The Idler in France

by Countess of Marguerite Blessington

As I sat in this humble abode, and looked around on the objects once familiar to his eyes, I could not resist the sentiment of pity that filled my breast, at the recollection that even in this tranquil asylum, provided by friendship [2], and removed from the turmoil of the busy world, so repugnant to his taste, the jealousies, the heart-burnings, and the suspicions, that empoisoned his existence followed him, rendering his life not only a source of misery to himself, but of pain to others; for no one ever conferred kindness on him without becoming the object of his suspicion, if not of his aversion.

The life of Rousseau is one of the most humiliating episodes in the whole history of literary men, and the most calculated to bring genius into disrepute: yet the misery he endured more than avenged the wrongs he inflicted; and, while admiring the productions of a genius, of which even his enemies could not deny him the possession, we are more than ever compelled to avow how unavailing is this glorious gift to confer happiness on its owner, or to secure him respect or esteem, if unaccompanied by goodness.

Who can reflect on the life of this man without a sense of the danger to which Genius exposes its children, and a pity for their sufferings, though too often self-inflicted? Alas! the sensibility which is one of the most invariable characteristics of Genius, and by which its most glorious efforts are achieved, if excited into unhealthy action by over-exercise, not unseldom renders its possessor unreasonable and wretched, while his works are benefiting or delighting others, and while the very persons who most highly appreciate them are often the least disposed to pardon the errors of their author.

As the dancer, by the constant practice of her art, soon loses that roundness of contour which is one of the most beautiful peculiarities of her sex, the muscles of the legs becoming unnaturally developed at the expense of the rest of the figure, so does the man of genius, by the undue exercise of this gift, acquire an irritability that soon impairs the temper, and renders his excess of sensibility a torment to himself and to others.

The solitude necessary to the exercise of Genius is another fruitful source of evil to its children. Abstracted from the world, they are apt to form a false estimate of themselves and of it, and to entertain exaggerated expectations from it. Their morbid feelings are little able to support the disappointment certain to ensue, and they either rush into a reprisal of imaginary wrongs, by satire on others, or inflict torture on themselves by the belief, often erroneous, of the injuries they have sustained.

I remembered in this abode a passage in one of the best letters ever written by Rousseau, and addressed to Voltaire, on the subject of his poem, entitled Sur la Loi Naturelle, et sur le Désastre de Lisbonne; in which, referring to an assertion of Voltaire's that few persons would wish to live over again on the condition of enduring the same trials, and which Rousseau combats by urging that it is only the rich, fatigued by their pleasures, or literary men, of whom he writes—"Des gens de lettres, de tous les ordres d'hommes le plus sédentaire, le plus malsain, le plus réfléchissant, et, par conséquent, le plus malheureux," who would decline to live over again, had they the power.

This description of men of letters, written by one of themselves, is a melancholy, but, alas! a true one, and should console the enviers of genius for the want of a gift that but too often entails such misery on its possessors.

The church of Montmorency is a good specimen of Gothic architecture, and greatly embellishes the little town, which is built on the side of a hill, and commands a delicious view of the chestnut forest and valley, clothed with pretty villas, that render it so much and so justly admired.

It was amusing to listen to the diversity of opinions entertained by our party relative to Rousseau, as we wandered through the scenes which he so often frequented; each individual censuring or defending him, according to the bias of his or her disposition. On one point all agreed; which was, that, if judged by his actions, little could be said in mitigation of the conduct of him who, while writing sentiments fraught with passion and tenderness, could consign his offspring to a foundling hospital!

Having visited every object worthy of attention at Montmorency, we proceeded to Enghien, to examine the baths established there. The building is of vast extent, containing no less than forty chambers, comfortably furnished for the accommodation of bathers; and a good restaurateur furnishes the repasts. The apartments command a beautiful view, and the park of St.-Gratien offers a delightful promenade to the visitors of Enghien.