Emile has learned a trade, but we do not have recourse to it; he is fond of farming and understands it, but farming is not enough; the occupations he is acquainted with degenerate into routine; when he is engaged in them he is not really occupied; he is thinking of other things; head and hand are at work on different subjects.  He must have some fresh occupation which has the interest of novelty—­an occupation which keeps him busy, diligent, and hard at work, an occupation which he may become passionately fond of, one to which he will devote himself entirely.  Now the only one which seems to possess all these characteristics is the chase.  If hunting is ever an innocent pleasure, if it is ever worthy of a man, now is the time to betake ourselves to it.  Emile is well-fitted to succeed in it.  He is strong, skilful, patient, unwearied.  He is sure to take a fancy to this sport; he will bring to it all the ardour of youth; in it he will lose, at least for a time, the dangerous inclinations which spring from softness.  The chase hardens the heart a well as the body; we get used to the sight of blood and cruelty.  Diana is represented as the enemy of love; and the allegory is true to life; the languors of love are born of soft repose, and tender feelings are stifled by violent exercise.  In the woods and fields, the lover and the sportsman are so diversely affected that they receive very different impressions.  The fresh shade, the arbours, the pleasant resting-places of the one, to the other are but feeding grounds, or places where the quarry will hide or turn to bay.  Where the lover hears the flute and the nightingale, the hunter hears the horn and the hounds; one pictures to himself the nymphs and dryads, the other sees the horses, the huntsman, and the pack.  Take a country walk with one or other of these men; their different conversation will soon show you that they behold the earth with other eyes, and that the direction of their thoughts is as different as their favourite pursuit.

I understand how these tastes may be combined, and that at last men find time for both.  But the passions of youth cannot be divided in this way.  Give the youth a single occupation which he loves, and the rest will soon be forgotten.  Varied desires come with varied knowledge, and the first pleasures we know are the only ones we desire for long enough.  I would not have the whole of Emile’s youth spent in killing creatures, and I do not even profess to justify this cruel passion; it is enough for me that it serves to delay a more dangerous passion, so that he may listen to me calmly when I speak of it, and give me time to describe it without stimulating it.