Reveries of the Solitary Walker by Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Author:Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTH WALK

THERE are very few of our automatic reactions whose cause we cannot discover in our hearts, if we are really capable of looking for it.

Yesterday, while walking along the new boulevard on my way to go botanizing on the banks of the Bièvre round Gentilly, I made a detour to the right as I was approaching the Porte d’Enfer,1 and, cutting off through the fields, I followed the Fontainebleau road up to the heights that run parallel to this little river. This route was of no significance in itself, but recalling that I had several times automatically taken the same roundabout way, I searched myself for the cause and could not refrain from laughing when I eventually unearthed it.

In one corner of the boulevard, just by the Porte d’Enfer, a woman sets up a stall every day in summer to sell fruit, rolls and tisane. This woman has a little boy who is very sweet, but a cripple, and he hobbles about on his crutches begging from passers-by in a not unpleasant way. I had struck up a sort of acquaintance with the little fellow, and every time I went past he came up without fail to make me a little compliment, which was always followed by a little gift from me. The first few times I was delighted to see him and gave him money very willingly, and I continued doing so for some time with the same pleasure, usually even giving myself the added satisfaction of engaging him in conversation and listening to his pleasant chatter. This pleasure gradually became a habit, and thus was somehow transformed into a sort of duty which I soon began to find irksome, particularly on account of the preamble I was obliged to listen to, in which he never failed to address me as Monsieur Rousseau so as to show that he knew me well, thus making it quite clear to me on the contrary that he knew no more of me than those who had taught him. From that time on I felt less inclined to go that way, and in the end I unthinkingly adopted the habit of making a detour when I approached this obstacle.

That is what I discovered in thinking about it, for until then I had not been clearly aware of anything of the sort. This discovery then recalled successively a vast number of similar cases which proved conclusively to me that the real and basic motives of most of my actions are not as clear to me as I had long supposed. I know and feel that doing good is the truest happiness that the human heart can enjoy, but I have been denied this happiness for many years now, and so unfortunate a destiny as mine leaves little hope of performing any genuinely good deed that is both well-chosen and useful. The greatest concern of those who control my fate having been to keep me entirely surrounded by false and deceptive appearances, any occasion for virtuous behaviour is never more than a bait to tempt me into the trap they have laid for me.

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