We
were
brought
up
together;
there
was
not
quite
a
year
difference
in
our
ages. I
need
not
say
that
we
were
strangers
to
any
species
of
disunion
or
dispute.
Harmony
was
the
soul
of
our
companionship,
and
the
diversity
and
contrast
that
subsisted
in
our
characters
drew
us
nearer
together.
Elizabeth
was
of
a
calmer
and
more
concentrated disposition; but,
with
all
my ardour, I
was
capable
of
a
more
intense
application
and
was
more
deeply
smitten
with
the
thirst
for
knowledge.
She
busied
herself
with
following
the
aerial
creations
of
the
poets;
and
in
the
majestic
and
wondrous
scenes
which
surrounded
our
Swiss
home
—the
sublime
shapes
of
the
mountains,
the
changes
of
the
seasons,
tempest
and
calm,
the
silence
of
winter,
and
the
life
and
turbulence
of
our
Alpine
summers—she found
ample
scope
for
admiration
and
delight.
While
my
companion
contemplated
with
a
serious
and
satisfied spirit
the
magnificent
appearances
of
things, I
delighted
in
investigating
their
causes.
The
world
was
to
me
a
secret
which
I
desired
to
divine. Curiosity,
earnest
research
to
learn
the
hidden
laws
of
nature,
gladness
akin
to
rapture,
as
they
were
unfolded
to
me,
are
among
the
earliest
sensations
I
can
remember.
On
the
birth
of
a
second
son, my
junior
by
seven
years, my
parents
gave
up
entirely
their
wandering
life
and
fixed
themselves
in
their
native
country.
We
possessed a
house
in
Geneva,
and
a campagne
on
Belrive,
the
eastern
shore
of
the
lake,
at
the
distance
of
rather
more
than
a league
from
the
city.
We
resided
principally
in
the
latter,
and
the
lives
of
my
parents
were
passed
in
considerable
seclusion.
It
was
my temper
to
avoid
a crowd
and
to
attach
myself
fervently
to
a few. I
was
indifferent, therefore,
to
my school-fellows
in
general;
but
I united
myself
in
the
bonds
of
the
closest
friendship
to
one
among
them.
Henry
Clerval
was
the
son
of
a
merchant
of
Geneva.
He
was
a
boy
of
singular
talent
and
fancy.
He
loved
enterprise, hardship,
and
even
danger
for
its
own
sake.
He
was
deeply
read
in
books
of
chivalry
and
romance.
He
composed
heroic
songs
and
began
to
write
many
a
tale
of
enchantment
and
knightly
adventure.
He
tried
to
make
us
act
plays
and
to
enter
into
masquerades,
in
which
the
characters
were
drawn
from
the
heroes
of
Roncesvalles,
of
the
Round Table
of
King
Arthur,
and
the
chivalrous
train
who
shed
their
blood
to
redeem
the
holy
sepulchre
from
the
hands
of
the
infidels.
No
human
being
could
have
passed
a happier
childhood
than
myself. My
parents
were
possessed
by
the
very
spirit
of
kindness
and
indulgence.
We
felt
that
they
were
not
the
tyrants
to
rule
our
lot
according
to
their
caprice,
but
the
agents
and
creators
of
all
the
many
delights
which
we
enjoyed.
When
I
mingled
with
other
families
I distinctly
discerned
how
peculiarly
fortunate
my
lot
was,
and
gratitude
assisted
the
development
of
filial
love. My temper
was
sometimes violent,
and
my
passions
vehement;
but
by
some
law
in
my
temperature
they
were
turned
not
towards
childish
pursuits
but
to
an
eager
desire
to
learn,
and
not
to
learn
all
things
indiscriminately. I
confess
that
neither
the
structure
of
languages,
nor
the
code
of
governments,
nor
the
politics
of
various
states
possessed
attractions
for
me.
It
was
the
secrets
of
heaven
and
earth
that
I
desired
to
learn;
and
whether
it
was
the
outward
substance
of
things
or
the
inner
spirit
of
nature
and
the
mysterious
soul
of
man
that
occupied me,
still
my
inquiries
were
directed
to
the
metaphysical,
or
in
its
highest
sense,
the
physical
secrets
of
the
world. Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself,
so
to
speak,
with
the
moral
relations
of
things.
The
busy
stage
of
life,
the
virtues
of
heroes,
and
the
actions
of
men
were
his
theme;
and
his
hope
and
his
dream
was
to
become
one
among
those
whose
names
are
recorded
in
story
as
the
gallant
and
adventurous
benefactors
of
our
species.
The
saintly soul
of
Elizabeth
shone
like
a shrine-dedicated
lamp
in
our
peaceful home.
Her
sympathy
was
ours;
her
smile,
her
soft
voice,
the
sweet
glance
of
her
celestial
eyes,
were
ever
there
to
bless
and
animate
us.
She
was
the
living
spirit
of
love
to
soften
and
attract; I
might
have
become
sullen
in
my study, rough
through
the
ardour
of
my nature,
but
that
she
was
there
to
subdue
me
to
a
semblance
of
her
own
gentleness.
And
Clerval—could
aught
ill
entrench
on
the
noble
spirit
of
Clerval?
Yet
he
might
not
have
been
so
perfectly humane,
so
thoughtful
in
his
generosity,
so
full
of
kindness
and
tenderness amidst
his
passion
for
adventurous
exploit, had
she
not
unfolded
to
him
the
real
loveliness
of
beneficence
and
made
the
doing
good
the
end
and
aim
of
his
soaring
ambition. I feel
exquisite
pleasure
in
dwelling
on
the
recollections
of
childhood,
before
misfortune had
tainted
my
mind
and
changed
its
bright
visions
of
extensive
usefulness
into
gloomy
and
narrow
reflections
upon
self. Besides,
in
drawing
the
picture
of
my
early
days, I
also
record
those
events
which
led,
by
insensible
steps,
to
my
after
tale
of
misery,
for
when
I
would
account
to
myself
for
the
birth
of
that
passion
which
afterwards
ruled
my
destiny
I find
it
arise,
like
a
mountain
river,
from
ignoble
and
almost
forgotten sources; but,
swelling
as
it
proceeded,
it
became
the
torrent
which,
in
its
course, has swept
away
all
my
hopes
and
joys.
Natural
philosophy
is
the
genius
that
has
regulated
my fate; I desire, therefore,
in
this
narration,
to
state
those
facts
which
led
to
my
predilection
for
that
science.
When
I
was
thirteen
years
of
age
we
all
went
on
a
party
of
pleasure
to
the
baths
near
Thonon;
the
inclemency
of
the
weather
obliged
us
to
remain
a
day
confined
to
the
inn.
In
this
house
I
chanced
to
find a
volume
of
the
works
of
Cornelius Agrippa. I
opened
it
with
apathy;
the
theory
which
he
attempts
to
demonstrate
and
the
wonderful
facts
which
he
relates
soon
changed
this
feeling
into
enthusiasm. A
new
light
seemed
to
dawn
upon
my mind,
and
bounding
with
joy, I
communicated
my discovery
to
my father. My father
looked
carelessly
at
the
title
page
of
my
book
and
said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My
dear
Victor,
do
not
waste
your
time
upon
this;
it
is
sad
trash." If,
instead
of
this
remark, my father had taken
the
pains
to
explain
to
me
that
the
principles
of
Agrippa had been entirely
exploded
and
that
a
modern
system
of
science
had been
introduced
which
possessed
much
greater
powers
than
the
ancient,
because
the
powers
of
the
latter
were
chimerical,
while
those
of
the
former
were
real
and
practical,
under
such
circumstances I
should
certainly
have
thrown Agrippa
aside
and
have
contented
my imagination,
warmed
as
it
was,
by
returning
with
greater
ardour
to
my
former
studies.
It
is
even
possible
that
the
train
of
my
ideas
would
never
have
received
the
fatal
impulse
that
led
to
my ruin.
But
the
cursory
glance my father had taken
of
my
volume
by
no
means
assured
me
that
he
was
acquainted
with
its
contents,
and
I
continued
to
read
with
the
greatest avidity.
When
I
returned
home
my
first
care
was
to
procure
the
whole
works
of
this
author,
and
afterwards
of
Paracelsus
and
Albertus Magnus. I read
and
studied
the
wild fancies
of
these
writers
with
delight;
they
appeared
to
me
treasures
known
to
few
besides myself. I
have
described
myself
as
always
having
been
imbued
with
a
fervent
longing
to
penetrate
the
secrets
of
nature.
In
spite
of
the
intense
labour
and
wonderful
discoveries
of
modern
philosophers, I
always
came
from
my
studies
discontented
and
unsatisfied. Sir
Isaac
Newton
is
said
to
have
avowed
that
he
felt
like
a
child
picking
up
shells
beside
the
great
and
unexplored
ocean
of
truth.
Those
of
his
successors
in
each
branch
of
natural
philosophy
with
whom
I
was
acquainted
appeared
even
to
my boy's
apprehensions
as
tyros
engaged
in
the
same
pursuit.
The
untaught
peasant
beheld
the
elements
around
him
and
was
acquainted
with
their
practical
uses.
The
most
learned
philosopher
knew
little
more.
He
had
partially
unveiled
the
face
of
Nature,
but
her
immortal
lineaments
were
still
a
wonder
and
a mystery.
He
might
dissect, anatomize,
and
give
names; but,
not
to
speak
of
a
final
cause,
causes
in
their
secondary
and
tertiary
grades
were
utterly
unknown
to
him. I had gazed
upon
the
fortifications
and
impediments
that
seemed
to
keep
human
beings
from
entering
the
citadel
of
nature,
and
rashly
and
ignorantly
I had repined.
But
here
were
books,
and
here
were
men
who
had
penetrated
deeper
and
knew
more. I
took
their
word
for
all
that
they
averred,
and
I became
their
disciple.
It
may
appear
strange
that
such
should
arise
in
the
eighteenth
century;
but
while
I
followed
the
routine
of
education
in
the
schools
of
Geneva, I was,
to
a
great
degree, self-taught
with
regard
to
my favourite studies. My father
was
not
scientific,
and
I
was
left
to
struggle
with
a child's blindness, added
to
a student's
thirst
for
knowledge.
Under
the
guidance
of
my
new
preceptors
I
entered
with
the
greatest
diligence
into
the
search
of
the
philosopher's
stone
and
the
elixir
of
life;
but
the
latter
soon
obtained
my undivided attention.
Wealth
was
an
inferior object,
but
what
glory
would
attend
the
discovery
if
I
could
banish
disease
from
the
human
frame
and
render
man
invulnerable
to
any
but
a
violent
death!
Nor
were
these
my
only
visions.
The
raising
of
ghosts
or
devils
was
a
promise
liberally
accorded
by
my favourite authors,
the
fulfilment
of
which
I
most
eagerly
sought;
and
if
my
incantations
were
always
unsuccessful, I
attributed
the
failure
rather
to
my
own
inexperience
and
mistake
than
to
a
want
of
skill
or
fidelity
in
my instructors.
And
thus
for
a time I
was
occupied
by
exploded
systems, mingling,
like
an
unadept, a
thousand
contradictory
theories
and
floundering
desperately
in
a
very
slough
of
multifarious
knowledge,
guided
by
an
ardent
imagination
and
childish
reasoning,
till
an
accident
again
changed
the
current
of
my ideas.
When
I
was
about
fifteen
years
old
we
had retired
to
our
house
near
Belrive,
when
we
witnessed a
most
violent
and
terrible
thunderstorm.
It
advanced
from
behind
the
mountains
of
Jura,
and
the
thunder
burst
at
once
with
frightful
loudness
from
various
quarters
of
the
heavens. I remained,
while
the
storm
lasted,
watching
its
progress
with
curiosity
and
delight.
As
I stood
at
the
door,
on
a
sudden
I beheld a
stream
of
fire
issue
from
an
old
and
beautiful
oak
which
stood
about
twenty
yards
from
our
house;
and
so
soon
as
the
dazzling
light
vanished,
the
oak
had disappeared,
and
nothing
remained
but
a blasted stump.
When
we
visited
it
the
next
morning,
we
found
the
tree
shattered
in
a
singular
manner.
It
was
not
splintered
by
the
shock,
but
entirely
reduced
to
thin
ribbons
of
wood. I
never
beheld
anything
so
utterly
destroyed.
Before
this
I
was
not
unacquainted
with
the
more
obvious
laws
of
electricity.
On
this
occasion
a
man
of
great
research
in
natural
philosophy
was
with
us,
and
excited
by
this
catastrophe,
he
entered
on
the
explanation
of
a
theory
which
he
had
formed
on
the
subject
of
electricity
and
galvanism,
which
was
at
once
new
and
astonishing
to
me.
All
that
he
said threw
greatly
into
the
shade Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus Magnus,
and
Paracelsus,
the
lords
of
my imagination;
but
by
some
fatality
the
overthrow
of
these
men disinclined
me
to
pursue
my accustomed studies.
It
seemed
to
me
as
if
nothing
would
or
could
ever
be
known.
All
that
had
so
long
engaged my
attention
suddenly
grew
despicable.
By
one
of
those
caprices
of
the
mind
which
we
are
perhaps
most
subject
to
in
early
youth, I
at
once
gave
up
my
former
occupations,
set
down
natural
history
and
all
its
progeny
as
a
deformed
and
abortive
creation,
and
entertained
the
greatest
disdain
for
a would-be
science
which
could
never
even
step
within
the
threshold
of
real
knowledge.
In
this
mood
of
mind
I betook
myself
to
the
mathematics
and
the
branches
of
study
appertaining
to
that
science
as
being built
upon
secure foundations,
and
so
worthy
of
my consideration.
Thus
strangely
are
our
souls constructed,
and
by
such
slight
ligaments
are
we
bound
to
prosperity
or
ruin.
When
I
look
back,
it
seems
to
me
as
if
this
almost
miraculous
change
of
inclination
and
will
was
the
immediate
suggestion
of
the
guardian
angel
of
my life—the
last
effort
made
by
the
spirit
of
preservation
to
avert
the
storm
that
was
even
then
hanging
in
the
stars
and
ready
to
envelop
me.
Her
victory
was
announced
by
an
unusual tranquillity
and
gladness
of
soul
which
followed
the
relinquishing
of
my
ancient
and
latterly
tormenting
studies.
It
was
thus
that
I
was
to
be
taught
to
associate
evil
with
their
prosecution, happiness
with
their
disregard.
It
was
a
strong
effort
of
the
spirit
of
good,
but
it
was
ineffectual.
Destiny
was
too
potent,
and
her
immutable
laws
had decreed my
utter
and
terrible
destruction.