conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Paris, Jean-Jacques, Reveries with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Essays & Correspondence?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Reveries of the Solitary Walker'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Reveries of the Solitary Walker
  It should be remembered that in spite of the efforts of a host of scholars, there are still many gaps in our knowledge of Rousseau's life, particularly the early years. To give just one example, many people have doubted whether he did in fact have any children by Thérèse Levasseur, let alone place them in the Foundlings' Home.
  SO now I am alone in the world, with no brother, neighbour or friend, nor any company left me but my own. The most sociable and loving of men has with one accord been cast out by all the rest. With all the ingenuity of hate they have sought out the cruellest torture for my sensitive soul, and have violently broken all the threads that bound me to them. I would have loved my fellow-men in spite of themselves. It was only by ceasing to be human that they could forfeit my affection. So now they are strangers and foreigners to me; they no longer exist for me, since such is their will. But I, detached as I am from them and from the whole world, what am I? This must now be the object of my inquiry. Unfortunately, before setting out on this quest, I must glance rapidly at my present situation, for this is a necessary stage on the road that leads from them to myself.
  After the fifteen years or more that this strange state of affairs has lasted, I still imagine that I am suffering from indigestion and dreaming a bad dream, from which I shall wake with my pain gone to find myself once again in the midst of my friends. Yes, I must surely have slipped unwittingly from waking into sleep, or rather from life into death. Wrenched somehow out of the natural order, I have been plunged into an incomprehensible chaos where I can make nothing out, and the more I think about my present situation, the less I can understand what has become of me.
  How indeed could I ever have foreseen the fate that lay in wait for me? How can I envisage it even today, when I have succumbed to it? Could I, in my right mind, suppose that I, the very same man who I was then and am still today, would be taken beyond all doubt for a monster, a poisoner, an assassin, that I would become the horror of the human race, the laughing-stock of the rabble, that all the recognition I would receive from passers-by would be to be spat upon, and that an entire generation would of one accord take pleasure in burying me alive? At the time of this amazing transformation, my instinctive reaction was one of consternation. My emotion and indignation plunged me into a fever which has taken all of ten years to abate, and during this time, as I lurched from fault to fault, error to error, and folly to folly, my imprudent behaviour provided those who control my fate with weapons which they have most skilfully used to settle my destiny irrevocably.
  For a long time I put up a resistance as violent as it was fruitless. Being without guile, without skill, without cunning and without prudence, frank, open, impatient and impulsive, I only enmeshed myself further in my efforts to be free, and constantly gave them new holds on me which they took good care not to neglect. But realizing eventually that all my efforts were in vain and my self-torment of no avail, I took the only course left to me, that of submitting to my fate and ceasing to fight against the inevitable. This resignation has made up for all my trials by the peace of mind it brings me, a peace of mind incompatible with the unceasing exertions of a struggle as painful as it was unavailing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I was barely allowed to spend two months on this island, but I could have spent two years, two centuries and all eternity there without a moment's boredom, even though all the company I had, apart from Thérèse, was that of the Steward, his wife and his household – all certainly very good people, and nothing more, but this was exactly what I needed. I look upon these two months as the happiest time of my life, so happy that I would have been content to live all my life in this way, without a moment's desire for any other state.
  When the lake was not calm enough for boating, I would spend the afternoon roaming about the island, stopping to sit now in the most charming and isolated corners where I could dream undisturbed, and now on the terraces and little hills, where I could let my eyes wander over the beautiful and entrancing spectacle of the lake and its shores, crowned on one side by the near-by mountains and on the other extending in rich and fertile plains where the view was limited only by a more distant range of blue mountains.
  As evening approached, I came down from the heights of the island, and I liked then to go and sit on the shingle in some secluded spot by the edge of the lake; there the noise of the waves and the movement of the water, taking hold of my senses and driving all other agitation from my soul, would plunge it into a delicious reverie in which night often stole upon me unawares. The ebb and flow of the water, its continuous yet undulating noise, kept lapping against my ears and my eyes, taking the place of all the inward movements which my reverie had calmed within me, and it was enough to make me pleasurably aware of my existence, without troubling myself with thought. From time to time some brief and insubstantial reflection arose concerning the instability of the things of this world, whose image I saw in the surface of the water, but soon these fragile impressions gave way before the unchanging and ceaseless movement which lulled me and without any active effort on my part occupied me so completely that even when time and the habitual signal called me home I could hardly bring myself to go.
  After supper, when the evening was fine, we all went out once again to walk on the terrace and breathe the coolness of the lake air. We would sit down to rest in the summer-house, and laugh and talk, and sing some old song which was fully the equal of all our modern frills and fancies, and then we would go off to bed satisfied with our day and only wishing for the next day to be the same.
  Such, apart from unforeseen and troublesome visits, was the way I spent my time on this island during the weeks I lived there. I should like to know what there was in it that was attractive enough to give me such deep, tender and lasting regrets that even fifteen years later I am incapable of thinking of this beloved place without being overcome by pangs of longing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I look upon these two months as the happiest time of my life, so happy that I would have been content to live all my life in this way, without a moment's desire for any other state.
  When the lake was not calm enough for boating, I would spend the afternoon roaming about the island, stopping to sit now in the most charming and isolated corners where I could dream undisturbed, and now on the terraces and little hills, where I could let my eyes wander over the beautiful and entrancing spectacle of the lake and its shores, crowned on one side by the near-by mountains and on the other extending in rich and fertile plains where the view was limited only by a more distant range of blue mountains.
  As evening approached, I came down from the heights of the island, and I liked then to go and sit on the shingle in some secluded spot by the edge of the lake; there the noise of the waves and the movement of the water, taking hold of my senses and driving all other agitation from my soul, would plunge it into a delicious reverie in which night often stole upon me unawares. The ebb and flow of the water, its continuous yet undulating noise, kept lapping against my ears and my eyes, taking the place of all the inward movements which my reverie had calmed within me, and it was enough to make me pleasurably aware of my existence, without troubling myself with thought. From time to time some brief and insubstantial reflection arose concerning the instability of the things of this world, whose image I saw in the surface of the water, but soon these fragile impressions gave way before the unchanging and ceaseless movement which lulled me and without any active effort on my part occupied me so completely that even when time and the habitual signal called me home I could hardly bring myself to go.
  After supper, when the evening was fine, we all went out once again to walk on the terrace and breathe the coolness of the lake air. We would sit down to rest in the summer-house, and laugh and talk, and sing some old song which was fully the equal of all our modern frills and fancies, and then we would go off to bed satisfied with our day and only wishing for the next day to be the same.
  Such, apart from unforeseen and troublesome visits, was the way I spent my time on this island during the weeks I lived there. I should like to know what there was in it that was attractive enough to give me such deep, tender and lasting regrets that even fifteen years later I am incapable of thinking of this beloved place without being overcome by pangs of longing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nevertheless I must admit that I still feel pleasure in living among men as long as my face is unknown to them. But this is a pleasure which I am hardly ever allowed to enjoy. A few years ago I still liked walking through villages and seeing the men mending their flails in the morning or the women with their children at the cottage doors. There was something in this sight that touched my heart; sometimes I stopped unthinkingly to watch these people at their little tasks and felt myself sighing without knowing why. I do not know whether seeing that I was affected by this little pleasure gave my enemies the desire to take it away from me too, but the change I can see on people's faces as I go past and the new way they look at me make it quite obvious that someone has taken steps to remove my incognito. The same thing has happened to me at the Invalides in an even more striking way. I have always felt an interest in this noble establishment. I can never look without emotion and veneration at the groups of good old men who can say like those of Sparta:
  One of my favourite walks was around the Military Academy, and I used to have the pleasure of meeting here and there some of the old pensioners who still retained the old military courtesy and saluted me as I went by. This salute, which my heart returned to them a hundred-fold, delighted me and added to the pleasure I felt in seeing them. Being unable to conceal anything that affects me, I often talked about these pensioners and said how touched I was to see them. That was all that was needed. Some time later I noticed that I was no longer a stranger to them, or rather that I was much more of a stranger, since they gave me the same sort of looks as the general public. No more courtesy, no more salutes. An unfriendly air and an unwelcoming look had taken the place of their earliest politeness. Since the sincerity belonging to their former profession does not allow them to do like everyone else and conceal their animosity under a sneering and treacherous mask, they openly display the most violent hate towards me, and so extreme is my misfortune that I am obliged to give the first place in my esteem to those who least disguise their fury.
  Since this change I have taken less pleasure in walking by the Invalides, but as my feelings towards them do not depend on how they regard me, I can never contemplate these former defenders of their country without respect and affection; but I find it very hard to be so poorly repaid for the justice I do them. When I happen to meet one of them who has escaped the general instruction or who, not knowing my face, displays no aversion to me, the courteous salute I receive from this one man makes up for the hostile attitude of all the rest. I forget about them and think only of him, and I imagine that he has a soul like mine, a soul impervious to hate. I had this pleasure as recently as last year, when I was crossing the Seine to go walking on the Île des Cygnes. A poor old pensioner was waiting in a boat for someone to cross with him. I stepped in and told the waterman to begin rowing. There was a strong current and the crossing was a long one. I dared hardly speak to the pensioner for fear of being insulted and rebuffed as usual, but his courteous appearance reassured me. We chatted. He seemed a sensible and decent man. I was surprised and delighted by his frank and affable manner. I was not used to such kind treatment, and my surprise ceased when I discovered that he had only just arrived from the provinces. I realized that he had not yet been taught my face and given his instructions. I took advantage of my incognito to have a few moments of conversation with a man, and the happiness this gave me made me feel how even the most common pleasures acquire a new value from being rare. Stepping out of the boat, he was getting ready his two poor coppers. I paid for the crossing and begged him to put his money away, trembling lest he take offence. He did nothing of the kind, indeed he appeared grateful for the charity, and even more so when I helped him out of the boat, since he was older than me. Who could believe that I was so childish as to weep for joy? I was dying to press a coin into his hand so that he could buy himself some tobacco, but I did not have the courage. The same diffidence that restrained me has often prevented me from doing good deeds which would have filled me with joy, and I have often had to deplore my own feebleness in refraining from them. This time, after taking leave of my old pensioner, I quickly consoled myself with the thought that I should have been acting against my own principles, so to speak, by attaching to good deeds the sort of price which degrades their nobility and tarnishes their disinterestedness. One should hasten to help those who are in need, but in ordinary human dealings let us allow natural kindliness and sociability each to do its work without letting so pure a spring be sullied or polluted by any mercenary or venal motive. They say that in Holland the ordinary people ask to be paid for telling you the time or showing you the way; it must be a very despicable people that can buy and sell the simplest duties of humanity in this way.
  TODAY, Palm Sunday, it is exactly fifty years since first I met Madame de Warens. She was twenty-eight then, having been born with the century. I was not yet seventeen, and all unknown to me the approach of manhood was making my naturally fervent heart burn with a new ardour. If it was not surprising that she should be kindly disposed towards a lively, yet gentle and modest young man of quite pleasing appearance, it was even less surprising that a charming, intelligent and graceful woman should make me feel not only gratitude, but more tender feelings which I was unable to distinguish from it. But what is more unusual is this: that this first impulse determined my whole life and led inexorably to the fate that has governed the rest of my days. My soul's most precious faculties had not yet been brought forth by my physical development, nor had it yet acquired a definite form. It was waiting with a kind of impatience for the moment that would shape it, but this moment, though hastened by this meeting, was not to come for a while yet, and thanks to the simple ways my education had given me I continued for a long time to live in that delightful but short-lived state where love and innocence can co-exist in one heart. She had sent me away. Everything called me back to her, I had to return. This return decided my fate, and long before I came to possess her, I lived only for her and my whole life was in hers. Ah! if only I had satisfied her heart as she satisfied mine! What peaceful and delightful days we should have spent together! We did indeed have such days, but how brief and fleeting they were, and what a fate has followed them! There is not a day when I do not remember with joy and loving emotion that one short time in my life when I was myself, completely myself, unmixed and unimpeded, and when I can genuinely claim to have lived. I can say more or less the same thing as the Pretorian Prefect who was disgraced under Vespasian and went to end his days in the country: 'I have spent seventy years on earth and I have lived for seven of them.' Were it not for that short but precious period, I should perhaps have remained uncertain about my true nature, for throughout the rest of my life, weak and unresisting, I have been so shaken, tossed and torn by the passions of others that, having remained almost passive in a life so full of storms, I should find it hard to decide what there is of my own in the conduct of my life, so unceasingly have I been oppressed by harsh necessity. But during those few years, loved by a gentle and indulgent woman, I did what I wanted, I was what I wanted, and by the use I made of my hours of leisure, helped by her teaching and example, I succeeded in imparting to my still simple and naïve soul the form which best suited it and which it has retained ever since. The taste for solitude and contemplation grew up in my heart along with the expansive and tender feelings which are best able to nourish it. Noise and turmoil constrain and quench them, peace and quiet revive and intensify them. I need tranquillity if I am to love. I persuaded Mamma to live in the country. A lonely house on a valley slope was our place of refuge, and it is there that in the space of four or five years I enjoyed a century of life and a pure and complete happiness, whose delightful memory can outweigh all that is appalling in my present fate. I needed a female friend after my own heart, and I had one. I had longed for the country, and my wish was granted. I could not bear subjection, and I was perfectly free, or better than free because I was subject only to my own affections and did only what I wanted to do. All my hours were filled with loving cares and country pursuits. I wanted nothing except that such a sweet state should never cease. My only cause of sorrow was the fear that it might not last long, and this fear, founded as it was on our precarious financial situation, was not unjustified.
  From then on I attempted both to distract myself from this anxiety and to find means of preventing the realization of my fears. I decided that a rich store of talents was the surest protection against poverty, and I resolved to employ my leisure hours in making myself able if possible one day to repay the best of women for all the help she had given me.