Part 1
A JOURNEY ROUND MY ROOM.
A JOURNEY
ROUND MY ROOM
BY XAVIER DE MAISTRE
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH WITH A NOTICE
OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE
BY H. A.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DYER.
1871
H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO., PRINTERS, RIVERSIDE PRESS, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
S. A.
H. A.
PREFACE.
The author of the “Voyage autour de ma Chambre” was the younger brother of Count Joseph de Maistre, a well-known writer upon political and philosophical subjects. Chambéry was the place of their birth, but their family was of French origin. Both brothers were officers in the Sardinian army; and when Savoy was conquered by the French, Xavier de Maistre sought an asylum in Saint Petersburg, where his brother resided in the capacity of envoy from the court of Sardinia. Xavier entered the Russian army, distinguished himself in the war against Persia, and attained the rank of major-general.
Our interest in the “Voyage” is heightened by our knowledge that it was actually written during De Maistre’s forty-two days’ arrest at Turin, referred to in the third chapter. He sent the manuscript, which he regarded as a mere playful effort of his imagination, for his brother’s perusal. Joseph was pleased with the book; and Xavier, who had an almost filial affection for his brother, was soon afterwards agreeably surprised by receiving, in place of his manuscript, the “Voyage” in print.
This success encouraged him to begin a sequel to the “Voyage.” Joseph, however, disapproved of this new attempt. The “Expédition Nocturne” was, notwithstanding, finished, and was published some years later.
Xavier de Maistre’s next production (1811) was “Le Lépreux de la Cité d’Aoste,” a very touching and gracefully written narrative. It occupies but a few pages; and, as it is to be found in almost every good anthology of French literature, is perhaps the best known of our author’s works.
His other books are “Les Prisonniers du Caucase” (1815) and “La Jeune Sibérienne,” both of them charming works, containing faithful pictures of domestic scenes with which we are little familiar through other sources.
From his childhood Xavier de Maistre was devoted to painting. He deservedly gained considerable reputation as a painter of miniature portraits and landscapes.
Nor did he neglect science while devoting himself to art and literature. He applied himself so successfully to the study of chemistry that he was able to communicate several valuable “Mémoires” to the Academy of Turin, of which he was a member.
Xavier de Maistre died (1852) at an advanced age in his adopted country, where he had married, and which he only quitted once, for a brief season.
* * * * *
Some apology for publishing this translation is perhaps necessary.
Although in France the “Voyage” retains the high esteem in which it has been held for half a century, it is hardly known in England, except by those who are familiar with the French language and literature.
During the last twenty years the proportion of educated persons in this country who are unable to enjoy a French book in the original has greatly decreased. Still, there are some to whom a translation of this delightful work may be acceptable.
To them I offer the pleasant labor of a few leisure hours; but not without assuring them that, in endeavoring to reproduce faithfully the author’s ideas, I have felt at every paragraph how true it is that “_le style ne se traduit pas_,”--“style is untranslatable.”
* * * * *
The _headings_ of the chapters are not De Maistre’s. They appear in Tardieu’s pretty little edition of the “Voyage.” The miniatures, by M. Veyssier, are from the same source.
H. A.
Barnes, Surrey.
_Autumn, 1871._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE iii
I. A BOOK OF DISCOVERIES (_Vignette._) 1
II. EULOGY OF THE JOURNEY 4
III. LAWS AND CUSTOMS 7
IV. LATITUDE AND TOPOGRAPHY 11
V. THE BED 14
VI. FOR METAPHYSICIANS 17
VII. THE SOUL 21
VIII. THE ANIMAL 24
IX. PHILOSOPHY 26
X. THE PORTRAIT 29
XI. ROSE AND WHITE 33
XII. THE HILLOCK (_Vignette_.) 36
XIII. A HALT 37
XIV. JOANNETTI 38
XV. A DIFFICULTY 42
XVI. SOLUTION (_Vignette_) 45
XVII. ROSE 49
XVIII. RESERVE 52
XIX. A TEAR 54
XX. ALBERT AND CHARLOTTE 57
XXI. A FRIEND (_Vignette_) 59
XXII. JENNY 64
XXIII. THE PICTURE GALLERY 66
XXIV. PAINTING AND MUSIC 69
XXV. AN OBJECTION 72
XXVI. RAPHAEL 75
XXVII. A PERFECT PICTURE 78
XXVIII. THE UPSET CARRIAGE 81
XXIX. MISFORTUNE 87
XXX. CHARITY 91
XXXI. INVENTORY 93
XXXII. MISANTHROPY 95
XXXIII. CONSOLATION 98
XXXIV. CORRESPONDENCE 99
XXXV. THE WITHERED ROSE (_Vignette_) 104
XXXVI. THE LIBRARY 109
XXXVII. ANOTHER WORLD 113
XXXVIII. THE BUST 118
XXXIX. A DIALOGUE 121
XL. IMAGINATION 129
XLI. THE TRAVELLING-COAT 132
XLII. ASPASIA’S BUSKIN (_Vignette_) 137
LIBERTY 150
Circumstances beyond my control prevented my seeing any proof of these pages. Such Latinized forms as _behavior_ and _favor_; the misplaced hyphen on the first line of page 25; the double _l_ in _skilful_ (p. 138, last line but one); and the frequent suppression of the former of two parenthetical commas (as before I, p. 19, l. 18),--these are the few deviations from my manuscript for which the printer is responsible.
The reader will oblige by substituting _comfortable_ for _agreeable_ on page 38 line 3, _sweet_ for _lovely_ on page 68 line 4, and _ignoramuses_ for _ignorant_ on page 78 line 12.
H. A.
I.
_A Book of Discoveries._
What more glorious than to open for one’s self a new career,--to appear suddenly before the learned world with a book of discoveries in one’s hand, like an unlooked-for comet blazing in the empyrean!
No longer will I keep my book in obscurity. Behold it, gentlemen; read it! I have undertaken and performed a forty-two days’ journey round my room. The interesting observations I have made, and the constant pleasure I have experienced all along the road, made me wish to publish my travels; the certainty of being useful decided the matter. And when I think of the number of unhappy ones to whom I offer a never failing resource for weary moments, and a balm for the ills they suffer, my heart is filled with inexpressible satisfaction. The pleasure to be found in travelling round one’s room is sheltered from the restless jealousy of men, and is independent of Fortune.
Surely there is no being so miserable as to be without a retreat to which he can withdraw and hide himself from the world. Such a hiding-place will contain all the preparations our journey requires.
Every man of sense will, I am sure, adopt my system, whatever may be his peculiar character or temperament. Be he miserly or prodigal, rich or poor, young or old, born beneath the torrid zone or near the poles, he may travel with me. Among the immense family of men who throng the earth, there is not one, no, not one (I mean of those who inhabit rooms), who, after reading this book can refuse his approbation of the new mode of travelling I introduce into the world.
II.
_Eulogy of the Journey._
I might fairly begin the eulogium of my journey by saying it has cost me nothing. This point merits attention. It will gain for it the praise and welcome of people of moderate means. And not of these only: there is another class with whom its success will, on this account, be even more certain. “And who are they?” you ask. Why, the rich, to be sure. And then, again, what a comfort the new mode of travelling will be to the sick; they need not fear bleak winds or change of weather. And what a thing, too, it will be for cowards; they will be safe from pitfalls or quagmires. Thousands who hitherto did not dare, others who were not able, and others to whom it never occurred to think of such a thing as going on a journey, will make up their minds to follow my example. Surely, the idlest person will not hesitate to set out with me on a pleasure jaunt which will cost him neither trouble nor money. Come then, let us start! Follow me, all ye whom the “pangs of despised love” or the slights of friends keep within doors,--follow me far from the meannesses and unkindnesses of men. Be ye unhappy, sick, or weary, follow me. Ye idle ones, arouse ye, one and all. And ye who brood over gloomy projects of reform and retreat, on account of some infidelity,--amiable anchorites of an evening’s duration, who renounce the world for your boudoir,--come, and be led by me to banish these dark thoughts; you lose a moment’s pleasure without gaining a moment’s wisdom! Deign to accompany me on my journey. We will jog cheerfully and by easy stages along the road of travellers who have seen both Rome and Paris. No obstacle shall hinder our way; and giving ourselves up gaily to Imagination, we will follow her whithersoever it may be her good pleasure to lead us.
III.
_Laws and Customs._
How many inquisitive people there are in the world! I am sure my reader wants to know why the journey round my room has lasted forty-two days rather than forty-three, or any other number. But how am I to tell him what I do not know myself? All I can say is, that if the work is too long for him, it is not my fault that it was not shorter. I dismiss all the pride a traveller may fairly indulge in, and candidly declare I should have been well contented, for my part, with a single chapter. It is quite true that I made myself as comfortable as possible in my room; but still, alas, I was not my own master in the matter of leaving it. Nay, more, I even think that had it not been for the intervention of certain powerful persons who interested themselves in me, and towards whom I entertain a lively sense of gratitude, I should have had ample time for producing a folio volume; so prejudiced in my favor were the guardians who made me travel round my room.
And yet, intelligent reader, see how wrong these men were; and understand clearly, if you can, the argument I am about to put before you.
Can there be anything more natural or more just than to draw your sword upon a man who happens to tread on your toe, who lets slip a bitter word during a moment’s vexation caused by your own thoughtlessness, or who has had the misfortune to gain favor in the sight of your lady-love?
Under such or like circumstances, you betake yourself to a meadow, and there, like Nicole and the “Bourgeois Gentilhomme,” you try to give the fourth cut while your adversary parries tierce; and, that vengeance may be fully satisfied, you present your naked breast to him, thus running the risk of being killed by your enemy, in order to be avenged.
It is evident that such a custom is most reasonable. And yet, we sometimes meet with people who disapprove of so praiseworthy a course. But what is about of a piece with the rest of the business is, that the very persons who condemn the course we have described, and who would have it regarded as a grave error, would judge still more harshly any one who refused to commit it. More than one unlucky wight has, by endeavoring to conform to their opinion, lost his reputation and his livelihood. So that, when people are so unfortunate as to have an affair of honor to settle, it would not be a bad plan to cast lots to see whether it shall be arranged according to law, or according to fashion. And as law and fashion are at variance, the judges might decide upon their sentence by the aid of dice,--and probably it is to some such decision as this that we should have to refer in order to explain how it came about that my journey lasted just two and forty days.
IV.
_Latitude and Topography._
My room is situated in latitude 48° east, according to the measurement of Father Beccaria. It lies east and west, and, if you keep very close to the wall, forms a parallelogram of thirty-six steps round. My journey will, however, be longer than this; for I shall traverse my room up and down and across, without rule or plan. I shall even zig-zag about, following, if needs be, every possible geometrical line. I am no admirer of people who are such masters of their every step and every idea that they can say: “To-morrow I shall make three calls, write four letters, and finish this or that work.” So open is my soul to all sorts of ideas, tastes, and feelings; so greedily does it absorb whatever comes first, that ... but why should it deny itself the delights that are scattered along life’s hard path? So few and far between are they, that it would indeed be senseless not to stop, and even turn aside, to gather such as are placed within our reach. Of these joys, none, to my thinking, is more attractive than following the course of one’s fancies as a hunter follows his game, without pretending to keep to any set route. Hence, when I travel in my room, I seldom keep to a straight line. From my table I go towards a picture which is placed in a corner; thence I set out in an oblique direction for the door; and then, although on starting I had intended to return to my table, yet, if I chance to fall in with my arm-chair on the way, I at once, and most unceremoniously, take up my quarters therein. By the by, what a capital article of furniture an arm-chair is, and, above all, how convenient to a thoughtful man. In long winter evenings it is ofttimes sweet, and always prudent, to stretch yourself therein, far from the bustle of crowded assemblies. A good fire, some books and pens; what safeguards these against _ennui_! And how pleasant, again, to forget books and pens in order to stir the fire, while giving one’s self up to some agreeable meditation, or stringing together a few rhymes for the amusement of friends, as the hours glide by and fall into eternity, without making their sad passage felt.
V.
_The Bed._
Next to my arm-chair, as we go northward, my bed comes into sight. It is placed at the end of my room, and forms the most agreeable perspective. It is very pleasantly situated, and the earliest rays of the sun play upon my curtains. On fine summer days I see them come creeping, as the sun rises, all along the whitened wall. The elm-trees opposite my windows divide them into a thousand patterns as they dance upon my bed, and, reflecting its rose-and-white color, shed a charming tint around. I hear the confused twitter of the swallows that have taken possession of my roof, and the warbling of the birds that people the elms. Then do a thousand smiling fancies fill my soul; and in the whole universe no being enjoys an awakening so delightful, so peaceful, as mine.
I confess that I do indeed revel in these sweet moments, and prolong as far as I can the pleasure it gives me to meditate in the comfortable warmth of my bed. What scene can adapt itself so well to the imagination, and awaken such delicious ideas, as the couch on which my fancy floats me into the forgetfulness of self! Here it is that the mother, intoxicated with joy at the birth of a son, forgets her pangs. Hither it is that fantastic pleasures, the fruit of fancy or of hope, come to agitate us. In a word, it is here that during one half of a life-time we forget the annoyances of the other half.
But what a host of thoughts, some agreeable, some sad, throng my brain at once,--strange minglings of terrible and delicious pictures!
A bed sees us born, and sees us die. It is the ever changing scene upon which the human race play by turns interesting dramas, laughable farces, and fearful tragedies. It is a cradle decked with flowers. A throne of love. A sepulchre.
VI.
_For Metaphysicians._
This chapter is for metaphysicians, and for metaphysicians only. It will throw a great light upon man’s nature. It is the prism with which to analyze and decompose the human faculties, by separating the animal force from the pure rays of intellect.
It would be impossible for me to explain how I came to burn my fingers at the very onset of my journey without expounding to my reader my system of the _Soul and the Animal_.[1] And besides, this metaphysical discovery has so great an influence on my thoughts and actions, that it would be very difficult to understand this book if I did not begin by giving the key to its meaning.
Various observations have enabled me to perceive that man is made up of a soul and an animal. These two beings are quite distinct, but they are so dovetailed one into the other, or upon the other, that the soul must, if we would make the distinction between them, possess a certain superiority over the animal.
I have it from an old professor (and this is as long ago as I can remember), that Plato used to call matter the OTHER. This is all very well; but I prefer giving this name _par excellence_ to the animal which is joined to our soul. This substance it is which is really the OTHER, and which plays such strange tricks upon us. It is easy enough to see, in a sort of general way, that man is twofold. But this, they say, is because he is made up of soul and body; and they accuse the body of I don’t know how many things, and very inconsistently, seeing that it can neither feel nor think. It is upon the animal that the blame should fall; upon that sensitive being, which, while it is perfectly distinct from the soul, is a real individual, enjoying a separate existence, with its own tastes, inclinations, and will, and which only ranks higher than other animals, because it is better educated than they, and is provided with more perfect organs.
Ladies and gentlemen! Be as proud of your intellect as you please, but be very suspicious of the OTHER, especially when you are together.
I have experimented I know not how oft, upon the union of these two heterogeneous creatures. I have, for instance, clearly ascertained that the soul can make herself obeyed by the animal, and that, by way of retaliation, the animal makes the soul act contrary to its own inclination. The one, as a rule, has the legislative, the other the executive power, but these two are often at variance. The great business of a man of genius is to train his animal well, in order that it may go alone, while the soul, delivered from this troublesome companion, can raise herself to the skies.
But this requires illustration. When, sir, you are reading a book, and an agreeable idea suddenly enters your imagination, your soul attaches herself to the new idea at once, and forgets the book, while your eyes follow mechanically the words and lines. You get through the page without understanding it, and without remembering what you have read. Now this is because your soul, having ordered her companion to read to her, gave no warning of the short absence she contemplated, so that the OTHER went on reading what the soul no longer attended to.
VII.
_The Soul._
Is not this clear to you? Let us illustrate it still farther.
One day last summer at an appointed hour, I was wending my way to court. I had been sketching all day, and my soul, choosing to meditate upon painting, left the duty of taking me to the king’s palace to the animal.
How sublime, thought my soul, is the painter’s art! Happy is he who is touched by the aspect of nature, and does not depend upon his pictures for a livelihood; who does not paint solely as a pastime, but struck with the majesty of a beautiful form, and the wonderful way in which the light with its thousand tints plays upon the human face, strives to imitate in his works the wonderful effects of nature! Happy, too, is the painter who is led by love of landscape into solitary paths, and who can make his canvas breathe the feeling of sadness with which he is inspired by a gloomy wood or a desert plain. His productions imitate and reproduce nature. He creates new seas and dark caverns into which the sun has never peered. At his command, coppices of evergreens spring into life, and the blue of heaven is reflected on his pictures. He darkens the air, and we hear the roar of the storm. At another time he presents to the eye of the wondering beholder the delightful plains of ancient Sicily: startled nymphs flee the pursuit of a satyr through the bending reeds; temples of stately architecture raise their grand fronts above the sacred forest that surrounds them. Imagination loses itself among the still paths of this ideal country. Bluish backgrounds blend with the sky, and the whole landscape, reproduced in the waters of a tranquil river, forms a scene that no tongue can describe.
While my soul was thus reflecting, the _other_ went its way, Heaven knows whither! Instead of going to court, according to orders, it took such a turn to the left, that my soul just caught it up at Madame de Hautcastel’s door, full half a mile from the Palais Royal!
Now I leave the reader to fancy what might have been the consequence had the truant visited so beautiful a lady alone.
VIII.
_The Animal._
If it is both useful and agreeable to have a soul so disengaged from matter that we can let it travel alone whenever we please, this has also its disadvantages. Through this, for instance, I got the burn I spoke of a few chapters back.
I generally leave my animal to prepare my breakfast. Its care it is to slice and toast my bread. My coffee it makes admirably, and helps itself thereto without my soul’s concerning herself in the transaction. But this is a very rare and nice performance to execute; for though it is easy enough while busied in a mechanical operation, to think of something quite different, it is extremely difficult, so to speak, to watch one’s self-work, or, if I express myself systematically, to employ one’s soul to examine the animal’s progress, and to watch its work without taking part in it. This is the most extraordinary metaphysical feat a man can execute.