive writing. Perhaps you willsay that I have myself encouraged this curiosity by publishing myConfessions. But the world forced me to it. They looked into my housethrough the blinds, and they slandered me; I have opened the doors andwindows, so that they should at least know me such as I am. Adieu, sir.
