“At the end of eight days our little capital was sadly diminished, and the worst of it was that I could see no means of renewing it. I found that my hopes had deceived me, or rather that I had not formed a true conception of what a really great city is, and of the frightful isolation into which a stranger, without means, friends, or recommendations, almost necessarily falls. I inquired about Comus, hoping that he would help me to find employment, but he had not yet returned from his tour, and, moreover, he had at that time only a provincial reputation. I sent also for the papers of Silvio Goffredi, proposing, by means of them, to publish under his name the results of his historical researches. I did not expect any pecuniary profit to accrue from this effort, but I hoped both to fulfil a duty and to secure an honorable position and a few friends. There were still several persons in Italy who retained their former regard for me. They sent the papers at my request, but the parcel was lost; it never reached me. My letters to the cardinal and to my young pupil remained unanswered, and others to whom I wrote confined themselves to empty professions of regard, but without venturing to commit themselves so far as to recommend me to such persons of good standing of my own nation as happened to be in Paris. Indeed, they advised me not to draw upon myself the observation of our ambassador, lest he should feel it his duty (he was a relative of Marco Melfi) to obtain a lettre de cachet from the king of France for my benefit.
“As soon as I realized what my position was, I resolved to rely upon myself alone; and you may rest assured, Monsieur Goefle, that I deserve some credit for maintaining my integrity under such circumstances; so abandoned, and reduced to such cruel straits in a city so luxurious and full of temptations as Paris! Only a short time before I had been living under a splendid sky; a guest in palaces! Then, a careless traveller, I had wandered through enchanted lands; but now I was the gloomy and dejected tenant of a garret, struggling with cold, famine, and sometimes with disgust and discouragement. And yet, thanks to God, I came through victorious; that is to say, I did not cheat anybody, and did not die of starvation. I succeeded in having a few little books published, and though I did not make any money by them, they gave me something of a position in a small circle of humble and modest men of science. I had the honor of furnishing, indirectly, the materials for a number of articles in the Encyclopedia, on natural science and on Italian antiquities. A marquis of literary taste employed me as his secretary, and clothed me decently; and so I was once more afloat. If dress is not everything in Paris, it is safe to say, at least, that a respectable exterior is indispensable to one who would escape from poverty. Now, thanks to my marquis and my coat, society was once more open to me. This was another dangerous rock, and I once more risked being shipwrecked. Pray do not think me conceited if I say that it would have been much more to my advantage in some respects, if I had been as ugly and as awkward as your friend Stangstadius. A good-looking man without means, in society as it is now constituted, will everywhere find a door open to fortune—and to shame. No matter how circumspect he may be, he is sure to find himself pursued at every step by the eager and determined women of gallantry who swarm in great cities. Had I not been protected by the memory of the chaste and proud Sophia, I might probably have suffered myself to be enticed into the labyrinths of these insinuating and industrious animals.
“However, I overcame this danger; but after a year’s residence in Paris, at the very moment when, thanks to my labor and economy, I was in a fair way to receive an independent position, I was seized with an extreme disgust for the city, and an unconquerable longing to travel Massarelli was the chief cause of this disgust. He had not, like myself, been able to endure the privations and anguish of waiting. When we first began to be embarrassed, he carried off the theatre of marionettes from our lodging, and tried to earn a living in the public streets, amongst a class of people of the very worst sort. Unfortunately for him, he had not taken much pains to correct his accent, and he had no success. So he fell upon my hands again, and for several months, while I was in the greatest difficulties myself, I was obliged to feed and clothe him. At last, in spite of his constantly renewed oaths of reformation, and his efforts to work with me, he disappeared. But still, I did not get rid of him after all. Every few weeks he came to beg from me, and sometimes he was intoxicated. I shut the door in his face, but he dogged me about. At last, having contrived to make a little money, by means of various infamous transactions, he came once more, drunken and repentant, to weep in my bosom; he wanted now to return all that I had given him, and, moreover, to share with me like a brother! His money and his protestations disgusted me equally, and I refused all overtures. He lost his temper, and wanted to fight, but this I contemptuously refused. Then he undertook to strike me, and I was obliged to give him a beating. Next day he wrote to ask my forgiveness, but my patience was at an end; and as I used to meet him everywhere, sometimes even in good society—God only knows how he gained admission there—I was apprehensive of being compromised by some knavish act upon his part. I had not the selfish fortitude to expose publicly a man who had once been dear to me; and preferred rather to give up the conflict, and retreat myself. Fortunately, I was now able secure good recommendations, and, among others, those of Comus, who was just then creating a great excitement in Paris with his exhibitions in catoptrics—that is, a phantasmagoria managed by mirrors, in which, instead of spectres and devils, he showed nothing but agreeable and graceful figures. His remarkable intellect, and his habits of penetrating observation, had given him such a power of judging the faces of men, and such a knowledge of the human heart, that he could read people’s very thoughts, almost as if endowed with an actual gift of divination. Moreover, his profound studies in applied mathematics enabled him to solve, while apparently merely performing diverting and ingenious feats, various problems entirely beyond the comprehension of ordinary people, and this skill many persons likened to magic.
“The age we live in is remarkably intelligent, and yet the love of the marvellous—a sentiment offering a singular contrast to its other tendencies, so powerful and ill-regulated in the past—still struggles in many minds against the severer authority of reason. You know something about this in your country, where your famous and learned Swedenborg is still more sought for as a sorcerer than as a seer; while he himself claimed to understand the secrets of another world. I do not say that Comus is more sincere or more virtuous than Swedenborg, who I know must be mentioned with entire respect, but he has more wisdom and earnestness of purpose. He does not pretend to act in virtue of any other laws than those which the human mind can discover; and he is generous in communicating his secrets to scientific men and travellers, who desire to utilize them in the cause of science.
“He received me with great kindness, and offered to take me with him to England, to assist him in his experiments. I was strongly tempted to accept, but my preferences led me to apply myself to mineralogy, botany, and zoology; and also to the study of manners and of societies. It seemed to me that England had been too thoroughly explored to furnish a promising field for new observations. And besides, Comus was at that time devoted to a special pursuit in which I did not think I could be useful to him. He was going to London to superintend personally the making of some very accurate instruments which he had not been able to have manufactured to his satisfaction in Paris. I did not like the idea of remaining for a year, or two years, in London; I was tired of living in a great city; I felt a violent longing for freedom, movement, above all for the privilege of being my own master. Though I had every reason to be pleased with my employers up to this time, I was so ill-suited to a dependent position that it really made me ill.
“Comus introduced me to a great many eminent men; such as MM. de Lacépède, Buffon, Daubenton, and Bernard de Jussieu. I took a lively interest in the rapid and magnificent progress of the Jardin des Plantes, and the zoölogical cabinet, which were daily being directed and enriched by these noble and learned men. Splendid gifts from wealthy persons in a private station in life, and the precious contributions of travellers, were constantly being sent to them. An irresistible ambition seized me to enroll myself in the number of these promoters of science; these humble adepts, satisfied with benefiting humanity, without demanding either glory or profit. I saw, indeed, the ‘tall man with ruffles,’ M. de Buffon, appropriating extensively, for the gratification of his vanity, the patient and modest labors of his associates. But suppose it is true that he had this weakness, that he wished to be M. le Comte, and to exert the feudal rights of his seigniory; that he sounded his own praises on every occasion, and claimed the credit of works, which, very frequently, he had only been consulted about;—what mattered it? This was his taste. It was not that of his generous and intellectual companions. They smiled, let him say what he pleased, and only worked the harder; fully persuaded that individual interests are of no real importance in researches directed towards the advancement of the human species. Thus they were happier than he; their happiness was that which Comus understood, and to which I aspired. It seemed to me that they had chosen the better part, and I was ambitious to follow in their steps. I offered them my services, therefore, after profiting to the best of my ability by their public lectures and private conversations. M. Daubenton was of opinion that my love of science and aptitude for the languages were qualities that would insure my success, and that I ought to be encouraged. My poverty was the only obstacle.
“‘Science is growing rich,’ he said proudly, as he looked at the cabinet and garden, which were so rapidly increasing; ‘but scientific men are rather too poor to be great travellers. Indeed, they live lives of privation in every respect. You must be prepared for that.’
“I was prepared for everything. I had succeeded in saving a little money, which, in my judgment, would go a great way, considering the frugal sort of life from which I did not shrink. I secured a regular appointment to a scientific mission, so as to avoid being taken for a vagrant or a spy in foreign countries, and set out provided with a year’s support, and leaving the rest to Providence. And yet with the testimonials I carried, proving the innocent and honorable aim of my wandering life, I should have been able to obtain more or less pecuniary assistance from scientific bodies, and even from private individuals friendly to science. But I was unwilling to make any such demands, for I knew how greatly the Jussieu family had impoverished itself in sacrifices of the kind, and I preferred to devote myself exclusively at my own risk and peril.
“Thus, once more, began for me a series of happy days. The time before me seemed infinite!—it would last, at least, as long as my resources. This was not saying a great deal; and to prolong my journey, and fully satisfy my passion for travelling, I practised, from the outset, the strictest economy. At my very first stopping-place, I put on a stout, coarse, mountain costume, bought an ass to carry the little baggage that I had, my books, instruments, and specimens, and proceeded on foot to the Swiss mountains. I will not dwell upon my labors, journeys and adventures. Whenever I have leisure, I intend to write an account of my travels; and even the recent loss of my journal will not be an insurmountable obstacle, thanks to my uncommonly good memory. In these solitary expeditions I recovered my excellent health, my careless ease, my confidence in the future, my natural gayety; all the qualities that my life in Paris had been gradually destroying. I felt that I was in harmony with the memory of the Goffredis—that I was happy.
“My knowledge of botany and mineralogy was sufficient to enable me to execute what I had promised in these two specialties; and moreover, as I wasted no time in social indulgences, I had leisure to gratify my inclinations as an observer, and somewhat also as an artist and poet—that is, a person who feels the divine unity of the beauty of nature. At each important stopping-place I forwarded reports, and even specimens, to Paris, and I wrote long letters to M. Daubenton, well knowing that the romantic impressions of a young man would not be displeasing to him.