Chapter 32 Chapter 12-4

While I was thus hesitating, Motier's persecution came and forced me to flee.I wasn't ready for a long trip, especially to Corsica.I fled to Île Saint-Pierre while awaiting news from Butafoco, and in the winter I was expelled from the island, as I have already said.At this time, the Alps were covered with snow, and this migration plan could not be realized at all.Especially when the deadline is so short.Indeed, the very absurdity of such an order renders it impossible to carry out: for, from the time of the order, there were only twenty-four hours to prepare for the removal from the center of this solitary district surrounded by water. , I also need to find a boat and a car to leave the island and the entire border. Even if I have wings, it is still difficult to do so.I wrote this to Mr. Judge of Nido, in answer to his letter, and hastened from this unjust country.The above is how I was compelled to give up my beloved project, and how, when I was discouraged, I could not get people to control me on the spot, so I accepted the Lord Marshal's invitation, and resolved to go to Berlin for a while, so that Daley Ruth guarded my clothes and books to spend the winter on Saint-Pierre Island, and at the same time handed all my manuscripts to Beru.I managed so quickly that I set out from the island the next morning, and I was at Bienne before noon.By an accidental incident, which I should not neglect to mention, I almost ended my travels at Buenne.

As soon as the news that I had been ordered to leave my asylum spread, visitors from the neighboring districts poured in, especially from the Bernese, who flattered me with the most detestable hypocrisy, and assured me that they would The order was drafted and delivered during the holidays and recesses of the Senate, and, they say, the members of the Council of Two Hundred were outraged by it.Among this mass of comforters were some from the city of Bienne, which is a small free state enclosed in the state of Berne, and among them was a young man named Verde. Lemay, whose family was of the first rank, enjoyed the greatest prestige in this little town.Verdelemay, on behalf of the citizens of the state, earnestly advised me to choose a place of refuge with them, saying that they were eager to receive me there, and that it would be an honor and a privilege for me to live there and forget all the persecutions of the past. Duty, and that I need not be afraid of any power of the Bernese with them, that Bienne is a free city, accepting no man's decree, and that all citizens are determined not to listen to any request against me.

Seeing that he alone could not impress me, Verdelemay enlisted the help of several people; That Kirchberger, who has been courting me since I retired to Switzerland, is interesting to me at the same time because of his talents and ideas.However, the comparison was more unexpected than I expected.At the same time, and more weighty, was the exhortation of M. Balthas, secretary of the French embassy, ​​who came to see me with Verdelemay, and urged me to accept Verdelemay's invitation, which he showed me. I was amazed at the warm and well-meaning concern.I didn't know M. Balthés at all, but I saw his words were very warm and earnest, and I felt that he was sincerely trying to persuade me to live in Bienne.He magnified before me the city and its inhabitants, and expressed that he was so intimate with them that he several times addressed them to me as his benefactors, his fathers.

These negotiations by Balthas have confused all my original speculations.I have always suspected that M. Choiseul was the secret agent behind all the persecution I suffered in Switzerland.The conduct of the French chargé d'affaires at Geneva, of the French ambassador at Soler, can only confirm my suspicions; I can see it.Everything that happened to me in Berne, Geneva, and Neuchâtel was due to the secret influence of France, and I don't believe that I have any powerful enemies in France except the Duke of Choiseul.How, then, should I feel about the visit of Balthas and the kind concern he showed for my fate?My calamities have not yet eroded the confidence in man which is natural to my soul, nor has experience taught me to see a trap at any time under caress.I wondered about the reason for Balthes's kindness with amazement. I was not so stupid as to think that he made this negotiation out of his own initiative. It shows that he has ulterior motives. Indeed, I have never found in this kind of small staff member the kind of courageous spirit that often made my heart boil when I was in a similar position.

I had known the Chevalier of Porterville somewhat before at M. de Luxembourg's, and he had shown me some kindness.Since he became ambassador, he also said that he still remembers me, and even invited me to visit him in Soler.Although I did not accept this invitation, I was rather moved, for I was not used to being treated with such civility by people in high positions.I guessed, therefore, that M. Porterwell, who was compelled to follow the instructions of his superiors in connection with the events at Geneva, yet felt at heart my misfortune, arranged for me the town of Bienne with special consideration. A place of refuge, so that I can live peacefully under his protection.I am grateful for this care, but I have no intention of making use of it. I have finally decided to travel to Berlin, so I can only eagerly look forward to the time when I will meet the Lord Field Marshal. peace and lasting happiness.

When I started from the island, Kirchberg took me all the way to Bienne.There I saw Verdelemay and some other Biennese welcoming me to disembark.We all dined together at the inn; the first thing I did when I arrived was to send for a limousine, with the intention of leaving early next morning.At dinner, the gentlemen renewed their offer to stay with them, and made such a request, and promised so touchingly, that, in spite of my final decision, my cock, which never resisted caresses, My heart was still moved by their caress.Seeing that I was wavering, they redoubled their efforts, and at last I was overcome by them, who agreed to stay at Buena, at least until the beginning of spring.

Verdelemay immediately busied himself looking for an apartment for me, and blew before me like a new and unexpected discovery an ugly little room; this little room was in the back of the fourth floor, facing a courtyard, In the yard for my viewing is a puddle of suede dealer's stinking water.My landlady was a dwarf, mean-looking, and rather cunning, and I heard the next day that he was a rascal and a gambler, and had a bad reputation in the country; he had neither wife nor children, And no servants.I shut myself up desolately in that lonely room, which can be said to be in the most scenic area in the world, but I lived in a hut that could suffocate to death in a few days.What touched me the most was that even though people told me how enthusiastic the local residents were and wanted to keep me as a guest, when I passed by on the street, I could not see any sign of politeness in their attitude. There was no kindness in the expression.I was, however, quite determined to stay there, when I heard, saw, and felt that a terrible riot was brewing against me in the city.Several courtiers have come to inform me, flatteringly, that an order will be issued to me tomorrow, in the most severe form possible, to leave the country, that is to say, the city, immediately.I have no one to trust, all those who kept me are gone, Verdelemay is gone, and I don't hear of Balthus.Moreover, the many benefactors and elders that he had brought to himself in front of me didn't seem to take much care of me because of his entrustment.A Mr. V. Travel, a Bernese, who had a fine house near the town, invited me to take refuge there, hoping, as he told me, that I would be spared there. Yu was stoned to death.This advantage does not seem to be attractive enough to continue my legacy in this hospitable land.

This delay, however, was three days past, and the twenty-four hours which the Bernese had granted me in order to get me out of their territory had been considerably exceeded.I've learned how cruel they are, and of course I can't help feeling a little anxious about how they're going to let me cross their borders.At this time, Mr. Nido's judge came and just solved the problem for me.He avowed his disapproval of the brutality of the lords in power, and it seemed to him in the spirit of generosity that he should make a public confession to me that he had absolutely nothing to do with it, and that he would not hesitate to step outside his jurisdiction. District, come to Bienne to visit me once.He came the day before my departure. Not only was he not visiting in a modest suit, but he also wanted to show it off on purpose: he came in his own car, brought his secretary, infiocchi (in fancy dress), and gave me a A passport issued in his own name, so that I can freely cross the border of the Bernese state without fear of being disturbed.His visit touched me more than the passport, and I would have been more than grateful for it even if it had been addressed to someone else than to me.I don't know of anything else that has made a stronger impression on my mind than a timely act of bravery in support of a bullied weakling.

Finally, after I managed to find a limousine, I left this murderous country the next morning, without waiting for the delegation that was to be sent to honor me, or even to see Therese. —I originally thought I would stay in Bienne, so I told her to come and meet me, but I didn't have time to write her a few words to tell her about my new disaster and tell her not to come. .If I still have the strength to write a third book, it will be there that people will see how, instead of going to Berlin, I ended up in England, and how the two ladies who are bent on me are doing everything possible After I was driven out of Switzerland (I was not in their hands in Switzerland), I finally achieved my goal and sent me into the hands of their friends.

When I read this work to the Count and Madame Egmont, the Prince de Pignatelli, the Marchioness of Memme, and the Marquis of Juigne, I added the following passage: "I speak the truth; and whoever knows that there are things contrary to what I have just described, even if they have been proved a thousand times, will know nothing but lies and deceit. If he refuses to Investigate with me and ascertain these facts, he has no love of justice, no love of truth. I declare loudly and fearlessly that in the future anyone, even if he has not read my works, can use his own After examining my nature, character, ethics, interests, hobbies, and habits, if he still believes that I am a bad person, then he himself is a bad person who should be strangled to death."

My reading ended like this, and everyone was silent.Only Madame Egmont seemed to me to be touched: she visibly trembled, but soon recovered her composure, and, like everyone else present, remained silent.That's what I got out of this reading and my statement. appendix Preface to the Neuchâtel Manuscript I have often noticed that even among those who think they know best, each one knows almost nothing but himself, if anyone can know himself at all.For how is it possible to determine very well what a man is by a mere relation in him, without comparison with anything?Yet this incomplete knowledge of ourselves is the only means by which we know others.Man makes himself the measure of all things.It is also because of this that we always have two illusions by taking ourselves too seriously: either imposing on them the motivation of how we would act in their position, or under the same assumption, not knowing what we are already in and Misinterpretation of one's own motives in another situation in which one was in a very different situation. I made these observations for myself, not according to my judgment of others (at which point I soon felt I was a different person), but according to their judgment of me.Other people's judgments about the motives of my actions are almost always wrong, and generally speaking, the more intelligent the person who makes such judgments, the more wrong they are. Foreign version. , the wider the range of things they measure, the greater the distance between their misjudgments and things. With these observations in mind, I resolved to bring my readers a step further in knowledge.If possible, I want to liberate them from the only and wrong measure of always measuring the belly of others with their own heart, and on the contrary, in order to know their own heart, they must always only understand the heart of others.In order for them to learn to value themselves, I would endeavor to give them at least one thing to which they can be compared, to know themselves and someone else, which may be me. Yes, it's me, and only me, because until now I don't know anyone who has dared to do what I'm about to do.The experiences, the lives, the portrayals and the characters, what are all these things?A well-conceived romance is based on outward actions, on what is said about them, and on the careful conjectures of an author who is more devoted to showing off than to discovering the truth.They seized the most distinctive features of their characters, kneaded them together with the things they invented, and made a face out of them, regardless of whether it looked like it or not!No one can draw any judgment from this. In order to better understand a character, it is necessary to distinguish the innate part from the acquired part, to see how the character is formed, under what circumstances it develops, and what secret emotions prompt it to evolve into Laws of the state of today; others turn to the study of astronomy, medicine, and music, to do scientifically how these changes are carried out, sometimes with the most contradictory and unforeseen consequences.All these things that can be seen are only a very small part of the character, the external expression of the often complex and hidden internal factors.Everyone speculates in their own way, and paints according to their own fantasies, without fear that others will use prototypes to compare with their own smears.How can we understand the heart of this archetype?He who paints another's heart cannot see it, and he who can see it refuses to expose it. Only I, no one can write his life.His inner activities and his real life are only known to him, but he conceals them in the process of writing. He uses the name of writing his life to justify himself, and he writes himself as his own. What he wants to be seen by others is not at all like his actual situation.The most candid people do, at best, say that what they say is true, but they hold it back.This is lying.What they do not say changes so much what they pretend to confess, that when they say a part of the truth they say nothing at all.I place Montaigne at the top of these false candors who deceive by telling the truth.Montaigne made his own faults visible, but he exposed only lovely ones.There is no such thing as a man without pity.Montaigne portrayed himself very much like himself, but only in profile.Who knew if there might have been a knife wound or a blind eye on the side of his face that had completely changed his appearance?A man more vain than Montaigne, but more outspoken, is Gardin.Unfortunately, even this Galdan was so insane that no one else could learn anything from his reverie.Besides, who would seek so little instruction in ten folios of kyogen? So, surely, if I do a good job of keeping my word, I may be doing a uniquely good thing.I hope you will not object to my following statement: I am only a commoner.There is nothing worth saying to the reader.The experiences of my life are real, and I have written them in chronological order, but I have written less of the events than of my state of mind during them.However, whether a person is noble or not depends only on whether his emotions are great and noble, and whether his thoughts are quick and rich.Here the facts are mere accidental causes.If my life has been obscured, had my thoughts been richer and deeper than those of kings, the whole movement of my heart would have been more fascinating than theirs. When I say more attractive, I mean that I am in perhaps the most favorable position a man can be in for the observation and experience of a thing.I have no social position, yet I am acquainted with all ranks, and have lived in them from the lowest to the highest except the royal ones.The big shot only recognizes the big shot Chen Liang, while Qing Yanyuan and Li Gu value utilitarianism and oppose empty talk about benevolence and righteousness. , Little people only recognize little people.The little ones see the great only from their admirable position, while they themselves are unjustly despised.In this extremely alienated relationship, the common essence of both parties—human beings—is lost.For me, after carefully removing this mask, I recognize this essence everywhere.I considered and compared their respective interests, wishes, prejudices, and principles of moral conduct.I am neither expected nor insignificant, I am accepted by all, and it is convenient to study them, when they are not pretentious I can make comparisons between people and between status and status.I have nothing and I want nothing, I am neither embarrassing nor tiresome; I go into all walks of life without looking back, sometimes breakfasting with the prince in the morning and supper with the peasants in the evening. I have no great family or birth, but I have another kind of greatness which is peculiar to me and bought at a great price, namely my well-known bad luck.Words about me spread throughout Europe, to the astonishment of the wise, and the grief of the good.At last it was understood that I, who knew this century of science and philosophy better than they did, saw that the superstition which they thought had been exterminated was only a disguise; words, but I didn't realize I was the one who unmasked it.The account of these events deserves a great book by Tacitus, and my pen should enliven it a little.Events are public and known to all; it is a matter of understanding the hidden causes of these events.Of course no one knows these things better than I do, so to make them known to the world I have to write the history of my life. I've had so many events, I've had such strong emotions, I've met so many different types of people, I've lived in so many situations, that a fifty-year career would have been a lot to me if I had been able to make good use of them. It seems like centuries have passed.I am therefore in a position to make my account interesting, both in number and in variety of events.Even so, my account may not be so, but it is by no means the fault of the subject, but of the author.Faults of this kind arise even in the accounts of the lives of the most eminent men. If the work I do is unusual, the circumstances that prompt me to do it are also extremely rare.Few of my contemporaries were known by name in Europe and still fewer were persons.My books spread through the great cities, while I, the author, lived in seclusion in the forest.Everyone is reading my book and criticizing my philosophy of science.The study of social phenomena from the perspective of positive philosophy was proposed in 1839, and everyone was talking about me, but I was not present.I stay away from these people, stay away from these discussions.I don't know what people say.Everyone paints me according to his own imagination, and he is not afraid that this prototype will come out and expose him.There is a Rousseau in high society, and another Rousseau who is not like the former is in retirement. On the whole, I have nothing to complain about what the public say about me; they sometimes attack me to the bone, but they often flatter me beyond measure.Depending on the mood they were in judging me and whether they judged me in my favour, or against me, they lost their sense of proportion when they praised or criticized me.When people judge me on the basis of my books alone, they see me as an oddball who changes every time I publish, depending on the interests of my readers.But once I had enemies, they devised various schemes according to each point of view, and on this basis acted in unison against my incorruptible reputation.In order not to appear at all as if they were playing a dishonorable role, they did not accuse me of any bad behavior - real or fabricated.Even if they condemned me, they ascribed these evil things to my bad temper, which would still give the impression that their gullibility was due to credulity, so it would still be said that they blamed my bad heart from good intentions.They pretended to forgive me for my mistakes while attacking my feelings, and while appearing to view me as a compliment, they also knew to expose me to a completely different perspective. It was appropriate to adopt such a subtly tone, and they were quite honest when they were well-intentioned to discredit me, and they made me hateful when they were friendly, and attacked me completely when they expressed sympathy.In this way, they said that they could not pursue the facts, but they criticized my character extremely severely, so that they praised me and made me look ugly.Nothing could be more different from me than this portrait, I'm no better than people want me to be, I'm a different person.They didn't give me the right rating, either in the good or the bad.To ascribe to me a virtue that I do not possess is to make me a bad person.On the contrary, I still feel that I am a good person after doing bad things that no one knows about.From the better judgment of me, I might lose the mediocrity and win the intellect, and I have only sought the approval of the latter. The above are not only my motivation for this writing, but also my faithful guarantee when I write.Since my name is to be handed down, I would never wish to have a false reputation, nor to be attributed to me virtues and vices that do not belong to me, nor to be portrayed as not being myself. .I take pleasure in thinking that I have passed on my name to posterity as a possibility to enter into certain states of affairs and to have relations with other eternal objects. , there must be some deeds that are more tenable than my name.I would rather be known with all my faults, which is me, than a stranger to myself, with false virtues. Few men have done it better than I, and no man has ever spoken of himself as I have spoken of myself.Admitting a flaw in character is easier to accept than admitting to baseness.It can be believed that those who dare to admit these actions will admit everything.This, too, was an awkward but believable test of my sincerity.I'm going to tell the truth, I'm going to do it without reservation, I'm going to say everything, good, bad, everything.I want to be strict in seeking truth from facts.Never has the most timid female believer made a deeper reflection than I have, and never revealed to her confessor more deeply what was in her heart than I have revealed to the public.As long as you read my work, you will immediately find that I am willing to keep my word. It was necessary to invent a new language commensurate with my writing project, for what tone and what style should I write to clear up such a tangled mess of feelings so numerous and contradictory?Some of these feelings are often base, but others are sometimes noble, and I have never had peace of mind for this reason.How many insignificant things, how many pains I should not expose?What repulsive, obscene, childish, and often ridiculous details I should not go into in order to follow the hidden workings of my mind, to explain how each impression that leaves a trace in my mind was first produced?When I blush at the thought of what I am about to say, I know that there are hard-hearted people who call the humiliation of making the most difficult confession a shameless thing.But I still have to say it, or still pretend, because if I don't say something, people won't know me.In my character, everything is interconnected and becomes one, and to reveal this strange and strange mixture well requires me to say everything in my life. If I write a book as carefully as other people do, I am not painting myself but painting myself.This is a question about my portrait, not about a book.It can be said that I am like working in a darkroom, where there is no need for other technical propositions, it must come from experience, because experience only involves the finite and the past, not finite, only need to accurately describe the appearance I have seen.I have chosen both style and content, and I do not want to make the style uniform at all. I write whatever comes to mind, and I am free to change it according to my mood.For everything, I am not artificial, I am not forced, and I am not worried about the mixed writing. I write how I feel and see.I put myself in the midst of present feelings and memories of past impressions in order to describe the duality of my inner state, that is, the mood when the event happened and when I wrote it down.My writing style is natural and varied, sometimes concise and sometimes lengthy, sometimes rational and sometimes crazy, sometimes solemn and sometimes cheerful, it is a part of my history.Finally, although the work is written in this way, it is always a book that is valuable to philosophers for its content.I repeat, this is a reference material for the study of the inner workings of man, and it is the only one in the world. The above is the intention I want to explain when I write my life experience, and everyone should read my book with this intention and make use of it.My relations with people compel me to speak of them as casually as I speak of myself.Only when I make people know them in the same way can I make people know myself well, and people should not expect it. In this case, I hide what I have to say without affecting the truth I should say.I will take more care of others than myself.It makes me very unhappy to implicate anyone.The decision not to have this memoir published during my lifetime was out of respect for my enemies without compromising the execution of my plans.I will even take the most reliable steps to have this work published only when the persons involved in the incident have ceased to attract public attention through the lapse of time, and I will deposit it in very reliable hands so that It will never be used for any leaky purposes.Publishing this book while I was alive would make me less likely to be blamed, and I don't care about those who might despise me after reading it.I've talked about something about myself here that's particularly disgusting, and that I don't want to be.But this is indeed the most secret thing in my heart, and it is a very strict confession of mine.It is reasonable that my name should pay for the crimes I have committed, prompted by the desire to preserve my name.The public discussion, the harshness of the sentence when it is loudly pronounced, I can expect, and I will bow my head and confess.I wish every reader would follow my example, and make a reflection like I did, if he dared, and say to himself in the depths of his heart: "I am better than that man." Translation from afar Preface by André Moloya to the 1949 French edition of Bordès There are very few writers who can say: "Without him, French literature would have developed in another direction." Rousseau belongs to this category of writers.In an era when all writers are shaped by social activities, they have developed step by step from the elegant and luxurious style of the seventeenth century to the Marifo style of the eighteenth century, and then to the stage of deviant and cynical.This citizen of Geneva, who was neither French nor aristocratic, had no aristocratic charm to speak of, but he was more sentimental than romantic, and the loneliness of the country haunted him more than the salon.He gives us a panoramic view of Switzerland and Savoy, and fills the literary world with a breath of fresh air. Chateaubriand's "Rene" is beautiful and harmonious, and the thoughts and words of its protagonists are indistinguishable from Rousseau.Without him, we would not hear the murmur of the swallows of Combourg, the patter of rain on the leaves, or the song of Mademoiselle Boistiien in Memoirs from Beyond the Grave.Fudobriang came up with the idea when he read the "affectionately domestic" description of Aunt Susson's singing. "I cannot comprehend this strange taste," wrote Rousseau, "but I cannot sing the song to the end without being interrupted by my own tears..." René, this rewritten Rousseau, is a "knight, a nobleman, a man who has been to many places", who is in love with Indian girls and Sylfield, and is no longer a traveler on foot, a The engraver's apprentice, a petty servant, a courtier to grown women.If Chateaubriand had not read it, the most beautiful and charming descriptions in his "Memoirs" would not have appeared.Rousseau, as St. Bove said, was the first writer to fill our literature with verdant greenery.The glamorous, glamorous and ecstatic days spent with Chateaubriand and Nathalie de Noyael recalled Rousseau's time with Madame de Warens. Warm, tender, sad and deeply moving emotions.It was Jean-Jacques who set the tone for René. Stendhal did not learn less from Rousseau.Not only in the intensity of the feelings and the courage to admit them, which would not have been possible without the example of Rousseau, from whom even the whole figure of Julien Sorrell was learned.The scene of Julien at the house of the Marquis of Moore is the scene of Rousseau at the house of the Count of Gouvon. One is very angry at Matel's contempt, and the other wants to win Miss Breyer's favor.Like Julien, Rousseau impressed everyone with his mastery of Latin. Everyone stared at me, looking at each other without saying a word.Never in my life have I seen anyone so surprised.But what pleased me most was the evident satisfaction on Miss Breyer's face.The very haughty girl gave me another look, this time at least as valuable as the first.Then she turned her gaze to her grandfather, as if impatiently waiting for the compliment he was due to give me.The old count paid me the greatest and most perfect compliments with such satisfaction that all present were quick to speak in unison.Although this moment is short, it is refreshing from all aspects.Doesn't this passage seem to have been taken from it? And if Rousseau had not provided a shining precedent of such a confession, would Gide, a hundred years later, have been so frank about his form of lust when he wrote "If the Seed Never Died"?There are more reservations in Gide's pens, and more complacency and complacency in Rousseau's pens.This is because Gide is "an upper bourgeoisie," while Jean-Jacques is the son of a lower bourgeoisie.Before Rousseau, the love of sincerity and the pursuit of sincerity were not natural feelings of man.In classical writers, decency is more important than truth.Both Molière and La Rochefoucauld embellished their confessions, and Voltaire made no self-confessions, so it was Rousseau who was proud to say everything. In the library of Neuchâtel there is a manuscript with Rousseau's first draft for the beginning.Here he expresses his unique intention more fully than in the final version in the somewhat dramatic opening, the sounding of the trumpet of final judgment, and his call to God: Only I, no one can write his life.His inner activities and his real life are only known to him, but he conceals them in the process of writing. He uses the name of writing his life to justify himself, and he writes himself as his own. What he wants to be seen by others is not at all like his actual situation.The most candid people do, at best, say that what they say is true, but they hold it back.This is lying.What they do not say changes so much what they pretend to confess, that when they say a part of the truth they say nothing at all.I put Montaigne at the top of these plain candid men who deceive by telling the truth.Montaigne made his own faults visible, but he exposed only lovely ones.There is no man who is not terrible.Montaigne portrayed himself very much like himself, but only in profile.Who knew if there might have been a knife wound or a blind eye on the side of his face that had completely changed his appearance? 这最初的草稿提出了两个问题：卢梭自己是不是一个假装坦率的人？绝对的坦率是可能的吗？ 要说卢梭自以为是坦率的，这我同意。他是想做到这一点的，连自己身上丑恶的东西也不隐瞒。比如他承认自己过早地染上手淫的恶习，承认他在女人身边感到的胆怯来自一种可能产生类似阳萎状况的过度的敏感，承认他和华伦夫人的那种半乱伦性质的爱情，尤其是承认他那奇特形式的暴露癖。但是这里要提请大家注意的是这种坦率的目的是要引出卢梭在性的方面的态度和表现而已，而这方面的坦率恰恰又是某种形式的暴露癖。写自己乐意去做的事。这就使他的放纵行为有了成千上万的观众，自己也因而感到分外快乐。在这一题材方面所表现的恬不知耻使那些和他是难兄难弟、共染恶习和一丘之貉的读者同他建立起亲密的关系。一个一心想在这方面下工夫的作者撒起谎来，总是有过之而无不及的。 卢梭的确承认自己偷盗，诬陷别人（如可怜的马丽永的丝带）以及对华伦夫人的忘恩负义。但这些偷窃是小偷小摸；至于诬告，他对我们说他的过错只是因为他太软弱；而他那样严重地谴责自己遗弃华伦夫人，这也是发生在他离开她很久之后，而在这种情况下，别的很多人也会象他那样行事的。他这样痛心地低头认罪，是因为他知道读者会原谅他。相反地他对抛弃他所有的孩子却一笔带过，好象那是一件小事似的。大家会想，他自己难道不属于那种“假装坦率的人”的行列？这种人也暴露缺点，但只暴露一些可爱的缺点罢了。 对于这一点，卢梭回答说：“但愿有人，要是他敢这样说，比我还诚实。”他这样说也许也有理，因为彻底的坦率要求人把自己当作事物来加以客观的观察，但无人能使观察的头脑不走样。讲自己过去历史的作者相信自己的记忆，但记忆却象艺术家和决疑者一样，已经有所选择。作者对他有深刻印象的某些插曲极其关注，但同时却忽略了、而且也根本没有想起过他在很多很多正常情况下所做的事。乔治·吉斯多夫在《发现自我》一书里戳穿了这种手法，他说：“忏悔从来没有把一切都说出来过，也许是因为现实是如此复杂和纷繁，如此没有终结，以致没有任何描述能重建一个真正忠实的形象……就这点而言，去阅读一本旧的私人日记是很说明问题的。我们打算逐日记下的东西是对日常现实生活的一份最原始的说明，但我们记忆里所保留的却和它一点也不相符……” 写忏悔录的作者以为是在回顾他的过去，但事实上他所描述出来的是这一过去在今日的记忆。富歇在老年时讲起他对革命的回忆，他是这样写的：“罗伯斯庇尔有一天对我说：'多特朗特公爵……'”因此，后来发生的事也会使从前的事实染上一层色彩。一种经常要求和自己观点一致的想法使我们找出理由来解释某些行为，而这些行为在当时之所以产生，却纯属偶然，或因我们难以忍受，或因交谈时对方的语气所造成。“我越是注视，就越是走样，”瓦雷里说，“或者不如说我已换了个观察对象。”我们以为我们想起了我们童年时代的一段往事，事实上我们想起的是别人对这段往事的叙述。 在所有的人身上都有装假的一面。我们不仅为别人演一个角色，而且也为自己演一个角色。我们需要这样继续扮演下去，这就要求我们把不是出自我们本能的行动强加给自己。一切伦理道德都是建立在更为执拗的第二天性上的，因此每一个人都是一个合成的人物。完完全全的坦率就在于把两种角色都描写出来。但是它们是矛盾的，所以作家很难照办。司汤达在他的主人公身上以及在他本人的日记里很好地向我们说明了这种疯狂和逻辑的混合，而作品里的这种交替出现要比在生活中更为常见。除本性外，如不强加给它更多的其他的性格，那还叫艺术吗？ 事实上一种忏悔只能是一篇传奇故事。要是回忆录的作者是诚实的，在能回忆得起以及正确的叙述下，作品的事实就会和历史的真实完全一致，但感情则是想象的产物。卢梭的是骗子无赖冒险小说里最好的一部。一切传奇性的素材他都具备：一个放任自流的少年，多种多样的环境，各种性格的人和众多的场面，谈情说爱和旅行，对社会缓慢的认识过程——年过四十而对它还几乎一无所知——，就是这些素材塑造出一个伤感的吉尔·布拉斯，而卢梭在这些方面是什么都不缺的。 奇怪的是，他竟要求他书里描绘的那些往昔的感情要比描绘的事实更真实。 I may well have missed some facts, some things have been conflated, some dates have been outdated; but I will not remember what I felt, nor what my feelings drove me to do. Wrong; and that is mainly what I want to write.我的的本旨，就是要正确地反映我一生的种种境遇，那时的内心状况…… 据上所述，可以作出这样的假定：人能认识他的内心世界，并能把它和外界区别开，但有不是来自感知的思想存在。所有这一切我根本不信。卢梭的真实并不见于他的反省，而见于他以极其蔑视的口吻讲述出来的那些事实上。 讲述自己生平的人在描绘自己时，总以自己的方式不知不觉地、而且不由自主地重述相似的处境。司汤达曾不离安日拉·比埃特拉格吕安的左右，但他又去拜倒在梅拉妮·罗爱松的脚下；卢梭在和华伦夫人、克洛德·阿奈形成三人同居的男女关系之后，又去和圣朗拜尔和乌德托夫人重建三角恋爱关系。他的很多行为是因为他的身体有缺陷而造成的，他的膀胱病使他怕见人。对于他的被迫节欲，他有一套理论。他为“如此热烈的情欲和一颗专为爱情跳动的心居然从没有热爱过某个女人”而感到惊奇。然而他无意中向我们作了解释：“这一残疾是使我远离集体并阻止我把自己关在女人家里的主要原因……”有一次他和一个讨他喜欢的女人相会，仅仅这一想法就使他处于一种难以想象的状态，以致在赴约时已疲惫不堪。让－雅克不健康的身体使他遭到不幸，而我们却从他那里得到了和《新爱洛伊丝》。“一个作家在自己力所能及的情况下，从不公正的命运那里得到了补偿。” 人的思想若能相当客观，使其能以其他已知条件对自以为在自己身上发现的感情加以修正，这样认识自己才有可能。这些条件是：他的出身、童年、阶级以及这些环境使他形成的成见，他的身体状况及由此而受到的局限，使他产生种种反应和欲望的环境，他所生活的时代以及这一时代里的人的癖好、迷恋和迷信等。我们可以设想，台斯特先生就这样剔除了所有在他身上而又不算是他的东西。但是这么做之后他还能剩下什么呢？对自己的真正认识不就是对世界或上帝的认识吗？ 对卢梭的情欲来说，有好几处值得我们注意。他从童年时代起，对女人就有这种真正的强烈的兴趣。当他沐浴在温馨的感情里时，这一兴趣就使他的叙述充满诗意。再也没有什么能比他在第四章里描写他和葛莱芬丽小姐和加蕾小姐一起散步，并因此得到纯洁的精神上的满足那一段文字更美的了： We ate lunch in the tenant's kitchen, two girlfriends sitting on stools at either end of a long table, and their guest on a three-legged stool between them.What a beautiful lunch it was!What a charming memory this is!Why seek other pleasures when one pays so little for such pure and true pleasures?You won't have lunch like this anywhere in Paris.我这话不单单指它带来的欢乐与甜蜜，也是指肉体上的享受。 After lunch we made an economical measure: we didn't drink the coffee left over from breakfast, but saved it for tea in the afternoon, along with the cream and pastry they brought.To whet our appetites we also went to the orchard and substituted cherries for the last of our lunch.我爬到树上，连枝带叶地一把把住下扔樱桃，她们则用樱桃核隔着树枝向我扔来。有一次，加蕾小姐张开了她的围裙，向后仰着脑袋，拉好等着接的架式，而我瞄得那样推，正好把一束樱桃扔到她的乳房上。How we laughed at that time!I thought to myself, "Why aren't my lips cherries! How beautiful it would be if I threw my lips in the same place!" 在第二章里他和巴西勒太太纯真的爱情也毫不逊色， （我）在她跟前尝到了不可言喻的甜蜜。在占有女人时所能感到的一切，都抵不上我在她脚前所度过的那两分钟。虽然我连她的衣裙都没有碰一下。Yes, there is no pleasure like that which a beloved decent woman can give.With her, everything is grace.手指的微微一动，她的手在我嘴上的轻轻一按，都是我从巴西勒太太那里所得的恩宠，而这点轻微的恩宠现在想起来还使我感到神魂颠倒…… 圣勃夫有充分理由来赞赏卢梭就他与华伦夫人的第一次相见所作的迷人的叙述以及它给法国文学带来的新气象。这些篇页向凡尔赛的女读者展承了一个她们前所未知的充满阳光和清新气息的世界，尽管这一世界就近在咫尺。“这些篇页提供了敏感和本性相结合的例子，其中触及情欲的那一小点也是为使我们最终摆脱爱情和唯灵论的十足玄学论调所许可而必不可少的……”但是他感到遗憾的是，一个能描绘如此纯洁的精神满足的作家，一个能有这种情感的人竟如此缺乏高雅情趣致使读者在读到那个令人厌恶的摩尔人、那个里昂教士或朗拜尔西埃小姐的文字时为他惋惜不已。还有，当华伦夫人已成为他的情妇时，为什么还称她为“妈妈”？ 圣勃夫，这位高雅之士，今天人们已不再有此教养，对这类错误以及“正派人不说而且也根本不知的某些下流的脏话”是用卢梭当过仆人因而学来了这些字眼来解释的。对“一个有过许多阅历的人来说，当他说出那些丑恶和卑鄙的事时是不会感到恶心的”。现在我们改变了所有这一切，谈吐的下流已不复为某种身分的人所专有。卢梭激起十九世纪这位批评家反感的大胆，今日看来，似尚嫌不足。 卢梭和他的仿效者居然把任何男人都知道、任何女人想必也知道的事都坦率地说出来，这是不是该引以为憾呢？对在主要之事上保持沉默的这一坦率加以称颂，而对如实地描绘人的真实情况的坦率感到愤怒，这是虚伪的。性欲方面的直言不讳产生了一种诱惑力，使读者通过联想也有了性欲，这种诱惑力还加强了他和读者间的一种友好感情。在另一个人，而且在一个伟人身上去发现他有情欲，有时还是些已经养成的或至少他曾很想去尝试的反常的性行为，这就使读者对他产生信任，他压抑在心底的东西全都发泄出来了。这就是胜利，但同时也是危害。使整整一个时代弥漫着淫荡的气氛，从来都不是健康的。厚颜无耻的时代是堕落的时代。爱里奥加巴尔时代的罗马使人怀念卡图时代的罗马。过分的贞洁可以引起痛苦的压抑，过度的放纵导致无休止的邪念。所以卢梭的情况，多少是有点固性而引起的精神失常的。 这种失常情况，就象大多数精神病一样，几乎整个都是想象的产物，因为他整个一生只和少数几个女人发生过性的关系，如华伦夫人、拉尔纳热夫人、帕多瓦姑娘、克鲁卜飞尔介绍给他的“小女孩”、戴莱丝·勒·瓦瑟，我相信这些就是所有的相好了。不过搞女人最多的人并不是那些谈情说爱最多的人。卢梭过多地谈情说爱，这就激怒了他的朋友，因为他向他们宣扬了他所信奉而从不付诸实施的道德说教。为了了解整个上流社会和两个教派对卢梭的严重敌对情绪，必须回忆一下一七五年时使他突然成为红人的哲学。他，一个聪明的公民，一个与道德为伍的朋友，一个对不纯洁的享乐的蔑视者，一个文明的敌人，征服了巴黎。接着，这个戏剧的反对者却为宫廷写了一部歌剧。这个骄傲的共和主义者，尽管自己反对这样做，却仍接受了蓬巴杜尔夫人赐予的五十个路易。这个夫妇之爱的宣传捍卫者，却诱奸了一个很年轻的姑娘并与之同居，过着不道德的生活。这位发表最著名的教育论文的作者却把自己的五个孩子全送进了育婴堂，或者至少还为此而夸耀。他就这样给自己的敌人提供了致命的武器。 他有敌人，的整个第二部是卢梭针对敌人的诬蔑竭力在为自己辩解。开头的六章一直写到一七四一年，是在英国武通写成的，成功地描绘了他当学徒的那些年月。后来的六章是相隔两年之后，从一七六七年到一七七年在多菲内及特利陆续写成的。故事讲到一七六六年就停止了，那一年卢梭同时受到法国、日内瓦和伯尔尼方面的迫害，于是他决定到英国去避难。的第二部叙述他开始在巴黎的活动，和戴莱丝·勒·瓦瑟的同居，文学生涯的开始，和乌德托夫人的充满爱情的友谊以及这一热情所引起的不良后果。 在这第二部里，大家还可以读到一些优美的片断。当卢梭应埃皮奈夫人的邀请到退隐庐时所感到的欢乐，他又重新回到了那欢迎他、爱他的大自然的怀抱里，重新看到青翠的颜色、花朵、树木和湖泊；在这幸福的使人心醉神迷的环境的影响下产生了朱丽；他对这位窈窕姑娘——他的精神的产儿——的热爱；他和乌德托夫人的散步，最初几次相会时的传奇性色彩，在小树林里的夜间会晤；所有这一切都非常迷人，出现了如同他在沙尔麦特时那样美的画面。 但是慢慢地在这些篇章里出现了怨恨的情绪。在夏日的芳香里渗进了一种窥探的气息。卢梭自以为受到一个神秘的阴谋集团的迫害： 黑暗的樊篱从此开始了，八年来，我就一直禁锢在这个牢笼里，不论我用什么办法都没能刺透它那骇人的黑影…… 这是不是一种受害后的病态心理？无病呻吟？评论家们长期以来一直作如此想，因为卢梭的敌手，他们都是些文人和有权势的人，都享有身后声誉。我们要是读了亨利·吉尔敏的《一个人，两个影子》的话，也就不会怀疑卢梭是有不共戴天的仇人的，他们为了种种不同的理由，齐心协力，非置他于死地不可。 低微、不幸、默默无闻、但又很有独特的见解的他，在近四十岁时才初露头角。闻名一时的妇女骄傲地发现了一个新的天才，于是成功便接踵而来，这就是为什么男人很难原谅他的原因了。格里姆、狄德罗，这些卢梭以为是他最忠实的朋友的人，已经听够了别人对他的赞颂。格里姆是恶毒的，狄德罗倒不是那样一个人，但他不能原谅卢梭是个基督教徒。百科全书派没有动摇这位日内瓦公民的信仰，相反使它变得更为坚定，这对整个教派和教义宣传来说都是极其危险的。要是他当初曾坚定地依附两大教派中的一派的话，至少基督徒会支持他，然而起初是新教徒，继而改宗天主教，接着又皈依新教。他声称这是一种纯属个人的信仰，一种摆脱“无甚价值的文辞”的和萨瓦副主教的信条一样的信仰。这种独立性值得敬佩然却危险，所以耶稣会教士和大臣们就联合起来反对他了。 轮到妇女了。当时也相当有势力，她们因他谈到她们时的亲切口吻而长期保护他、奖励他。他成功地使她们变成奴隶。她们请他为她们消愁解闷，要他去作伴，然而他却喜欢独自散步，陷入沉思，而不愿成为贵妇们小客厅里的装饰品。他的残疾使他不适合担任一些难以胜任的职务，如奉承者或得宠者那类角色。埃皮奈夫人待他很好，然而他竟爱上了她的小姑子乌德托夫人，并且还让她看出这一爱情，从而极其严重地伤害了她。他又很天真，居然把这一隐情透露给他以为是自己朋友的狄德罗，而事实上狄德罗早已不是他的朋友了。没有什么能比一个曾是朋友的人更为恶毒的了，为了证明自己在一件明知是坏事的事里是清白的，他就把自己出卖的一切恣意抹黑。狄德罗滥用了别人对他的信任，而格里姆则耍手腕，使一切都激化了。乌德托夫人，虽说是他的情人，也对这位柏拉图式的同时又守不住秘密的情人感到厌倦，因为这是两种不可饶恕的错误。卢梭突然发现，这个过去对他显得如此迷人的小集团现在却在激烈反对他，必须离开退隐庐了，这是一大悲剧。读着这个故事，大家会想起巴尔扎克笔下那个可怜的杜尔本堂神父，他也是一个多种深仇大恨的牺牲品。 剩下的可能只有沉默了。一束束信件、对霍尔巴赫小集团所作的焦虑的分析、伯尔尼或特拉维尔那些地方的人的偏狭心胸，文学史家对这一切都有一定的兴趣。对热心的读者来说，的魅力在第十二章里消失了。但是这类读者对让－雅克既不会失去敬仰，也不会稍减赞赏。作品在结束时也象开始时一样，有一段真诚的告白： 我说的都是真话；如果有人知道有些事情和我刚才所叙述的相反，哪怕那些事情经过了一千次证明，他所知道的也只是谎言和欺骗。如果他不肯在我在世的时候和我一起深究并查明这些事实，他就是不爱正义，不爱真理。我呢，我高声地、无畏地声明：将来任何人，即使没有读过我的作品，但能在用他自己的眼睛考查一下我的天性、操守、志趣、爱好、习惯以后，如果还相信我是个坏人，那么他自己就是一个理应掐死的坏人…… 有一切理由这样想：卢梭在人类思想存在的缺点所许可的限度里说出了真话——他的真话。