[ROUSSEAU]
1712-1778.
It is impossible to imagine a character in stronger contrast with Voltaire, than that of Rousseau. They possessed but one quality in common. It is difficult to know what to call it. In ordinary men it would be named egotism, or vanity. It is that lively and intimate apprehension of their own individuality, sensations, and being, which appears to be one of the elements of that order of minds which feel impelled to express their thoughts and disseminate their views and opinions through the medium of writing;—men of imagination, and eloquence, and mental energy. This quality is good as long as it renders an author diligent, earnest, and sincere; it is evil when it deprives him of the power of justly appreciating his powers and position, and causes him to fancy himself the centre, as it were, of the universe. Rousseau was its victim; it was exaggerated till his mind became diseased; and one false idea becoming fixed and absorbing, a sort of madness ensued. He was too alive to the sense of his own actions and feelings; and as he had committed many faults, not to say crimes, the recollection of these, joined to his sincere love of virtue, produced a struggle in his mind full, of misery and remorse.
Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva, on the 28th June, 1712. His birth cost the life of his mother, and was, he says, "the first of his misfortunes." His father was a watchmaker, and clever in his trade—it was all he had to subsist upon. Jean Jacques was born weakly, and with some organic defect, that rendered the rearing difficult and precarious. A sister of his father devoted herself to him. According to his own account, his childish years were happy. Loved and caressed by many relations, and watched over by his aunt, he was indulged without being spoiled. His father taught him to read, after the business of the day was over. That his attention might be excited, the long romances of Scudéri and the elder Crebillon were put into his hands. His father shared the pleasure he took in this occupation, and parent and child often sat up all night to indulge in it: a taste for the romantic, and a precocious knowledge of the language of passion and sentiment, were thus impressed upon the boy. When the collection of romances was ended, they turned to other books. They had a good collection, being a portion of the library of his mother's father, a minister of the church. The "History of the Church and the Empire," by Le Seur; Bossuet's "Discourse on Universal History;" Plutarch's "Lives;" Ovid's "Metamorphoses;" the works of Molière, La Bruyère, and Fontenelle, were among them. The boy read to his father as he sat at work. 1720.
Ætat.
8. "I thus," Rousseau writes "imbibed a singular taste, perhaps unexampled at my age. Plutarch, above all, became my favourite reading, and the pleasure I took in it cured me somewhat of my love for romances, and I soon learnt to prefer Agesilas, Brutus, and Aristides, to Oorondates, Artamenes, and Juba. These delightful books, and the conversations to which they gave rise between my father and me, formed that independent and republican spirit, that proud untameable character, impatient of yoke and servitude, which has tormented me through life, in situations ill adapted to foster it. "With my thoughts continually occupied by Rome and Greece,—living, so to speak, with their great men, born myself the citizen of a republic, and the son of a father whose strongest passion was love of his country,—I warmed by his example—I fancied myself Greek or Roman—I became the man whose life I read. The account of acts of constancy and intrepidity which struck me caused my eyes to flash, and gave expression to my voice. One day, as I was relating at table the history of Scævola, the listeners were frightened to see me advance and hold my hand above a brazier to represent his action."
These happy days, which, had they continued, might have blotted many pages of error and suffering from Rousseau's life, ended too soon. The darling of all, he lived in an atmosphere of love. He had one elder brother, who, treated with negligence, ran away, and took refuge in Germany. Not long after, his father had a quarrel with a French officer; and rather than submit to the short, but, as it appeared to him, unjust, imprisonment with which he was menaced in consequence, expatriated himself, leaving his little son with his sister, who had married his wife's brother; and the family was thus doubly related. Jean Jaques was now sent, together with a young cousin, to board at Bossey, with a minister named Lambercier. His life here was more pleasurable than generally falls to the lot of childhood;—the boys had their hours of tuition, and their hours of play—they quarrelled and made it up—they had their childish schemes, their holidays,—they were happy. Rousseau, in his "Confessions," well describes how these days of innocence and childish enjoyment were disturbed by an unjust punishment. The injustice sunk deep into the children's minds,—it despoiled their country home of all its charm; and this circumstance deserves mention, as it will always be found that the more children are treated with kindness and familiarity, the more necessary it is to guard against the slightest show of injustice. At a great school, accusation and punishment are often the effect of accident, and the boys lay less store by them; they are not pregnant with disgrace or shame,—many others, like themselves, are subject to the like, and it appears simply as one of the common hardships of life. But in domestic education they feel themselves to be a portion of the whole; and if that whole be harmonious, a discord, an act of tyranny, that falls peculiarly on themselves, makes a frightful impression; it appears to enfranchise them from the tacit vow of obedience under which they before lived, and causes them to regard their elders as treacherous enemies.
Leaving their country pension, the boys continued to lead a happy life at the house of Bernard, who was an engineer. He brought up his son to the same profession, and Rousseau shared his cousin's lessons. At length it was decided that he must adopt some calling, by which to earn his livelihood: he was placed with a greffier, or attorney; but he disliked the employment, and neglected his duties; he was dismissed, and apprenticed to an engraver. Here he appears to have been neglected by his relations; and the vulgarity and violence of his master had the worst effect on his character. There was that in Rousseau, which is often found in the early years of genius,—detestation of control—rebellion against all forced application. Eager to occupy himself, if allowed the choice of employment; revolting from a routine, in which his own purposes and inclinations were not consulted; it is one of the Sphinx's riddles, not yet divined, how to break in the daring and aspiring spirit of youth to the necessities of life, without exciting discontent and rebellion. The heart opening at that age more warmly to the affections, nature seems to point out the way,—but who in society, as it is formed, takes nature for a director?
Beaten, maltreated, hard worked, Rousseau became idle, timid, and lying. It is strange, but true, how, in the little republic of Geneva, money is perhaps more the main spring of existence than in larger states, and how early the children of the artizans are subjected to the grinding evils of penury. Brought up to earn their subsistence as soon as is practicable, the parents are eager to cast them wholly on their own exertions: and the numerous class of young people, male and female, decently born and bred, who, in that city, live by attendance in shops, by the needle, or the workman's tool, suffer much of the excess of labour and poor living to which the inferior classes in our manufacturing towns are subject.
Rousseau, timid of heart, but with an imagination that warmed him to daring, was led into mischievous scrapes: the very ardour of his disposition occasioned his faults: he was treated like a vulgar apprentice, and he fell into the vices of such a position, without at the same time blunting that eagerness and romance that formed the essence of his character. In the midst of disgraceful scrapes, his love of reading returned. He had none of those fixed principles which would lead him to give due time to the work required of him by his master, and his leisure to his books; a new volume in hand, every other occupation was sacrificed to it;—he was beaten and ill-treated for his negligence; he became obstinate and taciturn, but never gave up his point. His books, and the day-dreams founded on them, which fabricated and painted a thousand romantic scenes, filled his heart in solitude; real life was replete with indignity and suffering; in reverie, he was enterprising, noble, and free.
Sunday—the day of leisure and liberty—was spent in rambles and games with his comrades. It is the law of Geneva to shut the gates early in the evening, and they are not opened on any pretence for any one till the following morning. The lad, once or twice too late, was punished severely for his negligence. On the third occasion he resolved rather to run away than to encounter the menaced chastisement. His last act was to send for his cousin Bernard, to take leave of him: the boy did not press him to stay—did not offer to mediate for him; he returned to his parents, while Rousseau turned his steps from his native city—a vagrant and a beggar.
No such aspect of things presented itself to the wanderer himself;—he was in his own eyes a hero in search of adventures;—he dreamt of all of brilliant and festive of which he had read in his romances, and while he slept under the roofs of peasants with whom he was acquainted, and who received him with cordial hospitality, his reveries pictured castles and enamoured damsels, a fortune the gift of love, and lasting happiness the effect.