“M. Goffredi, though exclusively devoted to a very narrow range of studies, was the most generous character I ever met. He reflected much about the matter, and often consulted his wife, a woman of the divinest susceptibilities. Sophia Goffredi was what the Italians call a letterata; not a femme de lettres, as that term is generally understood in France, but a woman at once cultivated, charming, inspired, erudite, simple. She loved me so tenderly that she believed me a prodigy; and these two excellent friends decided with one accord that my wishes must be regarded, and that at any rate they would not extinguish my fire until they were certain whether it was a flame from heaven, or a mere blaze of straw.
“What gave them confidence in me was, that this disposition of mine to permit my mind to pursue its own impulses in every direction, did not originate in inconstancy of character. I was warm-hearted, and felt kindly disposed towards all my fellow-creatures, and yet I was not disposed to waste my life with all manner of company. My attachments were exclusively for the two persons who had adopted me, and whom I preferred to all others. Their society was my greatest, I may say my only pleasure, apart from the various studies that had captivated me.
“It was decided, then, that my mind should be at my own disposal, particularly as, all things considered, it was a pretty good mind; and I was not obliged to confine myself rigorously to the university course. I was allowed to take my own way, and to give free career to the enormous facility with which I was gifted. Was this an error? I cannot think so. It is true that I might have been restricted to one specialty, which would have cased me up forever in some one corner of art or science, where I should never have known privation; but how many intellectual enjoyments should I have lost! And who can tell whether what are called practical ideas, and my own personal interests, if forced upon my attention in this way, might not have withered all the religion of my heart and my conscience? You will see shortly that Sophia Goffredi had no reason to regret having allowed me to be myself.
“My first conviction was that I was born for literature. Sophia trained me to write both in prose and verse, and while still a child, I composed several romances and comedies in rhyme, which our circle of friends were so kind, or so simple, as to admire. I might have become very conceited, for I was excessively spoiled by all our visitors; but Sophia used often to tell me that the day when one is satisfied with one’s self is the last day of improvement; and this simple warning saved me from the foolishness of self-admiration. And besides, I very soon saw that in order to produce anything worth while in literature, I must know a great many things, or else I should merely float in a sea of empty phrases. I read enormously; but my studies in history and natural science caused me to entirely lose sight of myself; and instead of gathering booty like a bee, to make honey and wax, I simply coursed to and fro through the vast field of human knowledge, merely for the pleasure of knowing and understanding.
“It was while thus engaged that I felt such a powerful impulse towards the natural sciences, and that my desire to devote my life to this pursuit became a vocation more definitely resolved upon in my mind than the former one. With this ardor for understanding, was joined a similar ardor for observing; and I might say that there awoke in me two distinct persons: one seeking to discover the secrets of creation for the love of science, that is, for the sake of humanity; and the other seeking to enjoy the varied beauties of creation as a poet—that is, to some extent, for his own pleasure.
“From that moment, I was possessed by the idea of making long voyages. While absorbed in studying the collections and museums of Perugia, I was dreaming of the antipodes; and the sight of a little stone or dried flower would carry me in imagination to the summits of lofty mountains, or across vast oceans. I thirsted to see the great cities, the centres of enlightenment, the scientific men of my time, and great and precious scientific collections. Sophia Goffredi had taught me French, German, and a little Spanish. I felt, likewise, the necessity of learning the northern languages, so as not to be a stranger in any part of Europe. I learned English, Dutch, and particularly Swedish, with extreme rapidity. My pronunciation, however, was defective; or rather, I had none. I did not try to master the characteristic music—so to speak—of languages which I could not hear spoken; but relied upon the correctness of my ear, and my facility in catching accents, for quickly mastering the spoken use of any language when necessary. The event has shown that these expectations were quite justified; I only need fifteen days to speak, without any foreign accent, a language which I have studied only in books.
“While I was thus learning languages, I was also studying drawing and a little painting; in order to be able to fix permanently my travelling recollections, by sketches of sites, remarkable plants, costumes, monuments,—in short, all that would have to be retained in the memory alone, if the hand had not the power to delineate the mental conception. Besides, I studied good writers, for the sake of enabling myself to narrate clearly and rapidly; for I had often been displeased at the obscure and confused style of books of travels. And so well did I use my time, Monsieur Goefle, that at eighteen, I was well prepared, in virtue of my knowledge, activity, power of labor, and faculty of observation, to become at least a useful, if not an actually scientific man. That was the happiest time of my life, the purest and sweetest. Ah, if it could have lasted a few years longer, I should have been a different man!
“M. Goffredi was buried in his antiquarian researches, and did not directly superintend my education. He, however, from time to time, reviewed my studies with me, and observed me with care, and when he was satisfied that I was not losing my time and labor, he became quite confident in my judgment. He had at first been tempted to dissuade me from trying too many things at once; but when he was satisfied that all my various acquisitions found their places in good order in my mind, he began to dream with me and for me everything that I dreamed myself. He had himself travelled before his marriage, and he was even now projecting another archæological tour, to reach certain points not yet explored. He was thinking the more seriously of this plan, since receiving a small inheritance that had recently fallen to him, and which enabled him to resign his professorship at the university. He had been for ten years employed on a work which he could not complete without visiting the coast of Africa and some of the Greek Islands. I should mention that his way of working was painful and slow, for his style lacked clearness, and there was also perhaps some want of clearness of thought in his way of presenting his reasonings, however ingenious in themselves. He was a genius without talent.
“He was pleased with the manner in which I wrote up some pages of his work for him, and resolved to take me with him, and have me write it all out after we came home. I was almost wild with delight when he communicated this design to me; but my joy was quickly changed to sadness at the idea of leaving alone at home my adoptive mother, that excellent woman whose whole life was devoted to us, and I asked to remain with her.
“She was grateful to me for this, but suggested, by way of satisfying all three of us, the plan of going herself—a proposition which was received with enthusiasm. Our preparations for departure were now made as joyfully as if for a feast. Ah, everything smiled upon us! La Sofia—you know that with us the le or la is a superlative of admiration, and not a term of contempt—was accustomed to long walks. In the country she used to go everywhere with us. She was active, courageous, and enthusiastic, and was never the least hindrance to us. If we were ever weary or discouraged, she raised our spirits, and put us into good humor, by her gayety and energy. She was still young and strong, and the angelic tenderness and goodness of her smile made you forget all about the plainness of her features. Her husband loved her devotedly; and as for her, nobody could have convinced her that Silvio Goffredi was not a demigod, despite his lameness, his prematurely rounded shoulders, and his fabulous absence of mind. But how pure and generous was the soul hidden by that frail body, and those timid and irresolute manners! His disinterestedness as to money was admirable, and a proof of it was this very work, for which he was sacrificing his employment and his habits. He was aware that such books cost more than they bring, especially in Italy; and he calculated upon no gain from this one; yet it was the glory, the purpose, the dream of his whole life.