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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 afterward 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.
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