I fall into repetitions; I know it; and these are necessary.The first of my wants, the greatest, strongest, and most insatiable, was wholly in my heart; the want of an intimate connection, and as intimate as it could possibly be: for this reason especially, a woman was more necessary to me than a man, a female rather than a male friend.This singular want was such that the closest corporal union was not sufficient: two souls would have been necessary to me in the same body, without which I always felt a void.I thought I was upon the point of filling it up forever.This young person, amiable by a thousand excellent qualities, and at that time by her form, without the shadow of art or coquetry, would have confined within herself my whole existence, could hers, as I had hoped it would have been totally confined to me.I had nothing to fear from men; I am certain of being the only man she ever really loved, and her moderate passions seldom wanted another, not even after I ceased in this respect to be one to her.I had no family; she had one; and this family was composed of individuals whose dispositions were so different from mine, that I could never make it my own.This was the first cause of my unhappiness.What would I not have given to be the child of her mother? I did everything in my power to become so, but could never succeed.I in vain attempted to unite all our interests: this was impossible.She always created herself one different from mine, contrary to it, and to that even of her daughter, which already was no longer separated from it.She, her other children, and grand-children, became so many leeches, and the least evil these did to Theresa was robbing her.The poor girl, accustomed to submit, even to her nieces, suffered herself to be pilfered and governed without saying a word; and I perceived with grief that by exhausting my purse, and giving her advice, I did nothing that could be of any real advantage to her.I endeavored to detach her from her mother; but she constantly resisted such a proposal.I could not but respect her resistance, and esteemed her the more for it; but her refusal was not on this account less to the prejudice of us both.Abandoned to her mother and the rest of her family, she was more their companion than mine, and rather at their command than mistress of herself.Their avarice was less ruinous than their advice was pernicious to her; in fact, if, on account of the love she had for me, added to her good natural disposition, she was not quite their slave, she was enough so to prevent in a great measure the effect of the good maxims Iendeavored to instill into her, and, notwithstanding all my efforts, to prevent our being united.
Thus was it, that notwithstanding a sincere and reciprocal attachment, in which I had lavished all the tenderness of my heart, the void in that heart was never completely filled.Children, by whom this effect should have been produced, were brought into the world, but these only made things worse.I trembled at the thought of intrusting them to a family ill brought up, to be still worse educated.The risk of the education of the foundling hospital was much less.This reason for the resolution I took, much stronger than all those I stated in my letter to Madam de Francueil, was, however, the only one with which I dared not make her acquainted; I chose rather to appear less excusable than expose to reproach the family of a person Iloved.But by the conduct of her wretched brother, notwithstanding all that can be said in his defense, it will be judged whether or not Iought to have exposed my children to an education similar to his.
Not having it in my power to taste in all its plenitude the charms of that intimate connection of which I felt the want, I sought for substitutes which did not fill up the void, yet they made it less sensible.Not having a friend entirely devoted to me, I wanted others, whose impulse should overcome my indolence; for this reason Icultivated and strengthened my connections with Diderot and the Abbe de Condillac, formed with Grimm a new one still more intimate, till at length, by the unfortunate discourse, of which I have related some particulars, I unexpectedly found myself thrown back into a literary circle which I thought I had quitted forever.
My first steps conducted me by a new path to another intellectual world, the ****** and noble economy of which I cannot contemplate without enthusiasm.I reflected so much on the subject that I soon saw nothing but error and folly in the doctrine of our sages, and oppression and misery in our social order.In the illusion of my foolish pride, I thought myself capable of destroying all imposture;and thinking that, to make myself listened to, it was necessary my conduct should agree with my principles, I adopted the singular manner of life which I have not been permitted to continue, the example of which my pretended friends have never forgiven me, which at first made me ridiculous, and would at length have rendered me respectable, had it been possible for me to persevere.
Until then I had been good; from that moment I became virtuous, or at least infatuated with virtue.This infatuation had begun in my head, but afterwards passed into my heart.The most noble pride there took root amongst the ruins of extirpated vanity.I affected nothing; I became what I appeared to be, and during four years at least, whilst this effervescence continued at its greatest height, there is nothing great and good that can enter the heart of man, of which I was not capable between heaven and myself.Hence flowed my sudden eloquence; hence, in my first writings, that fire really celestial, which consumed me, and whence during forty years not a single spark had escaped, because it was not yet lighted up.
