Thence arises the extreme difficulty I find in writing my manuscripts, blotted scratched, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they cost me; nor is there one of them but I have been obliged to transcribe four or five times before it went to press.Never could I do anything when placed at a table, pen in hand; it must be walking among the rocks, or in the woods; it is at night in my bed, during my wakeful hours, that I compose; it may be judged how slowly, particularly for a man who has not the advantage of verbal memory, and never in his life could retain by heart six verses.Some of my periods I have turned and returned in my head five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper: thus it is that I succeed better in works that require laborious attention, than those that appear more trivial, such as letters, in which I could never succeed, and being obliged to write one is to me a serious punishment;nor can I express my thoughts on the most trivial subjects without it costing me hours of fatigue.If I write immediately what strikes me, my letter is a long, confused, unconnected string of expressions, which, when read, can hardly be understood.
It is not only painful to me to give language to my ideas, but even to receive them.I have studied mankind, and think myself a tolerable observer, yet I know nothing from what I see, but all from what I remember, nor have I understanding except in my recollections.From all that is said, from all that passes in my presence, I feel nothing, conceive nothing, the exterior sign being all that strikes me; afterwards it returns to my remembrance; Irecollect the place, the time, the manner, the look, and gesture, not a circumstance escapes me; it is, then, from what has been done or said, that I imagine what has been thought, and I have rarely found myself mistaken.
So little master of my understanding when alone, let any one judge what I must be in conversation, where to speak with any degree of ease you must think of a thousand things at the same time: the bare idea that I should forget something material would be sufficient to intimidate me.Nor can I comprehend how people can have the confidence to converse in large companies, where each word must pass in review before so many, and where it would be requisite to know their several characters and histories to avoid saying what might give offense.In this particular, those who frequent the world would have a great advantage, as they know better where to be silent, and can speak with greater confidence; yet even they sometimes let fall absurdities;in what predicament then must he be who drops as it were from the clouds? It is almost impossible he should speak ten minutes with impunity.
In a tete-a-tete there is a still worse inconvenience; that is, the necessity of talking perpetually, at least, the necessity of answering when spoken to, and keeping up the conversation when the other is silent.This insupportable constraint is alone sufficient to disgust me with society, for I cannot form an idea of a greater torment than being obliged to speak continually without time for recollection.I know not whether it proceeds from my mortal hatred to all constraint; but if I am obliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense.What is still worse, instead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing to say, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination; and, endeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible, I hastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they only chance to mean nothing:
thus endeavoring to conquer or hide my incapacity, I rarely fail to show it.
I think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I have frequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging;this was the more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise, and expectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more shocking.This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will not be useless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which might otherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a savage humor I do not possess.I love society as much as any man, was I not certain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but totally different from what I really am.The plan I have adopted of writing and retirement, is what exactly suits me.Had I been present, my worth would never have been known, no one would even have suspected it; thus it was with Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived for several years; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though on the whole this rule may be subject to some exceptions.I shall now return to my history.
The estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable of premised, the question only remained how to render me capable of fulfilling my destined vocation.The principal difficulty was, I did not know Latin enough for a priest.Madam de Warrens determined to have me taught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to the superior, who was a Lazarist, called M.Gros, a good-natured little fellow, half blind, meager, gray-haired, insensible, and the least pedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no great matter.
He frequently visited Madam de Warrens, who entertained, caressed, and made much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he was willing enough to perform.While thus employed, she would run about the room, this way or that, as occasion happened to call her.Drawn by the lace, Monsieur the Superior followed, grumbling, repeating at every moment, "Pray, madam, do stand still;"the whole forming a scene truly diverting.
