I
am
by
birth
a Genevese,
and
my
family
is
one
of
the
most
distinguished
of
that
republic. My
ancestors
had been
for
many
years
counsellors
and
syndics,
and
my father had
filled
several
public
situations
with
honour
and
reputation.
He
was
respected
by
all
who
knew
him
for
his
integrity
and
indefatigable
attention
to
public business.
He
passed
his
younger
days
perpetually
occupied
by
the
affairs
of
his
country; a
variety
of
circumstances had
prevented
his
marrying
early,
nor
was
it
until
the
decline
of
life
that
he
became a husband
and
the
father
of
a family.
As
the
circumstances
of
his
marriage
illustrate
his
character, I cannot
refrain
from
relating
them.
One
of
his
most
intimate
friends
was
a
merchant
who,
from
a flourishing state, fell,
through
numerous
mischances,
into
poverty.
This
man,
whose
name
was
Beaufort,
was
of
a
proud
and
unbending
disposition
and
could
not
bear
to
live
in
poverty
and
oblivion
in
the
same
country
where
he
had
formerly
been distinguished
for
his
rank
and
magnificence.
Having
paid
his
debts, therefore,
in
the
most
honourable
manner,
he
retreated
with
his
daughter
to
the
town
of
Lucerne,
where
he
lived
unknown
and
in
wretchedness. My father
loved
Beaufort
with
the
truest
friendship
and
was
deeply
grieved
by
his
retreat
in
these
unfortunate circumstances.
He
bitterly
deplored
the
false
pride
which
led
his
friend
to
a
conduct
so
little
worthy
of
the
affection
that
united them.
He
lost
no
time
in
endeavouring
to
seek
him
out,
with
the
hope
of
persuading
him
to
begin
the
world
again
through
his
credit
and
assistance. Beaufort had taken
effectual
measures
to
conceal
himself,
and
it
was
ten
months
before
my father
discovered
his
abode.
Overjoyed
at
this
discovery,
he
hastened
to
the
house,
which
was
situated
in
a
mean
street
near
the
Reuss.
But
when
he
entered,
misery
and
despair
alone
welcomed
him. Beaufort had saved
but
a
very
small
sum
of
money
from
the
wreck
of
his
fortunes,
but
it
was
sufficient
to
provide
him
with
sustenance
for
some
months,
and
in
the
meantime
he
hoped
to
procure
some
respectable
employment
in
a merchant's house.
The
interval
was, consequently, spent
in
inaction;
his
grief
only
became
more
deep
and
rankling
when
he
had
leisure
for
reflection,
and
at
length
it
took
so
fast
hold
of
his
mind
that
at
the
end
of
three
months
he
lay
on
a
bed
of
sickness,
incapable
of
any
exertion.
His
daughter
attended
him
with
the
greatest tenderness,
but
she
saw
with
despair
that
their
little
fund
was
rapidly
decreasing
and
that
there
was
no
other
prospect
of
support.
But
Caroline
Beaufort possessed a
mind
of
an
uncommon mould,
and
her
courage
rose
to
support
her
in
her
adversity.
She
procured
plain
work;
she
plaited
straw
and
by
various
means
contrived
to
earn
a
pittance
scarcely
sufficient
to
support life.
Several
months
passed
in
this
manner.
Her
father
grew
worse;
her
time
was
more
entirely occupied
in
attending
him;
her
means
of
subsistence
decreased;
and
in
the
tenth
month
her
father
died
in
her
arms,
leaving
her
an
orphan
and
a beggar.
This
last
blow overcame her,
and
she
knelt
by
Beaufort's
coffin
weeping
bitterly,
when
my father
entered
the
chamber.
He
came
like
a
protecting
spirit
to
the
poor
girl,
who
committed
herself
to
his
care;
and
after
the
interment
of
his
friend
he
conducted
her
to
Geneva
and
placed
her
under
the
protection
of
a relation.
Two
years
after
this
event
Caroline
became
his
wife.
There
was
a
considerable
difference
between
the
ages
of
my parents,
but
this
circumstance
seemed
to
unite
them
only
closer
in
bonds
of
devoted affection.
There
was
a sense
of
justice
in
my father's
upright
mind
which
rendered
it
necessary
that
he
should
approve
highly
to
love
strongly.
Perhaps
during
former
years
he
had
suffered
from
the
late-discovered
unworthiness
of
one
beloved
and
so
was
disposed
to
set
a
greater
value
on
tried worth.
There
was
a
show
of
gratitude
and
worship
in
his
attachment
to
my mother,
differing
wholly
from
the
doting
fondness
of
age,
for
it
was
inspired
by
reverence
for
her
virtues
and
a
desire
to
be
the
means
of,
in
some
degree,
recompensing
her
for
the
sorrows
she
had endured,
but
which
gave inexpressible
grace
to
his
behaviour
to
her. Everything
was
made
to
yield
to
her
wishes
and
her
convenience.
He
strove
to
shelter her,
as
a
fair
exotic
is
sheltered
by
the
gardener,
from
every
rougher wind
and
to
surround
her
with
all
that
could
tend
to
excite
pleasurable
emotion
in
her
soft
and
benevolent
mind.
Her
health,
and
even
the
tranquillity
of
her
hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken
by
what
she
had gone through.
During
the
two
years
that
had
elapsed
previous
to
their
marriage
my father had gradually
relinquished
all
his
public functions;
and
immediately
after
their
union
they
sought
the
pleasant
climate
of
Italy,
and
the
change
of
scene
and
interest
attendant
on
a tour
through
that
land
of
wonders,
as
a
restorative
for
her
weakened frame.
From
Italy
they
visited
Germany
and
France. I,
their
eldest
child,
was
born
at
Naples,
and
as
an
infant
accompanied
them
in
their
rambles. I
remained
for
several
years
their
only
child.
Much
as
they
were
attached
to
each
other,
they
seemed
to
draw
inexhaustible
stores
of
affection
from
a
very
mine
of
love
to
bestow
them
upon
me. My mother's
tender
caresses
and
my father's
smile
of
benevolent
pleasure
while
regarding
me
are
my
first
recollections. I
was
their
plaything
and
their
idol,
and
something
better—their child,
the
innocent
and
helpless
creature
bestowed
on
them
by
heaven,
whom
to
bring
up
to
good,
and
whose
future
lot
it
was
in
their
hands
to
direct
to
happiness
or
misery, according
as
they
fulfilled
their
duties
towards
me.
With
this
deep
consciousness
of
what
they
owed
towards
the
being
to
which
they
had
given
life, added
to
the
active
spirit
of
tenderness
that
animated both,
it
may
be
imagined
that
while
during
every
hour
of
my
infant
life
I received a
lesson
of
patience,
of
charity,
and
of
self-control, I
was
so
guided
by
a
silken
cord
that
all
seemed
but
one
train
of
enjoyment
to
me.
For
a
long
time I
was
their
only
care. My mother had
much
desired
to
have
a daughter,
but
I
continued
their
single offspring.
When
I
was
about
five
years
old,
while
making
an
excursion
beyond
the
frontiers
of
Italy,
they
passed
a
week
on
the
shores
of
the
Lake
of
Como.
Their
benevolent
disposition
often
made
them
enter
the
cottages
of
the
poor. This,
to
my mother,
was
more
than
a duty;
it
was
a necessity, a passion—remembering
what
she
had suffered,
and
how
she
had been relieved—for
her
to
act
in
her
turn
the
guardian
angel
to
the
afflicted.
During
one
of
their
walks a
poor
cot
in
the
foldings
of
a
vale
attracted
their
notice
as
being singularly disconsolate,
while
the
number
of
half-clothed children
gathered
about
it
spoke
of
penury
in
its
worst shape.
One
day,
when
my father had gone
by
himself
to
Milan, my mother, accompanied
by
me,
visited
this
abode.
She
found a
peasant
and
his
wife,
hard
working, bent
down
by
care
and
labour,
distributing
a scanty
meal
to
five
hungry
babes.
Among
these
there
was
one
which
attracted
my mother
far
above
all
the
rest.
She
appeared
of
a
different
stock.
The
four
others
were
dark-eyed,
hardy
little
vagrants;
this
child
was
thin
and
very
fair.
Her
hair
was
the
brightest
living
gold,
and
despite
the
poverty
of
her
clothing,
seemed
to
set
a
crown
of
distinction
on
her
head.
Her
brow
was
clear
and
ample,
her
blue
eyes
cloudless,
and
her
lips
and
the
moulding
of
her
face
so
expressive
of
sensibility
and
sweetness
that
none
could
behold
her
without
looking
on
her
as
of
a
distinct
species, a being heaven-sent,
and
bearing a
celestial
stamp
in
all
her
features.
The
peasant
woman,
perceiving
that
my mother fixed
eyes
of
wonder
and
admiration
on
this
lovely
girl,
eagerly
communicated
her
history.
She
was
not
her
child,
but
the
daughter
of
a Milanese nobleman.
Her
mother
was
a
German
and
had
died
on
giving
her
birth.
The
infant
had been
placed
with
these
good
people
to
nurse:
they
were
better
off
then.
They
had
not
been
long
married,
and
their
eldest
child
was
but
just
born.
The
father
of
their
charge
was
one
of
those
Italians
nursed
in
the
memory
of
the
antique
glory
of
Italy—one
among
the
schiavi ognor frementi,
who
exerted
himself
to
obtain
the
liberty
of
his
country.
He
became
the
victim
of
its
weakness.
Whether
he
had
died
or
still
lingered
in
the
dungeons
of
Austria
was
not
known.
His
property
was
confiscated;
his
child
became
an
orphan
and
a beggar.
She
continued
with
her
foster
parents
and
bloomed
in
their
rude
abode,
fairer
than
a
garden
rose
among
dark-leaved brambles.
When
my father
returned
from
Milan,
he
found
playing
with
me
in
the
hall
of
our
villa
a
child
fairer
than
pictured
cherub—a
creature
who
seemed
to
shed
radiance
from
her
looks
and
whose
form
and
motions
were
lighter
than
the
chamois
of
the
hills.
The
apparition
was
soon
explained.
With
his
permission
my mother
prevailed
on
her
rustic
guardians
to
yield
their
charge
to
her.
They
were
fond
of
the
sweet
orphan.
Her
presence
had
seemed
a
blessing
to
them,
but
it
would
be
unfair
to
her
to
keep
her
in
poverty
and
want
when
Providence
afforded
her
such
powerful protection.
They
consulted
their
village
priest,
and
the
result
was
that
Elizabeth
Lavenza became
the
inmate
of
my parents' house—my
more
than
sister—the beautiful
and
adored
companion
of
all
my
occupations
and
my pleasures. Everyone
loved
Elizabeth.
The
passionate
and
almost
reverential
attachment
with
which
all
regarded
her
became,
while
I
shared
it, my
pride
and
my delight.
On
the
evening
previous
to
her
being brought
to
my home, my mother had said playfully, "I
have
a pretty
present
for
my Victor—tomorrow
he
shall
have
it."
And
when,
on
the
morrow,
she
presented
Elizabeth
to
me
as
her
promised
gift, I,
with
childish
seriousness,
interpreted
her
words
literally
and
looked
upon
Elizabeth
as
mine—mine
to
protect, love,
and
cherish.
All
praises bestowed
on
her
I received
as
made
to
a
possession
of
my own.
We
called
each
other
familiarly
by
the
name
of
cousin.
No
word,
no
expression
could
body
forth
the
kind
of
relation
in
which
she
stood
to
me—my
more
than
sister,
since
till
death
she
was
to
be
mine
only.