nearer view of a spot that appeared delightful, I was so charmed with it,
and wandered round it so often, that at length I completely lost myself,
and after several hours' useless walking, weary, fainting with hunger and
thirst, I entered a peasant's hut, which had not indeed a very promising
appearance, but was the only one I could discover near me. I thought it
was here, as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where the inhabitants, living
at ease, have it in their power to exercise hospitality. I entreated the
countryman to give me some dinner, offering to pay for it: on which he
presented me with some skimmed milk and coarse barley--bread, saying it
was all he had. I drank the milk with pleasure, and ate the bread, chaff
and all; but it was not very restorative to a man sinking with fatigue.
The countryman, who watched me narrowly, judged the truth of my story by
my appetite, and presently (after having said that he plainly saw I was
an honest, good--natured young man, and did not come to betray him)
opened a little trap door by the side of his kitchen, went down, and
returned a moment after with a good brown loaf of pure wheat, the remains
of a well-flavored ham, and a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced
my heart more than all the rest: he then prepared a good thick omelet,
and I made such a dinner as none but a walking traveller ever enjoyed.
When I again offered to pay, his inquietude and fears returned; he not
only would have no money, but refused it with the most evident emotion;
and what made this scene more amusing, I could not imagine the motive of
his fear. At length, he pronounced tremblingly those terrible words,
"Commissioners," and "Cellar-rats," which he explained by giving me to
understand that he concealed his wine because of the excise, and his
bread on account of the tax imposed on it; adding, he should be an undone
man, if it was suspected he was not almost perishing with want. What he
said to me on this subject (of which I had not the smallest idea) made an
impression on my mind that can never be effaced, sowing seeds of that
inextinguishable hatred which has since grow up in my heart against the
vexations these unhappy people suffer, and against their oppressors.
This man, though in easy circumstances, dare not eat the bread gained by
the sweat of his brow, and could only escape destruction by exhibiting an
outward appearance of misery!--I left his cottage with as much
indignation as concern, deploring the fate of those beautiful countries,
where nature has been prodigal of her gifts, only that they may become
the prey of barbarous exactors.
The incident which I have just related, is the only one I have a distinct
remembrance of during this journey: I recollect, indeed, that on
approaching Lyons, I wished to prolong it by going to see the banks of
the Lignon; for among the romances I had read with my father, Astrea was
not forgotten and returned more frequently to my thoughts than any other.
Stopping for some refreshment (while chatting with my hostess), I
inquired the way to Forez, and was informed that country was an excellent
place for mechanics, as there were many forges, and much iron work done
there. This eulogium instantly calmed my romantic curiosity, for I felt
no inclination to seek Dianas and Sylvanders among a generation of
blacksmiths. The good woman who encouraged me with this piece of
information certainly thought I was a journeyman locksmith.
I had some view in going to Lyons: on my arrival, I went to the
Chasattes, to see Mademoiselle du Chatelet, a friend of Madam de Warrens,
for whom I had brought a letter when I came there with M. le Maitre,
so that it was an acquaintance already formed. Mademoiselle du Chatelet
informed me her friend had passed through Lyons, but could not tell
whether she had gone on to Piedmont, being uncertain at her departure
whether it would not be necessary to stop in Savoy; but if I choose,
she would immediately write for information, and thought my best plan
would be to remain at Lyons till she received it. I accepted this offer;
but did not tell Mademoiselle du Chatelet how much I was pressed for an
answer, and that my exhausted purse would not permit me to wait long.
It was not an appearance of coolness that withheld me, on the contrary,
I was very kindly received, treated on the footing of equality, and this
took from me the resolution of explaining my circumstances, for I could
not bear to descend from a companion to a miserable beggar.
I seem to have retained a very connecting remembrance of that part of my
life contained in this book; yet I think I remember, about the same
period, another journey to Lyons, (the particulars of which I cannot
recollect) where I found myself much straitened, and a confused
remembrance of the extremities to which I was reduced does not contribute
to recall the idea agreeably. Had I been like many others, had I
possessed the talent of borrowing and running in debt at every ale-house
I came to, I might have fared better; but in that my incapacity equalled
my repugnance, and to demonstrate the prevalence of both, it will be
sufficient to say, that though I have passed almost my whole life in
indifferent circumstances, and frequently have been near wanting bread,
I was never once asked for money by a creditor without having it in my
power to pay it instantly; I could never bear to contract clamorous
debts, and have ever preferred suffering to owing.
Being reduced to pass my nights in the streets, may certainly be called
suffering, and this was several times the case at Lyons, having preferred
buying bread with the few pence I had remaining, to bestowing them on a
lodging; as I was convinced there was less danger of dying for want of
sleep than of hunger. What is astonishing, while in this unhappy
situation, I took no care for the future, was neither uneasy nor
melancholy, but patiently waited an answer to Mademoiselle du Chatelet's
letter, and lying in the open air, stretched on the earth, or on a bench,
slept as soundly as if reposing on a bed of roses. I remember,
particularly, to have passed a most delightful night at some distance
from the city, in a road which had the Rhone, or Soane, I cannot
recollect which, on the one side, and a range of raised gardens, with
terraces, on the other. It had been a very hot day, the evening was
delightful, the dew moistened the fading grass, no wind was stirring,
the air was fresh without chillness, the setting sun had tinged the
clouds with a beautiful crimson, which was again reflected by the water,
and the trees that bordered the terrace were filled with nightingales who
were continually answering each other's songs. I walked along in a kind
of ecstasy, giving up my heart and senses to the enjoyment of so many
delights, and sighing only from a regret of enjoying them alone.
Absorbed in this pleasing reverie, I lengthened my walk till it grew very
late, without perceiving I was tired; at length, however, I discovered
it, and threw myself on the step of a kind of niche, or false door,
in the terrace wall. How charming was the couch! the trees formed a
stately canopy, a nightingale sat directly over me, and with his soft
notes lulled me to rest: how pleasing my repose; my awaking more so.
It was broad day; on opening my eyes I saw the water, the verdure, and
the admirable landscape before me. I arose, shook off the remains of
drowsiness, and finding I was hungry, retook the way to the city,
resolving, with inexpressible gayety, to spend the two pieces of six
francs I had yet remaining in a good breakfast. I found myself so
cheerful that I went all the way singing; I even remember I sang a
cantata of Batistin's called the Baths of Thomery, which I knew by heart.
May a blessing light on the good Batistin and his good cantata, which
procured me a better breakfast than I had expected, and a still better
dinner which I did not expect at all! In the midst of my singing,
I heard some one behind me, and turning round perceived an Antonine,
who followed after and seemed to listen with pleasure to my song.
At length accosting me, he asked, If I understood music. I answered,
"A little," but in a manner to have it understood I knew a great deal,
and as he continued questioning of me, related a part of my story.
He asked me, If I had ever copied music? I replied, "Often," which was
true: I had learned most by copying. "Well," continued he, "come with
me, I can employ you for a few days, during which time you shall want for
nothing; provided you consent not to quit my room." I acquiesced very
willingly, and followed him.
This Antonine was called M. Rotichon; he loved music, understood it, and
sang in some little concerts with his friends; thus far all was innocent
and right, but apparently this taste had become a furor, part of which he
was obliged to conceal. He conducted me into a chamber, where I found a
great quantity of music: he gave me some to copy, particularly the
cantata he had heard me singing, and which he was shortly to sing
himself.
I remained here three or four days, copying all the time I did not eat,
for never in my life was I so hungry, or better fed. M. Rolichon brought
my provisions himself from the kitchen, and it appeared that these good
priests lived well, at least if every one fared as I did. In my life, I
never took such pleasure in eating, and it must be owned this good cheer
came very opportunely, for I was almost exhausted. I worked as heartily
as I ate, which is saying a great deal; 'tis true I was not as correct as
diligent, for some days after, meeting M. Rolichon in the street, he
informed me there were so many omissions, repetitions, and
transpositions, in the parts I had copied, that they could not be
performed. It must be owned, that in choosing the profession of music,
I hit on that I was least calculated for; yet my voice was good and I
copied neatly; but the fatigue of long works bewilders me so much, that
I spend more time in altering and scratching out than in pricking down,
and if I do not employ the strictest attention in comparing the several
parts, they are sure to fail in the execution. Thus, through endeavoring
to do well, my performance was very faulty; for aiming at expedition,
I did all amiss. This did not prevent M. Rolichon from treating me well
to the last, and giving me half-a-crown at my departure, which I
certainly did not deserve, and which completely set me up, for a few days
after I received news from Madam de Warrens, who was at Chambery, with
money to defray the expenses of my journey to her, which I performed with
rapture. Since then my finances have frequently been very low, but never
at such an ebb as to reduce me to fasting, and I mark this period with a
heart fully alive to the bounty of Providence, as the last of my life in
which I sustained poverty and hunger.
I remained at Lyons seven or eight days to wait for some little
commissions with which Madam de Warrens had charged Mademoiselle du
Chatelet, who during this interval I visited more assiduously than
before, having the pleasure of talking with her of her friend, and being
no longer disturbed by the cruel remembrance of my situation, or painful
endeavors to conceal it. Mademoiselle du Chatelet was neither young nor
handsome, but did not want for elegance; she was easy and obliging while
her understanding gave price to her familiarity. She had a taste for
that kind of moral observation which leads to the knowledge of mankind,
and from her originated that study in myself. She was fond of the works
of Le Sage, particularly Gil Blas, which she lent me, and recommended to
my perusal. I read this performance with pleasure, but my judgment was
not yet ripe enough to relish that sort of reading. I liked romances
which abounded with high-flown sentiments.
Thus did I pass my time at the grate of Mademoiselle du Chatelet, with as
much profit as pleasure. It is certain that the interesting and sensible
conversation of a deserving woman is more proper to form the
understanding of a young man than all the pedantic philosophy of books.
I got acquainted at the Chasattes with some other boarders and their
friends, and among the rest, with a young person of fourteen, called
Mademoiselle Serre, whom I did not much notice at that time, though I was
in love with her eight or nine years afterwards, and with great reason,
for she was a most charming girl.
I was fully occupied with the idea of seeing Madam de Warrens, and this
gave some respite to my chimeras, for finding happiness in real objects
I was the less inclined to seek it in nonentities. I had not only found
her, but also by her means, and near her, an agreeable situation, having
sent me word that she had procured one that would suit me, and by which I
should not be obliged to quit her. I exhausted all my conjectures in
guessing what this occupation could be, but I must have possessed the art
of divination to have hit it on the right. I had money sufficient to
make my journey agreeable: Mademoiselle du Chatelet persuaded me to hire
a horse, but this I could not consent to, and I was certainly right,
for by so doing I should have lost the pleasure of the last pedestrian
expedition I ever made; for I cannot give that name to those excursions I
have frequently taken about my own neighborhood, while I lived at
Motiers.
It is very singular that my imagination never rises so high as when my
situation is least agreeable or cheerful. When everything smiles around
me, I am least amused; my heart cannot confine itself to realities,
cannot embellish, but must create. Real objects strike me as they really
are, my imagination can only decorate ideal ones. If I would paint the
spring, it must be in winter; if describe a beautiful landscape, it must
be while surrounded with walls; and I have said a hundred times, that
were I confined in the Bastile, I could draw the most enchanting picture
of liberty. On my departure from Lyons, I saw nothing but an agreeable
future, the content I now with reason enjoyed was as great as my
discontent had been at leaving Paris, notwithstanding, I had not during
this journey any of those delightful reveries I then enjoyed. My mind
was serene, and that was all; I drew near the excellent friend I was
going to see, my heart overflowing with tenderness, enjoying in advance,
but without intoxication, the pleasure of living near her; I had always
expected this, and it was as if nothing new had happened. Meantime,
I was anxious about the employment Madam de Warrens had procured me,
as if that alone had been material. My ideas were calm and peaceable,
not ravishing and celestial; every object struck my sight in its natural
form; I observed the surrounding landscape, remarked the trees, the
houses, the springs, deliberated on the cross-roads, was fearful of
losing myself, yet did not do so; in a word, I was no longer in the
empyrean, but precisely where I found myself, or sometimes perhaps at
the end of my journey, never farther.
I am in recounting my travels, as I was in making them, loath to arrive
at the conclusion. My heart beat with joy as I approached my dear Madam
de Warrens, but I went no faster on that account. I love to walk at my
ease, and stop at leisure; a strolling life is necessary to me:
travelling on foot, in a fine country, with fine weather and having an
agreeable object to terminate my journey, is the manner of living of all
others most suited to my taste.
It is already understood what I mean by a fine country; never can a flat
one, though ever so beautiful, appear such in my eyes: I must have
torrents, fir trees, black woods, mountains to climb or descend, and
rugged roads with precipices on either side to alarm me. I experienced
this pleasure in its utmost extent as I approached Chambery, not far from
a mountain which is called Pas de l'Echelle. Above the main road, which
is hewn through the rock, a small river runs and rushes into fearful
chasms, which it appears to have been millions of ages in forming. The
road has been hedged by a parapet to prevent accidents, which enabled me
to contemplate the whole descent, and gain vertigoes at pleasure; for a
great part of my amusement in these steep rocks, is, they cause a
giddiness and swimming in my head, which I am particularly fond of,
provided I am in safety; leaning, therefore, over the parapet, I remained
whole hours, catching, from time to time, a glance of the froth and blue
water, whose rushing caught my ear, mingled with the cries of ravens, and
other birds of prep that flew from rock to rock, and bush to bush, at six
hundred feet below me. In places where the slope was tolerably regular,
and clear enough from bushes to let stones roll freely, I went a
considerable way to gather them, bringing those I could but just carry,
which I piled on the parapet, and then threw down one after the other,
being transported at seeing them roll, rebound, and fly into a thousand
pieces, before they reached the bottom of the precipice.
Near Chambery I enjoyed an equal pleasing spectacle, though of a
different kind; the road passing near the foot of the most charming
cascade I ever saw. The water, which is very rapid, shoots from the top
of an excessively steep mountain, falling at such a distance from its
base that you may walk between the cascade and the rock without any
inconvenience; but if not particularly careful it is easy to be deceived
as I was, for the water, falling from such an immense height, separates,
and descends in a rain as fine as dust, and on approaching too near this
cloud, without perceiving it, you may be wet through in an instant.
At length I arrived at Madam de Warrens; she was not alone, the
intendant-general was with her. Without speaking a word to me, she
caught my hand, and presenting me to him with that natural grace which
charmed all hearts, said: "This, sir, is the poor young man I mentioned;
deign to protect him as long as he deserves it, and I shall feel no
concern for the remainder of his life." Then added, addressing herself
to me, "Child, you now belong to the king, thank Monsieur the Intendant,
who furnishes you with the means of existence." I stared without
answering, without knowing what to think of all this; rising ambition
almost turned my head; I was already prepared to act the intendant
myself. My fortune, however, was not so brilliant as I had imagined, but
it was sufficient to maintain me, which, as I was situated, was a capital
acquisition. I shall now explain the nature of my employment.
King Victor Amadeus, judging by the event of preceding wars, and the
situation of the ancient patrimony of his fathers, that he should not
long be able to maintain it, wished to drain it beforehand. Resolving,
therefore, to tax the nobility, he ordered a general survey of the whole
country, in order that it might be rendered more equal and productive.
This scheme, which was begun under the father, was completed by the son:
two or three hundred men, part surveyors, who were called geometricians,
and part writers, who were called secretaries, were employed in this
work: among those of the latter description Madam de Warrens had got me
appointed. This post, without being very lucrative, furnished the means
of living eligibly in that country; the misfortune was, this employment
could not be of any great duration, but it put me in train to procure
something better, as by this means she hoped to insure the particular
protection of the intendant, who might find me some more settled
occupation before this was concluded.
I entered on my new employment a few days after my arrival, and as there
was no great difficulty in the business, soon understood it; thus, after
four or five years of unsettled life, folly, and suffering, since my
departure from Geneva, I began, for the first time, to gain my bread with
credit.
These long details of my early youth must have appeared trifling, and I
am sorry for it: though born a man, in a variety of instances, I was long
a child, and am so yet in many particulars. I did not promise the public
a great personage: I promised to describe myself as I am, and to know me
in my advanced age it was necessary to have known me in my youth. As,
in general, objects that are present make less impression on me than the
bare remembrance of them (my ideas being all from recollection), the
first traits which were engraven on my mind have distinctly remained:
those which have since been imprinted there, have rather combined with
the former than effaced them. There is a certain, yet varied succession
of affections and ideas, which continue to regulate those that follow
them, and this progression must be known in order to judge rightly of
those they have influenced. I have studied to develop the first causes,
the better to show the concatenation of effects. I would be able by some
means to render my soul transparent to the eyes of the reader, and for
this purpose endeavor to show it in every possible point of view, to give
him every insight, and act in such a manner, that not a motion should
escape him, as by this means he may form a judgment of the principles
that produce them.
Did I take upon myself to decide, and say to the reader, "Such is my
character," he might think that if I did not endeavor to deceive him,
I at least deceived myself; but in, recounting simply all that has
happened to me, all my actions, thoughts, and feelings, I cannot lead him
into an error, unless I do it wilfully, which by this means I could not
easily effect, since it is his province to compare the elements, and
judge of the being they compose: thus the result must be his work, and if
he is then deceived the error will be his own. It is not sufficient for
this purpose that my recitals should be merely faithful, they must also
be minute; it is not for me to judge of the importance of facts, I ought
to declare them simply as they are, and leave the estimate that is to be
formed of them to him. I have adhered to this principle hitherto, with
the most scrupulous exactitude, and shall not depart from it in the
continuation; but the impressions of age are less lively than those of
youth; I began by delineating the latter: should I recollect the rest
with the same precision, the reader, may, perhaps, become weary and
impatient, but I shall not be dissatisfied with my labor. I have but one
thing to apprehend in this undertaking: I do not dread saying too much,
or advancing falsities, but I am fearful of not saying enough, or
concealing truths.