Part 16

“But I must not forget to tell you of a well-known individual whom I happened to meet at this time; an interesting encounter that reconciled me for some days longer to my wandering life. The person to whom I refer is a very remarkable man, who still holds a most respectable position in Paris, and whose name is no doubt known to you: I mean Philip Ledru, commonly called Comus.”

“Certainly,” said M. Goefle; “I have seen it stated in my scientific journal that this skilful prestigiator was a profound physicist, and that his researches upon the magnet had enriched science with various new instruments of rare perfection. Is it the same person?”

“The same, M. Goefle. Comus has been appointed professor to the young French princes; he has prepared a set of nautical charts upon a new system, the result of an immense series of researches, undertaken by the king’s order, and has furnished M. de la Perouse with a set of manuscript copies of these charts. Indeed, ever since the time when I first encountered him travelling about the country, in the character of a poor but learned man, furnishing the public with instruction in the form of amusement, he has steadily and rapidly risen in the public esteem, in the favor of the ministry, and in the command of means for making practical the results of his profound knowledge.

“I first met this really great man, not exactly in the public streets of Lyons, but in a hall intended for the representations of wandering performers, and which we both wished to hire for our several purposes. As I was used to a good deal of absurdity or else coarseness on the part of such competitors, I was quite on my guard; but as soon as Comus addressed me, I was struck by his charming and even distinguished manners. He was a man of about thirty-five years of age, and had a magnificent constitution. Equally vigorous in body and in mind, equally quick in his movements and ready and agreeable in conversation, he was, in a word, one of those admirably endowed human beings who must from necessity emerge from obscurity. He inquired about my employment, and seemed astonished to find that I was sufficiently educated to be able to converse with him. I told him about my circumstances, and he conceived a friendship for me.

“After coming to one of our performances, with which he was greatly diverted, he invited us, in his turn, to attend his exhibition. This I witnessed, much to my advantage, for Comus possessed various secrets known only to himself; which, however, consisted merely in some single application, out of a thousand, of his own profound discoveries. He was very willing to explain them to me, and finding that I was not without intelligence, he invited me to be his associate--to share with him his projects and adventures. I declined this proposition with regret, and to my own loss; with regret, because Comus was one of the best, the most disinterested, and the most sympathetic men I have ever known; and to my own loss, because, although then a travelling exhibitor in natural science, he was a person who could not fail before long to find some serious and useful employment for his great talents. I had sworn to Massarelli not to desert him, and he had no taste for the sciences.

“This meeting, which I was not wise enough to turn to account as far as regards my material interests, was so beneficial to me in a moral point of view, that I shall always thank God for it. Allow me to repeat to you, as briefly as possible, the advice which this judicious and excellent man was so kind as to give me--in the pleasantest and most friendly way, and without a tinge of pedantry--during a quiet supper that we took together at the inn, amongst the chests that contained our baggage; for we were ready to start on the next morning.

“‘My dear Goffredi,’ he said, ‘I am sorry to part with you so soon; the grief that you feel I share with my whole heart. We have been together only for a few days, but in that time I have learned to know and to appreciate you. But do not be uneasy or discouraged about your future life. It will be prosperous, if it is useful. You see that my advice is very different from what is usually given; but, if you follow it, you will find that it is dictated by sound common sense. Others will tell you to sacrifice everything to ambition; I tell you to give all your true interests precedence before ambition--as it is commonly understood. I mean to say this: be perfectly indifferent both to fortune and fame, and pursue only one single object, that of enlightening your fellow-men, no matter by what means, and no matter in what condition they may be. All means are good and noble which seek this end. You are only a buffoon, and I am only a sorcerer! Very good; we will laugh at our pursuits, and persevere in them, as long as the marionettes and the juggling can be made subservient to good ends. What I tell you now is the secret of being happy in spite of everything. For my part, I understand only two principles, and these constitute but one and the same precept: to love mankind, and to take no account of their prejudices. Contempt for error is esteem for man, is it not? Possessed of this secret, you will always be sufficiently rich and sufficiently famous. As for the lost time that you have been regretting, you are quite young enough to make up for it. I, also, at one time, was a little frivolous; a little vain of my youth, a little proud of my strength! But, after wasting rather foolishly my patriotism and enthusiasm in the flower of my age, I retrieved my errors, and since then have advanced steadily. My organization is vigorous, and so is yours. I work twelve hours a day, and any one can do as much who is not feeble or ill. Apply yourself to study, and leave silly minds to seek after pleasure. They will not find it where they look for it, and you will find it where it is; that is, in a quiet conscience and the exercise of your nobler faculties!’

“Having thus spoken, Comus divided his receipts into two different sums, the one large and the other small: the latter he kept for himself; but the former he sent as a gift to the hospitals of the city. I was very much struck with the simplicity and cheerfulness with which he made this disposition of his money, as if performing an habitual and indispensable duty, and one so natural that it did not even occur to him to conceal it. I reproached myself also for having forgotten for so long a time the precepts and examples of my dear friends, the Goffredis; for all that M. Comus said and did reminded me of them. Thus it was, M. Goefle, that a wandering juggler preached to and converted a highway improvisatore.

“We reached Paris after a journey that had lasted three months, and which I recall as one of the most agreeable experiences of my life. I had not wasted my time on the road, for I had studied carefully both nature and society, as far as they were accessible to one who, without claiming remarkable perspicacity, is not more obtuse than his neighbors. I had taken notes, and fancied, since I had something to say and felt competent to say it, that I would have no sort of difficulty in living by my pen in the centre of letters and of arts.

“It was a sombre and melancholy autumn day when we entered the great city. I found it hard to imagine that any one could become accustomed to such a climate, and Guido, from the very first, showed visible signs of gloom and discouragement. We hired a miserable little furnished room at a very high rate, and having taken possession, we adjusted our toilettes somewhat, dismantled our theatre, and locked the _burattini_ in a box. It was our purpose to sell the establishment to some mountebank; and for a few days we devoted ourselves to studying the language, and visiting the monuments, exhibitions, and curiosities of the French metropolis.

“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.

“At the end of nine or ten months, I had reached the Carpathians, still accompanied by my ass, whom I found of the greatest service, and who was so docile and well trained to follow me everywhere, that he was never in my way. Just at this time, in a remote and lonely place, I met a beggar with a long beard, who was no other than Guido Massarelli. Divided between disgust and pity, I was hesitating whether to speak to him, when he recognized me, and approached with an aspect so humble and dejected, that pity carried the day. I was happy myself at that time, and therefore kindly disposed. Seated on the grass in a grove of tall trees, I was eating with a good appetite, while my ass was grazing a few steps off. To enable him to rest better, I had taken off his load, and had placed the pannier containing my provisions for the day between my knees. There was not much in it, but enough for two. Massarelli looked pale and feeble, as if dying of hunger.

“‘Sit down,’ I said, ‘and eat. I am quite certain it is through your own fault that you have been brought into this miserable condition, but it shall never be said that I did not help you once more.’

“He proceeded to tell his adventures, whether true or false, acknowledging his faults in words of a base humility, and yet, in fact, always excusing himself, by attributing them to the ingratitude or harshness of others. I could only pity him for being what he was; and after half an hour’s conversation, I gave him a few ducats and resumed my journey. We were going in opposite directions, to my great satisfaction; but I had not advanced a quarter of an hour when I was seized with a vertigo that obliged me to stop, overcome with weariness and a desire to sleep. I could not comprehend what had brought on this sudden indisposition, for I had never had such an attack in my whole life; and, having shared my bottle with Guido, I had scarcely drunk a glass of wine. I supposed that it might be a sort of sun-stroke, or was perhaps the effect of a poor night’s sleep at the inn where I had stopped. At any rate, I laid down in the shade to take a nap. This may have been imprudent in a place so extremely solitary, but it was absolutely impossible for me to do otherwise; I was overcome by a heavy and irresistible drowsiness, like that of intoxication.