Eloisa · Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Letter LXXXII. To Eloisa.
Thus, in whatever light we view this people, all is verbosity and jargon, talk without design, and words without meaning. In the theatre, as in the world, be as attentive as ye will to what is said, you will learn nothing of what is done; when a man has spoken, it would be thought impertinent to enquire after his conduct: he has spoken, that’s sufficient, and he must stand or fall by what he has said. The respectable man here is not he that does good actions, but he that says good things; and a single sentence sometimes inadvertently uttered shall cast an odium on a man’s character, that forty years of integrity will not be able to eraze. In a word, although the conduct of men does not always resemble their discourse, yet I see they are characterized by their discourse without any regard to their actions: I have remarked also, that in a great city, society appears more free, agreeable, and even more safe, than among people less knowing and less civilized: but I will not pretend to say the latter are therefore less humane, temperate, or just. On the contrary, among the former, where every thing is governed by appearances, the heart is perhaps more hid by external shew, and lies deeper concealed under agreeable deceptions.
It does not belong, however, to me, who am a stranger, without business, pleasures or connections, to decide here. I begin, nevertheless, to perceive in myself that intoxication into which such a busy tumultuous life plunges every one who leads it; and am affected with a dizziness like that of a man, before whose eyes a multitude of successive objects pass with rapidity. Not one of these, which thus strike me, affects my heart; but all together they so disturb and suspend its affections, that I sometimes forget not only myself, but even my Eloisa. Every day, on leaving my apartment, I leave my _observations_ locked up behind me, and proceed to make others on the frivolous objects which present themselves. Insensibly I begin to think and reason in the manner of other people; and, if ever I strive to get the better of their prejudices, and look upon things as they are, I am immediately borne down by a torrent of words, which carry with them a shew of reason. The people here will prove to a demonstration, that none but superficial, half-witted reasoners regard the reality of things; that the true philosopher considers only their appearances; that prejudice and prepossession should pass for principle, decorum for law, and that the most profound wisdom consists in living like fools.
Thus constrained to pervert the order of the moral affections, to set a value on chimeras, and put nature and reason to silence, I see with regret, how sullied and defaced is that divine image, which I cherish in my breast, once the sole object of my desires, and the only guide of my conduct: I am borne by one caprice to another, while my inclinations are continually enslaved by the general opinion, and I am never certain one day what I shall approve the next. Abashed and confounded to find my humanity so far debased; to see myself fallen so low from that innate greatness of mind, to which our passion had reciprocally elevated us, I return home at night, with a heart swelling, yet vacant as a ball puffed up with air; sickened with disgust, and sunk in sorrow. But with what joy do I recollect myself, when alone! with what transports do I feel the sensations of love again take possession of my heart, and restore me to the dignity of a man! O love! how refined are thy sensations! how do I applaud myself when I see the image of virtue preserve its lustre still in my breast; when I contemplate thine, my Eloisa! still there, unsullied, sitting on a throne of glory, and dissipating in a moment my gloomy delusions. I feel my depressed soul revive; I seem to recover my existence, to live anew, and to regain, with my love, those sublime sentiments that render the passion worthy of its object.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.