The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-12-28
NEW CONFESSIONS OF ROUSSEAU.
He Writes of Priests and Novels to an En-
glishwoman.
Pail Mall Gazette.

SucnWOIndus
Pan Mall Gazette.
III. Chautelauze the eminent French historian,
has recently made discovery which has aroused
much interest in literary circles in France. lie
found in an old volume of engravngs letter IN
Rousseau's handwriting, apparently written as
sort of appendix to the Confessions" The gen.
uineness of this letter having been proved, the
Livre and other literary organs reproduce it IN
full, showing that at the age of sixty years Jean
jacques was still at the height of his power, and
retained all the chief peculiarties which dis tin
guish his philosophy. Ii appears that the
letter was written after Rousseau's exile to
England, when, living at Wootop. Derby, he
made the acquaintance of the Lady Cecile Ho-
bart, of whom nothing is known except that she
was young and beautiful, and, as Rousseau says,
that she was the only woman in whom he was
not disappointed after he had heard her talk.
That an English woman should have gained this
distinction is perhaps little surprising, but. IN
the first place, Rousseau's acquaintance with her
must have been short. and, in the second place,
we must remember that man between fifty five
and sixty is sometimes less inclined to be crti-
cal in intellectual respects than he might have
been at half these years. This is especially true
Of a man Of Rousseau's peculiar temperament.
The first part of the curious writ is dedicated to
full analysis of Rousseau's feelings for the
lady and eulogy OF death. the friend Of lovers.
This leads him to TRADE against the priests.
X can understand that the multitude, whose
feelings eternal wisdom has found it well to
blunt, fears death and clings to physical life.
But being love life in whose heart all the
feelings Of which we capable are fully devel
opedg l doubt it. Moments may come where it
does but his days divided, and should those
in the course of which he wishes for death be
weighed against those in which the love of life
is predominant the scales would certainly incline
toward the grave. 1t is the priests, those false
servants of all sects, who desecrate our hearts,
who people our imagination with fearful ghosts,
and who lighting the flames of hell at the fire of
their greed and cruelty, picture to US sea OF
fire and agony which awaits US after leaving this
life. The evi-doersl They are the wicked ones
who mock the highest Being; they are those who
should be heaped up and cast into real flames,
that in the future their equals might be
prevented from lighting the funeral pile In
the night of eternity The priests! the priests
They are the enemies of humanity. They tort
ure US in life, they poison our death Without
these miserable beings death would be nothing
but what our nightly rest is to us. Indeed, it
would be only the sleep of the phys 1t is the
life of the spiritual being. No feeling being has
ever doubted the immortality of the soul, and
how deep must not this joyful thought be en-
graved into our hearts that the priests with their
pernicious teachings have not been able to ami
hilate it. In the course OF my youth L have al
ways seen the grave open before me. Alas, how
have longed for this much dreaded death! But
dared not go to meet it. for the letters of graft
tude chain me to life. Think of my Confessions
and thou wilt see why did not fee life"
The following extract will be interesting for
tne UloEfdpHlCdl UetdllS, anu ZOE buo pulloSo-
phizing estimate Of novels: Thrown into the
career of an author without quite knowing how
it came about have for a while lived on in sell
fishness, but heavily have atoned for that short
mistake. l have enjoyed the joys Of love. but
heaven has never united in me the Platonc love
with the passion of the senses My heart was
filled with romantic ideas, which tore it to
pieces in which yet, amid all my mistakes, l
have found the true happiness of life. belong
perhaps to those who have read most novels,
and have read them with SO keen an interest
that nearly lost mg life through them. Stand
ing on the border OF the grave l take
the same books which have delighted mo in
youth. l read them again, and find that my
heart is not changed; it feels the same
delight, and my eyes, which will soon
be closed forever, can still shed few tears
Judge after this description whether Jean
jacques is an enemy OF romantic ideas. Believe
me. Cecile, by surrounding ourselves with such
ideas entwine flowers about existence.
The naked truth with regard to the inner life is
poison to happiness. Truth is suitable to our
physical existence, but illusion is the nurture of
our spiritual life. Happy he who until death re-
| tains the susceptibility of youth l have re-
tanned it, Cecile, and this bliss to romantic
ideas. At first my heart stirred by novels
l left them for the sake of men, and have
sought them again when l knew what men are;
henceforth they will not leave me again"
The rest of the letter is again devoted to eX-
pressions of the authors delight at finding, ION
the border Of the grave" the ideal of his life
realized in the beautiful woman who evidently
was the last of the many loves of Jean Jacques
Rousseau.