INVISIBLE CELLS. Pt.1

Chapter 12. 'forced to be free'

Without ever speaking of it to each other, it was Therese, out of all the many characters who peopled their idea of "alternative history", to whom the sisters felt most drawn.

From the 1750's onwards Therese continued to ask the same question, whether they were in Paris, or Montmorency, or Neuchatel, or Geneva, or Wootton Hall, or Ermenonville, or any other of the places to which the persecutions of Rousseau took them.

"Tell me again Jean, why you took my babies from me. I still haven't got it."

Early on, the question was asked in the same way Therese asked him to explain, once again, why the big hand and the little hand both pointing to the two, at the same time, meant that it was ten past two. Telling the time was an ambiguity she was never able to fathom, but the ambiguities surrounding the disappearance of her five babies she came to manipulate with the skill of a priest. Rousseau's conscience was the target and his remorse the trigger. Often, she would pick on him just as his reoccurring urinary disturbance was at its most painful.

"It's very disturbing to be lied to about something so important. If you'd told me right at the outset, I might have got it straight in my mind. Do you know what you said? I remember! You said we couldn't have any children because they would interfere with your writing. You said a philosopher has to sacrifice family life. You can't remember saying that can you? Or, that's what you say. Are you listening to me Jean Jacques?"

When Therese launched into one of her monologues, Rousseau tried to appear preoccupied, head in a book or drawing staves on manuscript paper, but, in reality, every word struck home.

"Sometimes I think what you told me then, is the real truth and all this other stuff is to make a fool of me. What am I saying 'to make a fool of me'! Have you ever done anything else?"

Therese Levasseur met Jean Jacques Rousseau for the first time in Paris, in 1745. She was a maid at the Hotel St Quentin where Rousseau was staying. They remained together until Rousseau's death in 1778. They were lovers but, ashamed of her social standing, Rousseau pretended she was his servant. In 1768, to appear to make amends for removing all their children to the foundlings’ hospital and for years of infidelities, Rousseau pretended to marry Therese. By this time Therese was inured to Rousseau's deceptions. She stayed with him to torment him, making sure everyone called her Madame Rousseau, real marriage or no real marriage.

"I can see myself now, hurrying, mind you, up and down that valley in Montmorency, carrying your bloody love letters to those toffee-nosed tarts of yours. 'Do be quick Therese and hurry back with her reply!' Mme fucking d'Houdetot! Can you remember, that's when you were playing at being a hermit? Some fucking hermit! I don't suppose you can remember that either. Very convenient your memory lapses. Good job you've got me to remind you. Why did you take my babies away? Come on, explain it to me just one more time."

"I had to put them beyond reach. Anonymity was their best defence. There is a curse on the Rousseau's, just as there is on anyone who fails them. The Assassins!" The final exclamation came out as a whisper. Whenever he talked in this way his gaze became fixed, as though he could see something invisible to others. "I've told you all this. What's the point in repeating it, it's not difficult to understand, damn it, it was for their own safety."

"Oh! I've got it, thanks for reminding me. It's the same reason why you've written all these books. No, I'm still not exactly clear, what are all these books for, if not to make my life miserable? What did you say? You don't have to have airs and graces, these books are for people like me, for peasants: books for peasants!"

"That isn't the point Therese, and you know it's not. I wrote the books to bring about naturally what others wanted to do by magic. I showed how we could all start again. I thought it might lift the curse. It might."

"But it won't bring the babies back, Jean"

Every time it occurred, basically, it was the same conversation. Therese did most of the talking, reminding Rousseau of things he had said in the past. Long silences punctuated the words, sometimes an hour would pass before Therese would resume. Sometimes during the silences she would cry, other times she would just look black.

"I am a fool. I've actually believed every one of your stories at some time or other. This one about the books is a bit far-fetched, wouldn't you say? You did say you'd explain it very simply, I expect I missed something. Now let's see how did it go. You started off by attacking all that stuff royalty and nobs are into. Yes that's right you had this vision on the road to Dijon, hot stuff, and you wrote it up. When it won you the prize for the best essay, these assassinators came back to see you."

"Yes, they came and said my name had been as foul in the mouth to them as the name Enrico Dandolo, but that if I continued with scandalous writings things might change."

"Oh! you do look mesmerised. Sure you can't see a ghost? What was the long word you used? Civil...is...a. something. What us peasants like me mum and me dad and me didn't have. No numbers, no books, no palaces, no great big pictures, no operas, no balls." Therese would sometimes fall about at her own jokes. "Well, I would agree with you there. I reckon I could get by without any of that, I have so far! Anyway that wasn't the end of it, that was just the beginning, all that time you spent scribbling, more was to come. Now it gets really difficult."

The scribblings produced, in 1755, the 'Discourse on the Origins of Inequality' and, in 1762, the 'Social Contract'.

"Once upon a time, this is how you told it to me, everybody was a peasant, and we could all do what we liked, nothing mattered. There was no good/bad and no laws. But it's not like that now because most of us are prisoners and all the nobs tell us what to do and make up laws for us. Come to think of it, Jean, it sounds a bit like you and me, I'm the peasant and you're the nob. 'Course you're not a proper nob, I mean you might mix with them, but you weren't born to it, were you? Anyway nothings natural anymore and we've all lost our freedom, and what you said was these funny people you knew wanted to return everything back to the beginning."

"Magically, using spells and witchcraft, that's what they believe in, but this is a new age of enlightenment, the people can do it all themselves, you can do it Therese, our children, wherever they are, can do it; we don't need snake-skins and foreskins and gold! The curse can be lifted and we can all, at last, be free. For saying this I am persecuted on all sides, this is why I have to be careful in how I say what I say. In my texts I always contradict myself just in case I need a defence, but once the revolutionary thing is said, it will not lie down dead. Therese, I have been engaged in dangerous work and we may be fortunate enough to live long enough to see things change but, in the meantime, what sort of life would our children have had with us?"

"Yes, it's all getting a bit clearer, the fog's lifting. The king isn't the sovereign, well he is but he is a fucking imposter and the same goes for all those in the parliaments, all fucking imposters. 'Off with all their heads' is what I say. We were all born free but the imposters took us for a ride and put us all in chains. But you like being put in chains Jean! And being whipped! Anyway, there's this power belonging to the people. It's our will not 'thy will' and it's vulgar, well common. It comes out when we all press up against each other and stop behaving like frightened rabbits or farting hermits. The will of all us common people is sovereign. That's a very dreadful thing to say Jean, no wonder the people come to our house and throw stones. We're too lazy for sovereignty, let some other bugger do it. Oh! I'd almost forgotten how you are going to fit into all of this, 'cause you'd hate all that crowded flesh in the village square, but for Jean Jacques, Jean Jacques makes a little exception. You're not to belong anywhere, no common will for you. You'll come down from the mountains and be the oracle, and the people will come to you for wisdom. Then there's that other bit, it's much too complicated for me to remember, where's your book, yes here it is, you underlined it for me:- 'whoever refuses to obey the general rule..' sorry Jean 'general' not 'common', 'will be constrained to do so by the whole body, which means nothing other than he shall be forced to be free'. Just think, if you hadn't had to write something as important as this we might have the pleasure of advising our children on how to bring up their children."

Continued at WOMENSHEALTH