After breakfast, I hastened, with a frown on my brow, to write a fewpitiful letters, longing ardently for the moment after which Ishould have no more to write.I busied myself for a few minutesabout my books and papers, to unpack and arrange them, rather thanto read what they contained; and this arrangement, which to mebecame the work of Penelope, gave me the pleasure of musing for awhile.I then grew weary, and quitted my books to spend the three orfour hours which remained to me of the morning in the study of botany,and especially of the system of Linnaeus, of which I became sopassionately fond, that, after having felt how useless my attachmentto it was, I yet could not entirely shake it off.This greatobserver is, in my opinion, the only one who, with Ludwig, hashitherto considered botany as a naturalist and a philosopher; but hehas too much studied it in herbals and gardens, and not sufficientlyin nature herself.For my part, whose garden was always the wholeisland, the moment I wanted to make or verity an observation, I raninto the woods or meadows with my book under my arm, and there laidmyself upon the ground near the plant in question, to examine it at myease as it stood.This method was of great service to me in gaininga knowledge of vegetables in their natural state, before they had beencultivated and changed in their nature by the hands of men.Fagon,first physician to Louis XIV., and who named and perfectly knew allthe plants in the royal garden, is said to have been so ignorant inthe country as not to know how to distinguish the same plants.I amprecisely the contrary.I know something of the work of nature, butnothing of that of the gardener.
I gave every afternoon totally up to my indolent and carelessdisposition, and to following without regularity the impulse of themoment.When the weather was calm, I frequent went immediately after Irose from dinner, and alone got into the boat.The receiver had taughtme to row with one oar; I rowed out into the middle of the lake.Themoment I withdrew from the bank, I felt a secret joy which almost mademe leap, and of which it is impossible for me to tell or evencomprehend the cause, if it were not a secret congratulation on mybeing out of the reach of the wicked.I afterwards rowed about thelake, sometimes approaching the opposite bank, but never touching atit.I often let my boat float at the mercy of the wind and water,abandoning myself to reveries without object, and which were not theless agreeable for their stupidity.I sometimes exclaimed, "Onature! O my mother! I am here under thy guardianship alone; here isno deceitful and cunning mortal to interfere between thee and me."In this manner I withdrew half a league from land; I could have wishedthe lake had been the ocean.However, to please my poor dog, who wasnot so fond as I was of such a long stay on the water, I commonlyfollowed one constant course: this was going to land at the littleisland where I walked an hour or two, or laid myself down on the grasson the summit of the hill, there to satiate myself with the pleasureof admiring the lake and its environs, to examine and dissect allthe herbs within my reach, and, like another Robinson Crusoe, buildmyself an imaginary place of residence in the island.I became verymuch attached to this eminence.When I brought Theresa, with thewife of the receiver and her sisters, to walk there, how proud was Ito be their pilot and guide! We took there rabbits to stock it.Thiswas another source of pleasure to Jean-Jacques.These animals renderedthe island still more interesting to me.I afterwards went to itmore frequently, and with greater pleasure, to observe the progress ofthe new inhabitants.
To these amusements I added one which recalled to my recollectionthe delightful life I led at the Charmettes, and to which the seasonparticularly invited me.This was assisting in the rustic labors ofgathering of roots and fruits, of which Theresa and I made it apleasure to partake, with the wife of the receiver and his family.Iremember a Bernois, one M.Kirkeberguer, coming to see me, found meperched upon a tree with a sack fastened to my waist, and already sofull of apples that I could not stir from the branch on which I stood.
I was not sorry to be caught in this and similar situations.I hopedthe people of Berne, witnesses to the employment of my leisure,would no longer think of disturbing my tranquillity but leave me atpeace in my solitude.I should have preferred being confined thereby their desire: this would have rendered the continuation of myrepose more certain.
This is another declaration upon which I am previously certain ofthe incredulity of many of my readers, who obstinately continue tojudge of me by themselves, although they cannot but have seen, inthe course of my life, a thousand internal affections which bore noresemblance to any of theirs.But what is still more extraordinary is,that they refuse me every sentiment, good or indifferent, which theyhave not, and are constantly ready to attribute to me such bad ones ascannot enter the heart of man: in this case they find it easy to setme in opposition to nature, and to make of me such a monster as cannotin reality exist.Nothing absurd appears to them incredible, themoment it has a tendency to blacken me, and nothing in the leastextraordinary seem to them possible, if it tends to do me honor.
But, notwithstanding what they may think or say, I will stillcontinue faithfully to state what J.J.Rousseau was, did, andthought; without explaining, or justifying, the singularity of hissentiments and ideas, or endeavoring to discover whether or othershave thought as he did.I became so delighted with the island of St.
