^" ^ f ^.«^ 
 
 
 In^tin X .Unccb^ . 
 
/''-^<~^ 
 
Journey Round My Room 
 
 BY 
 
 XAVIER DE MAISTRE 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH A 
 NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 H. A.l±AArdLL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 PUBLISHED BY KURD AND HOUGHTON 
 
 1871 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1 871, by 
 
 HuRD AND Houghton, 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 
 
yE 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 " I ^HE author of the "Voyage autour 
 de ma Chambre" was the younger 
 brother of Count Joseph de Maistre, a well- 
 known writer upon political and philosoph- 
 ical subjects. Chambery 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 Peters- 
 burg, where his brother resided in the 
 capacity of envoy from the court of 
 Sardinia. Xavier entered the Russian 
 army, distinguished himself in the war 
 
 269081 
 
iv Preface, 
 
 against Persia, and attained the rank of 
 major-general. 
 
 Our interest in the " Voyage " is height- 
 ened 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 agree- 
 ably 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 
 " Expedition Nocturne " was, notwith- 
 standing, finished, and was published some 
 years later. 
 
Preface, v 
 
 Xavier de Maistre's next production 
 (1811) was "Le Lepreux de la Cite 
 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" (18 15) and"LaJeune Sibe- 
 rienne," 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 devo- 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 ting himself to art and literature. He 
 applied himself so successfully to the study 
 of chemistry that he was able to communi- 
 cate several valuable " M^moires " 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 trans- 
 lation is perhaps necessary. 
 
 Although in France the " Voyage " re- 
 tains the high esteem in which it has been 
 heldfor half a century, it is hardly known in 
 England, except by those who are familiar 
 with the French language and literature. 
 
Preface, vii 
 
 During the last twenty years the propor- 
 tion 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 se traduit pas" — " style is untrans- 
 latable. 
 
 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. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
   
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 Preface iii 
 
 I. A Book of Discoveries ( Vignette.) . i 
 
 II. Eulogy of the Journey ... 4 
 
 III. Laws and Customs ... 7 
 
 IV. Latitude AND Topography . . 11 
 V. The Bed 14 
 
 VI. For Metaphysicians .... 17 
 
 VIL 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 t,-] 
 
 XIV. Joannp:tti 38 
 
 XV. A Difficulty 42 
 
 b 
 
X Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVI. Solution ( Vignette) .... 45 
 
 XVIL 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 
 
 93 
 
 XXXI. Inventory 
 
 XXXII. Misanthropy 95 
 
 XXXIII. Consolation 98 
 
 XXXIV. Correspondence .... 99 
 XXXV. The Withered Rose ( Vignette) . . 104 
 
 XXXVI. The Library 109 
 
 XXXVII. Another World . . . -113 
 
Contents, xi 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXXVIII. The Bust ii8 
 
 XXXIX. A Dialogue . . . . .121 
 
 XL. Imagination . . . . . 129 
 
 XLL The Travelling-coat . . . 132 
 
 XLII. Aspasia's Buskin ( Vignette)   . 137 
 
 Liberty 150 
 
tgliilLH ii 
 
 »Uia*IIMC S. 
 
 A Book of Discoveries, 
 
 TT THAT 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 ob- 
 scurity. 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 pub- 
 lish my travels ; the certainty of being 
 
2 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 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 inex- 
 pressible 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 
 
A Book of Discoveries, 3 
 
 ■*> 
 
 one (I mean of those who inhabit rooms), 
 
 who, after reading this book can refuse his 
 
 approbation of the new mode of travelHng 
 
 I introduce into the world. 
 
II. 
 
 Eulogy of the yourney. 
 
 I MIGHT fairly begin the eulogium of my 
 journey by saying it has cost me noth- 
 ing. 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 1 " you ask. 
 Why, the rich, to be sure. And then, 
 again, what a comfort the new mode of trav- 
 elling will be to the sick ; they need not 
 fear bleak winds or change of weather. 
 And what a thing, too, it will be for cow- 
 ards ; they will be safe from pitfalls or 
 quagmires. Thousands who hitherto did 
 not dare, others who were not able, and 
 
Eulogy of the Journey. 5 
 
 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 un- 
 kindnesses 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 an- 
 chorites of an evening's duration, who re- 
 nounce the world for your boudoir, — 
 come, and be led by me to banish these 
 dark thoughts ; you lose a moment's pleas- 
 ure without gaining a moment's wisdom ! 
 Deign to accompany me on my journey. 
 We will jog cheerfully and by easy stages 
 
6 A Journey Round my Room* 
 
 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 Ctistoms. 
 
 T T OW 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 num- 
 ber. 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, 
 
8 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 more, I even think that had it not been for 
 the intervention of certain powerful persons 
 who interested themselves in me, and to- 
 wards 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 thoughtless- 
 ness, 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," 
 
Laws and Customs, 9 
 
 you try to give the fourth cut while your 
 adversary parries tierce ; and, that ven- 
 geance 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 praise- 
 worthy 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 liveli- 
 hood. So that, when people are so unfor- 
 tunate as to have an affair of honor to set- 
 tle, it would not be a bad plan to cast lots 
 to see whether it shall be arranged accord- 
 
lo A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 ing 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. 
 
 TV /[* Y 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, follow- 
 ing, 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 feel- 
 
12 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 ings ; 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 be- 
 tween 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 think- 
 ing, 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 in- 
 tended 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- 
 
Latitude and Topography. i 
 
 o 
 
 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. 
 
 "NT EXT 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 jDcrspective. 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 pat- 
 terns as they dance upon my bed, and, 
 reflecting its rose-and-white color, shed a 
 charming tint around. I hear the con- 
 fused twitter of the swallows that have 
 taken possession of my roof, and the war- 
 bling of the birds that people the elms. 
 
The Bed, 15 
 
 Then do a thousand smiUng 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 imagi- 
 nation, 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 pf 
 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 agree- 
 able, some sad, throng my brain at once, — 
 strange minglings of terrible and delicious 
 pictures ! 
 
1 6 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 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 trage- 
 dies. It is a cradle decked with flowers. 
 A throne of love. A sepulchre. 
 
VI. 
 
 For Metaphysicians. 
 
 nr^HIS 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 decom- 
 pose 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. ^ And besides, this meta- 
 physical discovery has so great an influ- 
 
 1 Bite is not translatable here. The English word ani- 
 mal is hardly nearer than beast. Bite is a milder word 
 than beast, and when used metaphorically, implies silli- 
 ness rather than brutality. In some cases our creature 
 would translate it, Pauvre bite ! Poor creature ! 
 2 
 
1 8 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 ence 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 be- 
 tween 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 
 
For Metaphysicians, 19 
 
 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 per- 
 fect 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 as- 
 certained that the soul can make herself 
 obeyed by the animal, and that, by way of 
 
20 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 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 agree- 
 able 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. 
 
 T S not this clear to you ? Let us illus- 
 
 -*• trate 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 
 
22 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 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 sad- 
 ness 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 pic- 
 tures. He darkens the air, and we hear the 
 roar of the storm. At another time he 
 presents to the eye of the wondering be- 
 holder the delightful plains of ancient Sici- 
 ly : 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 sur- 
 rounds them. Imagination loses itself 
 among the still paths of this ideal country. 
 
The Soul. 23 
 
 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 or- 
 ders, it took such a turn to the left, that my 
 soul just caught it up at Madame de Haut- 
 castel'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. 
 
 T F 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. 
 
 T generally leave my animal to prepare 
 my breakfast. Its care it is to slice and 
 toast my bread. My coffee it makes admi- 
 rably, and helps itself thereto without my 
 soul's concerning herself in the transac- 
 tion. But this is a very rare and nice per- 
 formance to execute ; for though it is easy 
 enough while busied in a mechanical opera- 
 tion, to think of something quite different, 
 it is extremely difficult, so to speak, to 
 
The AnimaL 25 
 
 watch one's self-work, or, if I express myself 
 systematically, to employ one's soul to ex- 
 amine 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. 
 
 I had rested my tongs on the embers 
 to toast my bread, and some little time af- 
 terwards, while my soul was travelling, a 
 burning stick fell on the hearth : my poor 
 animal seized the tongs, and I burnt my 
 fingers. 
 
IX. 
 
 Philosophy. 
 
 T HOPE I have sufficiently developed my 
 •*■ ideas in the foregoing chapters to fur- 
 nish you, good reader, with matter for 
 thought, and to enable you to make discov- 
 eries along the brilliant career before you. 
 You cannot be other than highly satisfied 
 with yourself if you succeed in the long 
 run in making your soul travel alone. The 
 pleasure afforded by this power will amply 
 counterbalance any inconvenience that 
 may arise from it. What more flattering 
 delight is there than the being able thus to 
 expand one's existence, to occupy at once 
 earth and heaven, to double, so to speak, 
 one's being .? Is it not man's eternal, insa- 
 tiable desire to augment his strength and 
 
Philosophy, 27 
 
 his faculties, to be where he is not, to 
 recall the past, and live in the future ? He 
 would fain command armies, preside over 
 learned societies, and be the idol of the 
 fair. And, if he attain to all this, then he 
 regrets the tranquillity of a rural life, and 
 envies the shepherd's cot. His plans, his 
 hopes, are constantly foiled by the ills that 
 flesh is heir to. He can find happiness 
 nowhere. A quarter of an hour's journey 
 with me will show him the way to it. 
 
 Ah, why does he not leave to the other 
 those carking cares and that tormenting am- 
 bition. Come, my poor friend ! Make but 
 an effort to burst from thy prison, and from 
 the height of heaven, whither I am about 
 to lead thee, from the midst of the celestial 
 shades, from the empyrean itself, behold 
 thy animal run along the road to fortune 
 and honor. See with what gravity it walks 
 among men. The crowd falls back with 
 respect, and believe me, none will remark 
 
28 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 that it is alone. The people among whom 
 it walks care very little whether it has a 
 soul or not, whether it thinks or not. A 
 thousand sentimental women will fall des- 
 perately in love with it without discovering 
 the defect. It may even raise itself with- 
 out thy soul's help to the highest favor and 
 fortune. Nay, I should not be astonished 
 if, on thy return from the empyrean, thy 
 soul, on getting home, were to find itself in 
 the animal of a noble lord. 
 
X. 
 
 The Portrait. 
 
 "pUT you must not let yourself think 
 -■^ that instead of keeping my promise 
 to describe my journey round my room, I 
 am beating the bush to see how I can 
 evade the difficulty. This would be a 
 great mistake on your part. For our jour- 
 ney is really going on ; and while my soul, 
 falling back on her own resources, was in 
 the last chapter threading the mazy paths 
 of metaphysics, I had so placed myself in 
 my arm-chair, that its front legs being 
 raised about two inches from the floor, I 
 was able, by balancing myself from left to 
 right, to make way by degrees, and at last, 
 almost without knowing it, to get close to 
 the wall, for this is how I travel when not 
 
30 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 pressed for time. When there, my hand 
 possessed itself by a mere mechanical 
 effort, of the portrait of Madame de Haut- 
 castel ; and the other amused itself with 
 removing the dust which covered it. This 
 occupation produced a feeling of quiet 
 pleasure, and the pleasure was conveyed 
 to my soul, lost though it was in the vast 
 plains of heaven. For it is well to observe 
 that when the mind is thus travelling in 
 space, it still keeps linked to the senses by 
 a secret and subtle chain ; so that, without 
 being distracted from its occupations, it 
 can participate in the peaceful joys of the 
 OTHER. But should this pleasure reach a 
 certain pitch, or should the soul be struck 
 by some unexpected vision, it forthwith de- 
 scends swift as lightning, and resumes its 
 place. 
 
 And that is just what happened to me 
 while dusting the picture. Whilst the 
 cloth removed the dust, and brought to 
 
The Portrait 31 
 
 light those flaxen curls and the wreaths of 
 roses that crowned them, my soul, from the 
 sun, whither she had transported herself, 
 felt a slight thrill of pleasure, and partook 
 sympathetically of the joy of my heart. 
 This joy became less indistinct and more 
 lively, when, by a single sweep, the beauti- 
 ful forehead of that, charming face was 
 revealed. My soul was on the point of 
 leaving the skies in order to enjoy the spec- 
 tacle. But had she been in the Elysian 
 Fields, had she been engaged in a seraphic 
 concert, she could not have stayed a single 
 second longer when her companion, glow- 
 ing with the work, seized a proffered 
 sponge, and passed it at once over the eye- 
 brows and the eyes, over the nose, over 
 that mouth, ah heavens ! — my heart beats 
 at the thought — over the chin and neck ! 
 It was the work of an instant. The whole 
 face seemed suddenly recalled into exist- 
 ence. My soul precipitated herself like a 
 
32 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 falling star from the sky. She found the 
 OTHER in a state of ecstasy, which she her- 
 self increased by sharing it. This strange 
 and unexpected position caused all thought 
 of time and space to vanish from my mind. 
 I lived for a moment in the past, and, con- 
 trary to the order of nature, I grew young 
 again. Yes, before me stands that adored 
 one ; 'tis she, her very self! She smiles 
 on me, she will speak and own her love. 
 That glance ! . . . . come, let me press 
 thee to my heart, O, my loved one, my other 
 self! Partake with me this intoxicating 
 bliss ! The moment was short, but ravish- 
 ing. Cool reason soon reasserted her sway, 
 and in the twinkling of an eye I had grown a 
 whole year older. My heart grew icy cold, 
 and I found myself on a level with the 
 crowd of heedless ones who throng the 
 earth. 
 
XL 
 
 Rose and White. 
 
 T)UT we must not anticipate events. 
 -■-^ My hurry to communicate to the 
 reader my system of the soul and animal 
 caused me to abandon the description of 
 my bed earlier than I ought to have done. 
 When I have completed this description, I 
 will continue my journey where I inter- 
 rupted it in the last chapter. But let me 
 pray you to bear in mind that we left one 
 half of my ego four steps from my bureau, 
 close to the wall, and holding the portrait 
 of Madame de Hautcastel. 
 
 In speaking of my bed, I forgot to recom- 
 mend every man to have, if possible, a bed 
 with rose and white furniture. There can 
 be no doubt that colors so far affect us as 
 3 
 
34 -^ Journey Round my Room. 
 
 to make us cheerful or sad, according to 
 their hues. Now, rose and white are two 
 colors that are consecrated to pleasure. 
 Nature in bestowing them upon the rose 
 has given her the crown of Flora's realm. 
 And when the sky would announce to the 
 world a fine day, it paints the clouds at 
 sunrise with this charming tint. 
 
 One day we were with some difficulty 
 climbing a steep pathway. The amiable 
 Rosalie, whose agility had given her wings, 
 was far in front. We could not overtake 
 her. All on a sudden, having reached the 
 top of a hillock, she turned toward us to 
 take breath, and smiled at our slowness. 
 Never, perhaps, did the two colors whose 
 praise I proclaim so triumph. Her burn- 
 ing cheeks, her coral lips, her alabaster 
 neck, were thrown into relief by the verdure 
 around, and entranced us all. We could 
 not but pause and gaze upon her. I will 
 not speak of her blue eyes, or of the glance 
 
Rose and White, 35 
 
 she cast upon us, because this would be go- 
 ing from the subject, and because I dwell 
 upon these memories as little as possible. 
 Let it suffice that I have given the best 
 illustration conceivable of the superiority 
 of these two colors over all others, and of 
 their influence upon the happiness of man. 
 
 Here will I stop for to-day. Of what 
 subject can I treat which would not now be 
 insipid ? What idea is not effaced by this 
 idea t I do not even know when I shall be 
 able to resume my work. If I go on with 
 it at all, and if the reader desire to see its 
 termination, let him betake himself to the 
 angel who distributes thoughts, and beg 
 him to cease to mingle with the discon- 
 nected thoughts he showers upon me at 
 every moment the image of that hillock. 
 
 If this precaution is not taken, my jour- 
 ney will be a failure. 
 
XII. 
 
 The Hillock. 
 
XIII. 
 
 A Halt 
 
 TV yr Y efforts are useless. I must sojourn 
 ^^ ^ here awhile, whether I will or not. 
 The "Halt!" is irresistible. 
 
XIV. 
 
 yoannetti, 
 
 T REMARKED that I was singularly 
 -■- fond of meditating when influenced by 
 the agreeable warmth of my bed ; and that 
 its. agreeable color added not a little to the 
 pleasure I experienced. 
 
 That I may be provided with this en- 
 joyment, my servant is directed to enter 
 my room half ^.n hour before my time for 
 rising. I hear him moving about my room 
 with a light step, and stealthily managing 
 his preparations. This noise just suffices 
 to convey to me the pleasant knowledge 
 that I am slumbering, — a delicate pleasure 
 this, unknown to most men. You are just 
 awake enough to know you are not entirely 
 so, and to make a dreamy calculation that 
 
yoannetti, 39 
 
 the hour for business and worry is still in 
 the sand-glass of time. Gradually my man 
 grows noisier ; it is so hard for him to re- 
 strain himself, and he knows too that the 
 fatal hour draws near. He looks at my 
 watch, and jingles the seals as a warning. 
 But I turn a deaf ear to him. There is no 
 imaginable cheat I do not put upon the 
 poor fellow to lengthen the blissful mo- 
 ment. I give him a hundred preliminary 
 orders. He knows that these orders, given 
 somewhat peevishly, are mere excuses for 
 my staying in bed without seeming to wish 
 to do so. But this he affects not to see 
 through, and I am truly thankful to him. 
 
 At last, when I have exhausted all my 
 resources, he advances to the middle of the 
 room, and with folded arms, plants himself 
 there in a perfectly immovable position. 
 It must be admitted that it would be im- 
 possible to show disapproval of my idleness 
 with greater judgment and address. I 
 
40 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 never resist this tacit invitation, but, 
 stretching out my arms to show I under- 
 stand him, get up at once. 
 
 If the reader will reflect upon the be- 
 havior of my servant, he will convince 
 himself that in certain delicate matters of 
 this kind, simplicity and good sense are 
 much better than the sharpest wit. I dare 
 assert that the most studied discourse on 
 the impropriety of sloth would not make 
 me spring so readily from my bed as the 
 silent reproach of Monsieur Joannetti. 
 
 This Monsieur Joannetti is a thoroughly 
 honest fellow, and at the same time just the 
 man for such a traveller as I. He is accus- 
 tomed to the frequent journeys of my soul, 
 and never laughs at the inconsistencies of 
 the OTHER. He even directs it occasion- 
 ally when it is alone, so that one might say 
 it is then conducted by two souls. When 
 it is dressing, for instance, he will warn it 
 by a gesture that it is on the point of put- 
 
Joannetti, 41 
 
 ting on its stockings the wrong way, or its 
 coat before its waistcoat. 
 
 Many a time has my soul been amused 
 at seeing poor Joannetti running after this 
 foolish creature under the arches of the 
 citadel, to remind it of a forgotten hat or 
 handkerchief One day, I must confess, 
 had it not been for this faithful servant, 
 who caught it up just at the bottom of the 
 staircase, the silly creature would have pre- 
 sented itself at court without a sword, as 
 boldly as if it had been the chief gentle- 
 man-usher, bearing the august rod. 
 
XV. 
 
 A Difficulty. 
 
 "i^^OME, Joannetti," I said, "hang up 
 ^-^ this picture." He had helped to 
 clean it, and had no more notion than 
 the man in the moon what had produced 
 our chapter on the portrait. He it was, 
 who, of his own accord, held out the wet 
 sponge, and who, through that seemingly 
 unimportant act, caused my soul to travel 
 a hundred millions of leagues in a moment 
 of time. Instead of restoring it to its 
 place, he held it to examine it in his turn. 
 A difficulty, a problem, gave him an inquis- 
 itive air, which I did not fail to observe. 
 
 " Well, and what fault do you find with 
 that portrait } " said I. 
 
 " O, none at all, sir." 
 
A Difficulty, 43 
 
 " But come now, you have some remark 
 to make, I know." 
 
 He placed it upright on one of the wings 
 of my bureau, and then drawing back a 
 little, " I wish, sir," he said, " that you 
 would explain how it is that in whatever 
 part of the room one may be, this portrait 
 always watches you. In the morning, 
 when I am making your bed, the face 
 turns towards me ; and if I move toward 
 the window, it still looks at me, and follows 
 me with its eyes as I go about." 
 
 " So that, Joannetti," said I, " if my room 
 were full of people, that beautiful lady 
 would eye every one, on all sides, at once." 
 
 " Just so, sir." 
 
 "She would smile on every comer and 
 goer, just as she would on me ? " 
 
 Joannetti gave no further answ*er. I 
 stretched myself in my easy-chair, and, 
 hanging down my head, gave myself up to 
 the most serious meditations. What a ray 
 
44 -^ yourney Round my Room, 
 
 of light fell upon me ! Alack, poor lover ! 
 While thou pinest away, far from thy mis- 
 tress, at whose side another perhaps, has 
 already replaced thee ; whilst thou fixest 
 thy longing eyes on her portrait, imagining 
 that at least in picture, thou art the sole 
 being she deigns to regard, — the perfidi- 
 ous image, as faithless as the original, be- 
 stows its glances on all around, and smiles 
 on every one alike ! 
 
 And in this behold a moral resemblance 
 between certain portraits and their origi- 
 nals, which no philosopher, no painter, no 
 observer, had before remarked. 
 
 I go on from discovery to discovery. 
 
XVI. 
 
 Solution. 
 
 JOANNETTI remained in the attitude I 
 have described, awaiting the explanation 
 he had asked of me. I withdrew my head 
 from the folds of my travelling dress, into 
 which I had thrust it that I might meditate 
 more at my ease ; and after a moment's 
 silence, to enable me to collect my thoughts 
 after the reflections I had just made, I said, 
 turning my arm-chair toward him, — 
 
 " Do you not see that as a picture is a 
 plane surface, the rays of light proceeding 
 from each point on that surface. . . . .^" 
 
 At that explanation, Joannetti stretched 
 
46 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 his eyes to their very widest, while he kept 
 his mouth half open. These two move- 
 ments of the human face express, according 
 to the famous Le Brun, the highest pitch 
 of astonishment. It was, without doubt, 
 my animal, that had undertaken this disser- 
 tation, while my soul was well aware that 
 Joannetti knew nothing whatever about 
 plane surfaces and rays of light. The pro- 
 digious dilatation of his eyelids caused me to 
 draw back. I ensconced my head in the 
 collar of my travelling coat, and this so 
 effectively that I well-nigh succeeded in 
 altogether hiding it. I determined to dine 
 where I was. The morning was far ad- 
 vanced, and another step in my room would 
 have delayed my dinner until night-fall. I 
 let myself slip to the edge of my chair, and 
 putting both feet on the mantel-piece, pa- 
 tiently awaited my meal. This was a most 
 comfortable attitude ; indeed, it would be 
 difficult to find another possessing so many 
 
A Solution. 47 
 
 advantages, and so well adapted to the in- 
 evitable sojourns of a long voyage. 
 
 At such moments, Rose, my faithful dog, 
 never fails to come and pull at the skirts of 
 my travelling dress that I may take her up. 
 She finds a very convenient ready-made bed 
 at the angle formed by the two parts of my 
 body. A V admirably represents my posi- 
 tion. Rose jumps to her post if I do not 
 take her up quickly enough to please her, 
 and I often find her there without knowing 
 how she has come. My hands fall into a 
 position which minister to her well-being, 
 and this, either through a sympathy exist- 
 ing between this good-natured creature 
 and myself, or through the merest chance. 
 But no, I do not believe in that miserable 
 doctrine of chance, — in that unmeaning 
 word ! I would rather believe in animal 
 magnetism. 
 
 There is such reality in the relations 
 which exist between these two animals. 
 
48 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 that when out of sheer distraction, I put 
 my two feet on the mantel-piece and have 
 no thought at all about a halty dinner-time 
 not being near, Rose, observing this move- 
 ment, shows by a slight wag of her tail the 
 pleasure she enjoys. Reserve keeps her in 
 her place. The other perceives this and is 
 gratified by it, though quite unable to rea- 
 son upon its cause. And thus a mute dia- 
 logue is established between them, a pleas- 
 ing interchange of sensations which could 
 not be attributed to simple chance. 
 
XVII. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 F^O not reproach me for the prolixity 
 ^^ with which I narrate the details of 
 my journey. This is the wont of travellers. 
 When one sets out for the ascent of Mont 
 Blanc, or to visit the yawning tomb of 
 Empedocles, the minutest particulars are 
 carefully described. The number of per- 
 sons who formed the party, the number of 
 mules, the quality of the food, the excellent 
 appetite of the travellers, — everything, to 
 the very stumbling of the quadrupeds, is 
 carefully noted down for the instruction of 
 the sedentary world. 
 
 Upon this principle, I resolved to speak 
 of my dog Rose, — an amiable creature for 
 4 
 
50 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 whom I entertain sincere regard, — and to 
 devote a whole chapter to her. 
 
 We have Uved together for six years, and 
 there has never been any coolness between 
 us, and if ever any little disputes have 
 arisen, .the fault has been chiefly on my 
 side, and Rose has always made the first 
 advances towards reconciliation. 
 
 In the evening, if she has been scolded 
 she withdraws sadly and without a mur- 
 mur. The next morning at daybreak, she 
 stands near my bed in a respectful atti- 
 tude, and at her master's slightest move- 
 ment, at the first sign of his being awake, 
 she makes her presence known by rapidly 
 tapping my little table with her tail. 
 
 And why should I refuse my afiection to 
 this good-natured creature that has never 
 ceased to love me ever since we have lived 
 together } My memory would not enable 
 me to enumerate all the people who have 
 interested themselves in me but to forget 
 
Rose. 5 1 
 
 me. I have had some few friends, several 
 lady-loves, a host of acquaintances ; and 
 now I am to all these people as if I had 
 never lived ; they have forgotten my very 
 name. 
 
 And yet what protestations they made, 
 what offers of assistance ! Their purse 
 was at my disposal, and they begged me to 
 depend upon their eternal and entire friend- 
 ship ! 
 
 Poor Rose, who has made me no prom- 
 ises, renders me the greatest service that 
 can be bestowed upon humanity, for she 
 has always loved her master, and loves him 
 still. And this is why I do not hesitate to 
 say that she shares with my other friends 
 the affection I feel towards them. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 .Reserve. 
 
 TTT^E left Joannetti standing motionless 
 ^ ' before me, in an attitude of aston- 
 ishment, awaiting the conclusion of the 
 sublime explanation I had begun. 
 
 When he saw me bury my head in my 
 dressing-gown, and thus end my disserta- 
 tion, he did not doubt for a moment that I 
 had stopped short for lack of resources, and 
 that he had fairly overcome me by the 
 knotty question he had plied me with. 
 
 Notwithstanding the superiority he had 
 hereby gained over me, he felt no move- 
 Tiient of pride, and did not seek to profit by 
 liis advantage. After a moment's silence, 
 he took the picture, put it back in its place, 
 and withdrew softly on tip-toe. He felt 
 
Reserve. 53 
 
 that his presence was a sort of humiliation 
 to me, and his delicacy of feeling led him 
 thus to retire unobserved. His behavior 
 on this occasion interested me greatly, and 
 gave him a higher place than ever in my 
 affections. And he will have too, without 
 doubt, a place in the heart of my readers. 
 If there be one among them who will re- 
 fuse it him after reading the next chapter, 
 such a one must surely have a heart of 
 stone. 
 
XIX. 
 
 A Tear. 
 
 "/^^ OOD Heavens !" said I to him one 
 ^■^ day, "three times have I told you to 
 buy me a brush. What a head the fellow 
 has ! " He answered not a word ; nor had 
 he the evening before made any reply to a 
 like expostulation. "This is very odd," I 
 thought to myself, " he is generally so very 
 particular." 
 
 " Well, go and get a duster to wipe my 
 shoes with," I said angrily. While he was 
 on his way, I regretted that I had spoken 
 so sharply, and my anger entirely subsided 
 when I saw how carefully he tried to re- 
 move the dust from my shoes without 
 touching my stockings. " What," I said to 
 myself, " are there then men who brush 
 
A Tear. 55 
 
 others' shoes for money ! " This word 
 money came upon me like a flash of light- 
 ning. I suddenly remembered that for a 
 long time my servant had not had any 
 money from me. 
 
 "Joannetti," said I, drawing away my 
 foot, " have you any change ? " 
 
 A smile of justification lit up his face at 
 the question. 
 
 " No, sir ; for the last week I have not 
 possessed a penny. I have spent all I had 
 for your little purchases." 
 
 " And the brush } I suppose that is 
 why . . . . .?" 
 
 He still smiled. Now, he might very 
 well have said, " No, sir ; I am not the 
 empty-headed ass you would make out 
 your faithful servant to be. Pay me the 
 one pound two shillings and sixpence half- 
 penny you owe me, and then I'll buy you 
 your brush." But no, he bore this ill treat- 
 ment rather than cause his master to blush 
 
56 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 at his unjust anger. And may Heaven bless 
 him ! Philosophers, Christians ! have you 
 read this ? 
 
 " Come, Joannetti," said I, " buy me the 
 brush." 
 
 " But, sir, will you go like that, with one 
 shoe clean, and the other dirty ? " 
 
 " Go, go ! " I replied, " never mind about 
 the dust, never mind that." 
 
 He went out. I took the duster, and 
 daintily wiped my left shoe, on which a 
 tear of repentance had fallen. 
 
XX. 
 
 Albert and Charlotte. 
 
 T^HE walls of my room are hung with 
 engravings and pictures, which adorn 
 it greatly. I should much like to submit 
 them to the reader's inspection, that they 
 might amuse him along the road we have 
 to traverse before we reach my bureau. 
 But it is as impossible to describe a picture 
 well, as to paint one from a description. 
 
 What an emotion he would feel in con- 
 templating the first drawing that presents 
 itself! He would see the unhappy Char- 
 lotte,^ slowly, and with a trembling hand, 
 wiping Albert's pistols. Dark forebodings, 
 and all the agony of hopeless, inconsolable 
 love, are imprinted on her features, while 
 
 1 Vide Werthery chapter xxviii. 
 
58 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 the cold-hearted Albert, surrounded by 
 bags of law papers and various old docu- 
 ments, turns with an air of indifference 
 towards his friend to bid him good-by. 
 Many a time have I been tempted to break 
 the glass that covers this engraving, that I 
 might tear Albert away from the table, rend 
 him to pieces, and trample him under foot. 
 But this would not do away with the 
 Alberts. There will always be sadly too 
 many of them in the world. What sensi- 
 tive man is there who has not such a one 
 near him, who receives the overflowings of 
 his soul, the gentle emotions of his heart, 
 and the flights of his imagination just as 
 the rock receives the waves of the sea } 
 Happy is he who finds a friend whose heart 
 and mind harmonize with his own ; a friend 
 who adheres to him by likeness of tastes, 
 feeling, and knowledge ; a friend who is 
 not the prey of ambition or greediness, who 
 prefers the shade of a tree to the pomp of a 
 court ! Happy is he who has a friend ! 
 
I 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A Friend. 
 HAD a friend. Death took him from 
 
 me. He was snatched away at the be- 
 ginning of his career, at the moment when 
 his friendship had become a pressing need 
 to my heart. We supported one another 
 in the hard toil of war. We had but one 
 pipe between us. We drank out of the 
 same cup. We slept beneath the same 
 tent. And, amid our sad trials, the spot 
 where we lived together became to us a 
 new father-land. I had seen him exposed 
 to all the perils of a disastrous war. Death 
 seemed to spare us to each other. His 
 
6o A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 deadly missives were exhausted around 
 my friend a thousand times over without 
 reaching him ; but this was but to make his 
 loss more painful to me. The tumult of 
 war, and the enthusiasm which possesses 
 the soul at the sight of danger might have 
 prevented his sighs from piercing my heart, 
 while his death would have been useful to 
 his country, and damaging to the enemy. 
 Had he died thus, I should have mourned 
 him less. But to lose him amid the joys of 
 our winter-quarters ; to see him die at the 
 moment when he seemed full of health, and 
 when our intimacy was rendered closer by 
 rest and tranquillity, — ah, this was a blow 
 from which I can never recover ! 
 
 But his memory lives in my heart, and 
 there alone. He is forgotten by those who 
 surrounded him, and who have replaced 
 him. And this makes his loss the more 
 sad to me. 
 
 Nature, in like manner indifferent to the 
 
-• A Friend. 6i 
 
 fate of individuals, dons her green spring 
 robe, and decks herself in all her beauty 
 near the cemetery where he rests. The 
 trees cover themselves with foliage, and in- 
 tertwine their branches ; the birds warble 
 under the leafy sprays ; the insects hum 
 among the blossoms : everything breathes 
 joy in this abode of death. 
 
 And in the evening, when the moon 
 shines in the sky, and I am meditating in 
 this sad place, I hear the grasshopper, hid- 
 den in the grass that covers the silent 
 grave of my friend, merrily pursuing his 
 unwearied song. The unobserved de- 
 struction of human beings, as well as all 
 their misfortunes, are counted for nothing 
 in the grand total of events. 
 
 The death of an affectionate man who 
 breathes his last surrounded by his afflicted 
 friends, and that of a butterfly killed in a 
 flower's cup by the chill air of morning, are 
 but two similar epochs in the course of na- 
 
62 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 ture. Man is but a phantom, a shadow, a 
 mere vapor that melts into the air. 
 
 But day-break begins to whiten the sky. 
 The gloomy thoughts that troubled me van- 
 ish with the darkness, and hope awakens 
 again in my heart. No ! He who thus 
 suffuses the east with light, has not made 
 it to shine upon my eyes only to plunge 
 me into the night of annihilation. He who 
 has spread out that vast horizon, who raised 
 those lofty rnountains whose icy tops the 
 sun is even now gilding, is also He who 
 made my heart to beat, and my mind to 
 think. 
 
 No ! My friend is not annihilated. 
 Whatever may be the barrier that sepa- 
 rates us, I shall see him again. My hopes 
 are based on no mere syllogism. The 
 flight of an insect suffices to persuade me. 
 And often the prospect of the surrounding 
 country, the perfume of the air, and an in- 
 
A Friend, 63 
 
 describable charm which is spread around 
 me, so raise my thoughts, that an invinci- 
 ble proof of immortaHty forces itself upon 
 my soul, and fills it to the full. 
 
XXII. 
 Jenny. 
 
 " I ^HE chapter I have just written had 
 -*- often presented itself to my pen, but 
 I had as often rejected it. I had prom- 
 ised myself that I would only allow the 
 cheerful phase of my soul to show itself in 
 this book. But this project, like many 
 others, I was forced to abandon. I hope 
 the sensitive reader will pardon me for 
 having asked his tears ; and if any one 
 thinks I should have omitted this chapter, 
 he can tear it from his copy, or even throw 
 the whole book on the fire. 
 
 Enough for me, dear Jenny, that thy 
 heart approves it, thou best and best- 
 beloved of women, best and best-beloved of 
 sisters. To thee I dedicate my work. If 
 
A Friend, 65 
 
 it please thee, it will please all gentle and 
 delicate hearts. And if thou wilt pardon 
 the follies into which, albeit against my 
 will, I sometimes fall, I will brave all the 
 critics of the universe. 
 
 5 % 
 
XXIII. 
 
 The Picture Gallery. 
 
 j/'^NE word only upon our next engrav- 
 ^^ing. 
 
 It represents the family of the unfortu- 
 nate Ugolino, dying of hunger. Around 
 him are his sons. One of them lies motion- 
 less at his feet. The rest stretch their en- 
 feebled arms towards him, asking for 
 bread ; while the wretched father, leaning 
 against a pillar of his prison, his eyes fixed 
 and haggard, his countenance immovable, 
 dies a double death, and suffers all that 
 human nature can endure. 
 
 And there is the brave Chevalier d'Assas, 
 dying, by an effort of courage and heroism 
 junknown in our days, under a hundred 
 bayonets. 
 
The Picture Gallery, 67 
 
 And thou who weepest under the palm- 
 trees, poor negro woman ! thou, whom 
 some barbarous fellow has betrayed and 
 deserted, nay, worse, whom he has had the 
 brutality to sell as a vile slave, notwith- 
 standing thy love and devotion, notwith- 
 standing the pledge of affection thou hast 
 borne at thy breast, — I will not pass be- 
 fore thine image without rendering to thee 
 the homage due to thy tenderness and thy 
 sorrows. 
 
 Let us pause a moment before the other 
 picture. It is a young shepherdess tend- 
 ing her flock alone on the heights of the 
 Alps. She sits on an old willow trunk, 
 bleached by many winters. Her feet are 
 covered by the broad leaves of a tuft of 
 cacalia, whose lilac blossoms bloom above 
 her head. Lavender, wild thyme, the 
 anemone, centaury, and flowers which are 
 cultivated with care in our hot-houses and 
 gardens, and which grow in all their native 
 
68 A yourney Round fny Room. 
 
 beauty on the Alps, form the gay carpet on 
 which her sheep wander. 
 
 Lovely shepherdess ! tell me where is 
 the lovely spot thou callest thy home. 
 From what far-off sheepfold didst thou set 
 out at daybreak this morning ? Could I 
 not go thither and live with thee ? 
 
 But alas, the sweet tranquillity thou en- 
 joyest will soon vanish ! The demon of 
 war, not content with desolating cities, will 
 ere long carry anxiety and alarm to thy 
 solitary retreat. Even now I see the sol- 
 diers advancing: they climb height after 
 height, as they march upward towards the 
 clouds. The cannons' roar is heard high 
 above the thunder-clap. 
 
 Fly, O shepherdess ! Urge on thy flock ! 
 Hide thee in the farthest caves, for no 
 longer is repose to be found on this sad 
 earth ! 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Painting and Music. 
 
 T DO not know how it is, but of late my 
 -■- chapters have always ended in a mourn- 
 ful strain. In vain do I begin by fixing my 
 eyes on some agreeable object ; in vain do I 
 embark when all is calm : a sudden gale soon 
 drifts me away. To put an end to an agita- 
 tion which deprives me of the mastery of 
 my ideas, and to quiet the beating of a heart 
 too much disturbed by so many touching 
 images, I see no remedy but a dissertation. 
 Yes, thus will I steel my heart. 
 
 And the dissertation shall be about 
 painting, for I cannot at this moment ex- 
 patiate upon any other subject. I cannot 
 altogether descend from the point I just 
 
70 A yourney Round tny Room. 
 
 now reached. Besides, painting is to me 
 what Uncle Toby's hobby-horse was to 
 him.^ 
 
 I would say a few words, by the way, 
 upon the question of preeminence between 
 the charming arts of painting and music. I 
 would cast my grain into the balance, were 
 it but a grain of sand, a mere atom. 
 
 It is urged in favor of the painter, that 
 he leaves his works behind him ; that his 
 pictures outlive him, and immortalize his 
 memory. 
 
 In reply to this we are reminded that 
 musical composers also leave us their op- 
 eras and oratorios. 
 
 But music is subject to fashion, and 
 painting is not. The musical passages 
 that deeply affected our forefathers seem 
 
 1 The reader will probably have been reminded of the 
 ** Sentimental Journey " before reaching this proof of 
 our author's acquaintance with the writings of Sterne. 
 
 H. A. 
 
Painting and Music. 71 
 
 simply ridiculous to the amateurs of 
 our own day ; and they are placed in ab- 
 surd farces to furnish laughter for the 
 nephews of those whom they once made to 
 weep. 
 
 Raphael's pictures will enchant our de- 
 scendants as greatly as they did our fore- 
 fathers. 
 
 This is my grain of sand. 
 
B 
 
 XXV. 
 
 An Objection. 
 
 UT what," said Madame de Haut- 
 castel to me one day, — " what if the 
 music of Cherubini or Cimarosa differs 
 from that of their predecessors ? What 
 care I if the music of the past make me 
 laugh, so long as that of the present day 
 touch me by its charms ? Is it at all 
 essential to my happiness that my pleas- 
 ures should resemble those of my great- 
 grandmother ? Why talk to me of paint- 
 ing, an art which is only enjoyed by a very 
 small class of persons, while music enchants 
 every living creature ? " 
 
 I hardly know at this moment how one 
 could reply to this observation, which I did 
 not foresee when I began my chapter. 
 
An Objection, 73 
 
 Had I foreseen it, perhaps I should not 
 have undertaken that dissertation. And 
 pray do not imagine that you discover in 
 this objection the artifice of a musician, for 
 upon my honor I am none, Heaven be my 
 witness, and all those who have heard me 
 play the violin ! 
 
 But, even supposing the merits of the 
 two arts to be equal, we must not be too 
 hasty in concluding that the merits of the 
 disciples of Painting and Music are there- 
 fore balanced. We see children play the 
 harpsichord as if they were maestri, but no 
 one has ever been a good painter at twelve 
 years old. Painting, besides taste and feel- 
 ing, requires an amount of thoughtfulness 
 that musicians can dispense with. Any 
 day may you hear men who are well nigh 
 destitute of head and heart, bring out from 
 a violin or harp the most ravishing sounds. 
 
 The human animal may be taught to 
 play the harpsichord, and when it has 
 
74 ^ Journey Round my Room, 
 
 learned of a good master, the soul can 
 travel at her ease while sounds with which 
 she does not concern herself are mechan- 
 ically produced by the fingers. But the 
 simplest thing in the world cannot be 
 painted without the aid of all the faculties 
 of the soul. 
 
 If, however, any one should take it into 
 his head to ply me with a distinction be- 
 tween the composition and the perform- 
 ance of music, I confess that he would 
 give me some little difficulty. Ah, well ! 
 were all writers of essays quite candid they 
 would all conclude as I am doing. When 
 one enters upon the examination of a ques- 
 tion, a dogmatic tone is generally assumed, 
 because there has been a secret decision 
 beforehand, just as I, notwithstanding my 
 hypocritical impartiality, had decided in 
 favor of painting. But discussion awakens 
 objections, and everything ends with doubt. 
 
N 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Raphael, 
 
 OW that I am more tranquil, I will 
 endeavor to speak calmly of the two 
 portraits that follow the picture of the shep- 
 herdess of the Alps. 
 
 Raphael ! Who but thyself could paint 
 thy portrait ; who but thyself would have 
 dared attempt it } Thy open countenance, 
 beaming with feeling and intellect, pro- 
 claims thy- character and thy genius. 
 
 To gratify thy shade, I have placed be- 
 side thee the portrait of thy mistress, whom 
 the men of all generations will hold answer- 
 able for the loss of the sublime works of 
 which art has been deprived by thy prema- 
 ture death. 
 
 When I examine the portrait of Raphael, 
 
76 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 I feel myself penetrated by an almost re- 
 ligious respect for that great man, who, in 
 the flower of his age, excelled the ancients, 
 and whose pictures are at once the admira- 
 tion and the despair of modern artists. My 
 soul, in admiring it, is moved with indigna- 
 tion against that Italian who preferred her 
 love to her lover, and who extinguished at 
 her bosom that heavenly flame, that divine 
 genius. 
 
 Unhappy one! Knewest thou not that 
 Raphael had announced a picture supe- 
 rior even to that of the Transfiguration ? 
 Didst thou not know that thine arms encir- 
 cled, the favorite of nature, the father of 
 enthusiasm, a sublime genius. ... a 
 divinity } 
 
 While my soul makes these observations, 
 her companion, whose eyes are attentively 
 fixed upon the lovely face of that fatal 
 beauty, feels quite ready to forgive her the 
 death of Raphael. 
 
Raphael, 77 
 
 In vain my soul upbraids this extrava- 
 gant weakness ; she is not listened to at 
 all. On such occasions a strange dialogue 
 arises between the two, which terminates 
 too often in favor of the bad principles, and 
 of which I reserve a sample for another 
 chapter. 
 
 And if, by the way, my soul had not at 
 that moment abruptly closed the inspec- 
 tion of the gallery, if she had given the 
 OTHER time to contemplate the rounded 
 and graceful features of the beautiful Ro- 
 man lady, my intellect would have miser- 
 ably lost its supremacy. 
 
 And if, at that critical moment I had 
 suddenly obtained the favor bestowed upon 
 the fortunate Pygmalion, without having 
 the least spark of the genius which makes 
 me pardon Raphael his errors, it is just 
 possible that I should have succumbed as 
 he did. 
 
XXVII. 
 
 A Perfect Picture. 
 
 IV /FY engravings, and the paintings of 
 -*-▼-■- which I have spoken, fade away into 
 nothing at the first glance bestowed upon 
 the next picture. The immortal works of 
 Raphael and Correggio, and of the whole 
 Italian school, are not to be compared to it. 
 Hence it is that when I accord to an ama- 
 teur the pleasure of travelling with me, I 
 always keep this until the last as a special 
 luxury, and ever since I first exhibited this 
 sublime picture to connoisseurs and to ig- 
 norant, to men of the world, to artists, to 
 women, to children, to animals even, I 
 have always found the spectators, whoever 
 they might be, show, each in his own way, 
 signs of pleasure and surprise, so admirably 
 is nature rendered therein. 
 
A Perfect Picture, 79 
 
 And what picture could be presented 
 to you, gentlemen ; what spectacle, ladies, 
 could be placed before your eyes more 
 certain of gaining your approval than the 
 faithful portraiture of yourselves ? The 
 picture of which I speak is a mirror, and 
 no one has as yet ventured to criticise it. 
 It is to all who look on it a perfect picture, 
 in depreciation of which not a word can be 
 said. 
 
 You will at once admit that it should be 
 regarded as one of the wonders of the 
 world. 
 
 I will pass over in silence the pleasure 
 felt by the natural philosopher in meditat- 
 ing upon the strange phenomena presented 
 by light as it reproduces upon that polished, 
 surface all the objects of nature. A mirror 
 offers to the sedentary traveller a thousand 
 interesting reflections, a thousand observa- 
 tions which render it at once a useful and 
 precious article. 
 
8o A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 Ye whom Love has held or still holds 
 under his sway, learn that it is before a 
 mirror that he sharpens his darts, and con- 
 templates his cruelties. There it is that he 
 plans his manoeuvres, studies his tactics, 
 and prepares himself for the war he wishes 
 to declare. There he practices his killing 
 glances and little affectations, and sly pout- 
 ings, just as a player practices, with himself 
 for spectator, before appearing in public. 
 
 A mirror, being always impartial and 
 true, brings before the eyes of the beholder 
 the roses of youth and the wrinkles of age, 
 without calumny and without flattery. It 
 alone among the councilors of the great, 
 invariably tells them the truth. 
 
 It was this recommendation that made 
 me desire the invention of a moral mirror, 
 in which all men might see themselves, 
 with their virtues and their vices. I even 
 thought of offering a prize to some acad- 
 emy for this discovery, when riper reflec- 
 
Raphael, 8 1 
 
 tion proved to me that such an invention 
 would be useless. 
 
 Alas ! how rare it is for ugliness to rec- 
 ognize itself and break the mirror ! In 
 vain are looking-glasses multiplied around 
 us which reflect light and truth with geo- 
 metrical exactness. As soon as the rays 
 reach our vision and paint us as we are, 
 self-love slips its deceitful prism between 
 us and our image, and presents a divinity 
 to us. 
 
 And of all the prisms that have existed 
 since the first that came from the hands of 
 the immortal Newton, none has possessed 
 so powerful a refractive force, or produced 
 such pleasing and lively colors, as the 
 prism of self-love. 
 
 Now, seeing that ordinary looking- 
 glasses record the truth in vain, and that 
 they cannot make men see their own im- 
 perfections, every one being satisfied with 
 his face, what would a moral mirror avail } 
 6 
 
82 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 Few people would look at it, and no one 
 would recognize himself. None save phi- 
 losophers would spend their time in exam- 
 ining themselves, — I even have my doubts 
 about the philosophers. 
 
 Taking the mirror as we find it, I hope 
 no one will blame me for ranking it above 
 all the pictures of the Italian school. 
 
 Ladies, whose taste cannot be faulty, 
 and whose opinion should decide the ques- 
 tion, generally upon entering a room let 
 their first glance fall upon this picture. 
 
 A thousand times have I seen ladies, 
 aye, and gallants, too, forget at a ball their 
 lovers and their mistresses, the dancing, 
 and all the pleasures of the fete, to contem- 
 plate with evident complaisance this en- 
 chanting picture, and honoring it even, 
 from time to time, in the midst of the Uve- 
 liest quadrille, with a look. 
 
 Who then can dispute the rank that I 
 accord to it among the masterpieces of the 
 art of Apelles } 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 The Upset Carriage, 
 
 T HAD at last nearly reached my bureau. 
 
 -*- So close was I, that had I stretched out 
 my arm I could have touched the corner 
 nearest to me. But at this very moment I 
 was on the verge of seeing the fruit of all 
 my labors destroyed, and of losing my life. 
 I should pass over in silence the accident 
 that happened to me, for fear of discourag- 
 ing other travellers, were it not that it is so 
 difficult to upset such a post-chaise as I 
 employ, that it must be allowed that one 
 must be uncommonly unlucky — as un- 
 lucky, indeed, as it is my lot to be — to be 
 exposed to a like danger. 
 
 There I was, stretched at full length 
 upon the ground, completely upset, and it 
 
■84 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 was done so quickly, so unexpectedly, that 
 I should have been almost tempted to 
 -question the cause of my abject position, 
 had not a singing in my ears and a sharp 
 pain in my left shoulder too plainly demon- 
 strated it. 
 
 This was again the other, who had 
 played a trick upon me. 
 
 Startled by the voice of a poor man who 
 suddenly asked alms at my door, and by 
 the voice of Rose, my other half suddenly 
 turned the arm-chair sharply round, before 
 my soul had time to warn it that a piece of 
 brick, which served as a drag, was gone. 
 The jerk was so violent that my post- 
 chaise was quite thrown from its centre of 
 gravity, and turned over upon me. 
 
 This was, I must own, one of the occa- 
 sions upon which I had most to complain 
 of my soul. For instead of being vexed 
 at herself for having been absent, and 
 scolding her companion for its hurry, she 
 
The Upset Carriage, 85 
 
 so far forgot herself as to give way to the 
 most animal resentment, and to insult the 
 poor fellow cruelly. 
 
 " Idle rascal," she said, " go and work." 
 (An execrable apostrophe this, the inven- 
 tion of miserly, heartless Mammon.) 
 
 '* Sir," replied the man, hoping to soften 
 my heart, " I come from Chambery." 
 
 " So much the worse for you." 
 
 " I am James. You saw me when you 
 were in the country. I used to drive the 
 sheep into the fields." 
 
 " And what do you do here } " My soul 
 began to regret the harshness of my first 
 words ; I almost think she regretted them 
 a moment before they were uttered. In 
 like manner, when one meets in the road a 
 rut or puddle, one sees it, but has not time 
 to avoid it. 
 
 Rose finished the work of bringing me 
 to good sense and repentance. She had 
 recognized Jem, who had often shared his 
 
86 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 crust with her, and she testified by her 
 caresses, her remembrance and gratitude. 
 
 Meanwhile, Joannetti, who had gathered 
 together what was left of my dinner, his 
 own share, gave it at once to Jem. 
 
 Poor Joannetti ! 
 
 Thus it is that in my journey I get les- 
 sons of philosophy and humanity from my 
 servant and my dog. 
 
XXIX. 
 
 Misfortune. 
 
 T) EFORE proceeding farther, I wish to 
 ^-^ remove a suspicion which may have 
 crossed the minds of my readers. 
 
 I would not for all the world be sus- 
 pected of having undertaken this journey 
 just because I did not know how to spend 
 my time, and was in a manner compelled 
 thereto by circumstances. I here affirm, 
 and swear by all that is dear to me, that I 
 projected it long before the event took 
 place which deprived me of my liberty for 
 forty-two days. This forced retirement 
 only served as an opportunity for setting 
 out sooner than I had intended. 
 
 This gratuitous protestation will, I know, 
 appear suspicious in the eyes of some. 
 
88 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 But those who are so ready to suspect are 
 just the persons who will not read this 
 book. They have enough to do at home 
 and at their friends', plenty of other busi- 
 ness to attend to. And good, honest folk 
 will believe me. 
 
 Still, I freely admit that I should have 
 preferred another season for my journey, 
 and that I should have chosen for its exe- 
 cution Lent rather than the Carnival. The 
 philosophical reflections, however, that 
 have come to me from above have greatly 
 aided me in supporting the loss of those 
 pleasures which Turin offers at this noisy 
 and exciting time. 
 
 It is certain, I have thought to myself, 
 that the walls of my chamber are not so 
 magnificently decorated as those of a ball- 
 room. The silence of my cottage is far 
 less agreeable than the pleasing sounds of 
 music and dancing. But among the bril- 
 liant personages one meets in those fes- 
 
Misfortune. 89 
 
 tive scenes, there are certainly some who 
 are more sick at heart than I am. 
 
 And why should I picture to myself 
 those who are more happily circumstanced 
 than it is my lot to be, while the world 
 swarms with those who are worse off ? In- 
 stead of transporting myself in fancy to that 
 sumptuous dancing-hall, where so many 
 beauties are eclipsed by the young Eugenie, 
 I need only pause a moment in one of the 
 streets, that lead thither, if I would learn 
 how happy is my fate. 
 
 For, under the porticos of those magnifi- 
 cent apartments, lie a crowd of wretched 
 people, half-naked, and ready to die from 
 cold and misery. What a spectacle is 
 here ! Would that this page of my book 
 were known throughout the universe ! 
 Would that every one knew that in this 
 opulent city a host of wretched beings 
 sleep, without covering, in the coldest win- 
 ter nights, and with no pillow but the 
 
90 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 corner-stone of a street, or the steps of a 
 palace. 
 
 Here, again, is a group of children, 
 crouching together for protection from the 
 deadly cold ; and here a trembling woman, 
 who has no voice left to complain with; 
 The passers-by come and go without being 
 touched by a spectacle with which they are 
 so familiar. The noise of carriages, the 
 shouts of intemperance, the ravishing 
 sounds of music, mingle not unfrequently 
 with the wails of those unhappy creatures, 
 and fill the ear with doleful discord. 
 
XXX. 
 
 Charity. 
 
 XT 7" ERE any one to pass a hasty judg- 
 ^ ^ ment upon a city, taking my last 
 chapter as a criterion, he would err greatly. 
 I have spoken of the poor we meet with, of 
 their pitiful lamentations, and of the in- 
 difference with which many regard them. 
 But I have said nothing of the multitude 
 of charitable persons who sleep while others 
 seek amusement, and who rise at dawn, 
 unobserved and unostentatiously, to succor 
 the unfortunate. 
 
 This aspect of city life must not be 
 passed by in silence. I will write it on the 
 reverse of the page I was anxious every- 
 body should read. 
 
 After having divided their good things 
 
92 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 with their brethren, after having poured 
 balm into hearts chafed by sorrow, you 
 may see them enter the churches, while 
 wearied vice sleeps upon eider-down, to 
 ojffer up. their prayers to God, and to thank 
 Him for his mercies. The light of a soli- 
 tary lamp still struggles in the sanctuary 
 with the daylight ; but they are al- 
 ready prostrate before the altar. And the 
 Almighty, angered by the hard-hearted 
 selfishness of men, witholds his threat- 
 ening hand. 
 
XXXI. 
 
 Inventory. 
 
 T COULD not help saying a word in 
 -*- my journey about those poor creatures, 
 for the thought of them has often come 
 across me on my way, and turned the cur- 
 rent of my reflections. Sometimes, struck 
 with the difference between their case and 
 my own, I have suddenly stopped my 
 travelling-carriage, and thought my cham- 
 ber extravagantly embellished ! What su- 
 perfluous luxury ! Six chairs, two tables, a 
 bureau, and a looking-glass ! What vain 
 display ! My bed above all things, my 
 rose and white bed, with its two mattresses, 
 seemed to rival the magnificence and 
 effeminacy of Asiatic monarchs. 
 These meditations made me indifferent 
 
94 ^ Journey Round my Room, 
 
 to the pleasures that had been forbidden 
 me. And, as I went on from one reflection 
 to another, my fit of philosophy became so 
 serious that I could have seen a ball going 
 on in the next room, and heard the sound 
 of violins and flutes without stirring. I 
 could have heard Marchesini's melodious 
 voice, that voice which has so often 
 transported me, yes, I could have listened 
 to it without being moved. Nay, more, I 
 could have gazed upon the most beauteous 
 woman in Turin, upon Eugenie herself, 
 adorned from head to foot by the hands of 
 Mademoiselle Rapoux,^ without emotion. 
 But, of this last, I must confess myself not 
 quite sure. 
 
 1 A fashionable milliner of the time. 
 
XXXII. 
 
 Misanthropy. 
 
 T)UT, gentlemen, allow me to ask a 
 ^^ question. Do you enjoy balls and 
 plays as much as you used to do ? As 
 for me, I avow that for some time past 
 crowded assemblies have inspired me with 
 a kind of terror. When in their midst, I 
 am assailed by an ominous dream. In 
 vain I try to shake it off ; like the dream 
 of Athalie, it constantly returns. Perhaps 
 this is because the soul, overwhelmed at 
 the present moment by dark fancies and 
 painful pictures, sees nothing but sadness 
 around it, just as a disordered stomach 
 turns the most wholesome food into poi- 
 son. However this maybe, my dream is as 
 follows. When I am at one of these f^tes. 
 
96 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 among a crowd of kind, good-natured men, 
 who dance and sing, who weep at trage- 
 dies, and are full of frankness and cordial- 
 ity, I say to myself : — 
 
 " If suddenly a white bear, a philoso- 
 pher, a tiger, or some other animal of this 
 kind were to enter, and ascending to the 
 orchestra, were to shout out furiously : 
 * Wretched beings! Listen to the truth 
 that comes from my lips ! You are op- 
 pressed ! You are the slaves of tyrants ! 
 You are wretched and heart-sick ! Awake 
 from your lethargy ! 
 
 " * Musicians, break your instruments 
 about your heads, and let each one of you 
 arm himself with a poniard. Think no 
 more about holidays and rejoicings. 
 Climb into the boxes, and stab their oc- 
 cupants, one and all. And let the women 
 steep their timid hands in blood. 
 
 " * Quit this room, for you are free ! 
 Tear your king from his throne, and your 
 God from his sanctuary.' 
 
Misanthropy, 97 
 
 " Well, and how many of these charm- 
 ing men will obey this tiger's voice. How 
 many of them thought, perhaps, of such 
 deeds before they entered ? Who can 
 tell ? Was there no dancing in Paris five 
 years ago ? " 
 
 Joannetti ! shut the door and windows ! 
 I do not wish to see the light ! Let no 
 one enter my room. Put my sword within 
 reach. Go out yourself, and keep away 
 from me. 
 
 7 
 
XXXIII. 
 
 Consolation. 
 
 "V T O, no ! Stay, Joannetti, my good 
 -*- ^ fellow ! And you too, Rose, you 
 who guess what are my sorrows, and 
 soften them by your caresses, come ! 
 V forms the resting-place. 
 
XXXIV. 
 
 Correspondence. 
 
 THE upset of my post-chaise has 
 rendered the reader the service of 
 shortening my journey by a good dozen 
 chapters, for, upon getting up, I found my- 
 self close to my bureau, and saw that I had 
 no time left for any observations upon a 
 number of engravings and pictures which 
 had yet to be surveyed, and which might 
 have lengthened my excursions into the 
 realm of painting. 
 
 Leaving to the right the portraits of 
 Raphael and his mistress, the Chevalier 
 d'Assas and the Shepherdess of the Alps, 
 and taking the left, the side on which the 
 window is situated, my bureau comes into 
 view. It is the first and the most promi- 
 
lOO A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 nent object the traveller's eyes light upon, 
 taking the route I have indicated. 
 
 It is surmounted by a few shelves that 
 serve as a book-case, and the whole is ter- 
 minated by a bust which completes the 
 pyramid, and contributes more than any 
 other object to the adornment of this re- 
 gion. 
 
 Upon opening the first drawer to the 
 left, we find an inkstand, paper of all 
 kinds, pens ready mended, and sealing-wax ; 
 all which set the most indolent person 
 longing to write. 
 
 I am sure, dear Jenny, that if you 
 chanced to open this drawer, you would 
 reply to the letter I wrote you a year ago. 
 
 In the opposite drawer lies a confused 
 heap of materials for a touching history of 
 the prisoner of Pignerol,^ which, my dear 
 friends, you will ere long read. 
 
 Between these two drawers is a recess 
 
 1 This work was not published. 
 
Correspondence. loi 
 
 into which I throw whatever letters I 
 receive. All that have reached me during 
 the last ten years are there. The oldest of 
 them are arranged according to date in 
 several packets ; the new ones lie pell-mell. 
 Besides these, I have several dating from 
 my early boyhood. 
 
 How great a pleasure it is to behold 
 again through the medium of these letters 
 the interesting scenes of our early years, to 
 be once again transported into those happy 
 days that we shall see no more ! 
 
 How full is my heart, and how deeply 
 tinged with sadness is its joy, as my eyes 
 wander over those words traced by one 
 who is gone forever ! That handwriting is 
 his, and it was his heart that guided his 
 hand. It was to me that he addressed this 
 letter, and this letter is all that is left of 
 him ! 
 
 When I put my hand into this recess, I 
 seldom leave the spot for the whole day. 
 
I02 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 In like manner, a traveller will pass rapidly 
 through whole provinces of Italy, making 
 a few hurried and trivial observations on 
 the way, and upon reaching Rome will 
 take up his abode there for months. 
 
 This is the richest vein in the mine I 
 am exploring. How changed I find my 
 ideas and sentiments, and how altered do 
 my friends appear when I examine them 
 as they were in days gone by, and as they 
 are now ! In these mirrors of the past I 
 see them in mortal agitation about plans 
 which no longer disturb them. 
 
 Here I find an event announced which we 
 evidently looked upon as a great misfortune ; 
 but the end of the letter is wanting, and 
 the circumstance is so entirely forgotten 
 that I cannot now make out what the' mat- 
 ter was which so concerned us. We were 
 possessed by a thousand prejudices. We 
 knew nothing of the world, and of men. 
 But then, how warm was our intercourse ! 
 
Correspondence. 103 
 
 How intimate our friendship ! How un- 
 bounded our confidence ! 
 
 In our ignorance there was bliss. But 
 now, — ah ! all is now changed. We have 
 been compelled, as others, to read the 
 human heart ; and truth, falling like a 
 bomb into the midst of us, has forever de- 
 stroyed the enchanted palace of illusion. 
 
XXXV. 
 
 The Withered Rose. 
 
 T F the subject were worth the trouble, I 
 -■- could readily write a chapter upon that 
 dry rose;. It is a flower of last year's car- 
 nival. I gathered it myself in the Valen- 
 tino.^ And in the evening, an hour before 
 the ball was to begin, I bore it, full of 
 hope, and agreeably excited, to Madame 
 Hautcastel, for her acceptance. She took 
 it, and without looking at it or me, placed 
 it upon her toilette-table. And how could 
 she have given me any of her attention } 
 She was engaged in looking at herself. 
 
 1 The botanical garden of Turin. 
 
The Withered Rose, 105 
 
 There she stood before a large mirror ; her 
 hair was ornamented for a fete, and the 
 decorations of her dress were undergoing 
 their final arrangement. She was so fully 
 occupied, her attention was so totally ab- 
 sorbed by the ribbons, gauzes, and all sorts 
 of finery that lay in heaps before her, that 
 I did not get a look or any sign of recog- 
 nition. There was nothing for me but 
 resignation. I held out humbly in my 
 hand a number of pins arranged in order. 
 But her pincushion being more within 
 reach, she took them from her pincushion, 
 and when I brought my hand nearer, she 
 took them from my hand, quite indiffer- 
 ently, and in taking them up she would 
 feel about for them with the tips of her 
 fingers, without taking her eyes from the 
 glass, lest she should lose sight of herself. 
 For some time I held behind her a 
 second mirror that she might judge the 
 better how her dress became her, and as 
 
io6 A yourney Round my Room* 
 
 her face reflected itself from one glass to 
 another, I saw a prospective of coquettes, 
 no one of whom paid me the least atten- 
 tion. In a word, I must confess that my 
 rose and I cut a very poor figure. 
 
 At last I lost all patience, and unable 
 longer to control the vexation that preyed 
 upon me, I put down the looking-glass I 
 had been holding, and went out angrily 
 without taking leave. 
 
 " O ! you are going } " she said, turning 
 so as to see her figure in profile. I made 
 no answer, but I listened some time at the 
 door to see what effect my abrupt depar- 
 ture would have. 
 
 " Do you not see," she said to her maid, 
 after a moment's silence, " that this caraco, 
 particularly the lower part, is much too 
 large at the waist, and. will want pinning } " 
 
 Why and wherefore that rose is upon 
 my shelf, I shall certainly not explain, for, 
 as I said before, a withered rose does not 
 deserve a chapter. 
 
The Withered Rose, 107 
 
 And pray observe, ladies, that I make no 
 reflection upon the adventure with the 
 rose. I do not say whether Madame de 
 Hautcastel did well or otherwise in prefer- 
 ring her dress to me, or whether I had any 
 right to a better reception. 
 
 I take special care to deduce therefrom 
 no general conclusions about the reality, 
 the strength, and the duration of the affec- 
 tion of ladies for their friends. I am con- 
 tent to cast this chapter (since it is one) 
 into the world with the rest of my journey, 
 without addressing it to any one, and with- 
 out recommending it to any one. 
 
 •I will only add, gentlemen, a word of 
 counsel. Impress well upon your minds 
 this fact, that your mistress is no longer 
 yours on the day of a ball. 
 
 As soon as dressing begins, a lover is no 
 more thought of than a husband would be ; 
 and the ball takes the place of a lover. 
 
 Every one knows how little a husband 
 
io8 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 gains by enforcing his love. Take your 
 trouble, then, patiently, cheerfully. 
 
 And, my dear sir, do not deceive your- 
 self; if a lady welcome you at a ball, it is 
 not as a lover that you are received, for 
 you are a husband — but as a part of the 
 ball ; and you are therefore but a fraction 
 of her new conquest. You are the decimal 
 of a lover. Or, it may be, you dance well, 
 and so give eclat to her graces. After all, 
 perhaps, the most flattering way in which 
 you can regard her kind welcome is to 
 consider that she hopes by treating as her 
 cavalier a man of parts like yourself, to ex- 
 cite the jealousy of her companions. Were 
 it not for that she would not notice you at 
 all. 
 
 It amounts then to this. You must re- 
 sign yourself to your fate, and" wait until 
 the husband's rdle is played. I know those 
 who would be glad to get off at so cheap a 
 rate. 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 The Library, 
 
 T PROMISED to give a dialogue be- 
 ^ tween my soul and the other. ' But 
 there are some chapters which elude me, 
 as it were, or rather, there are others which 
 flow from my pen nolens volensy and de- 
 range my plans. Among these is one 
 about my library ; and I will make it as 
 short as I can. Our forty- two days will 
 soon be ended ; and even were it not so, 
 a similar period would not suffice to com- 
 plete the description of the rich country 
 in which I travel so pleasantly. 
 
 My library, then, is composed of novels, 
 if I must make the confession ; of novels 
 and a few choice poets. 
 
 As if I had not troubles enough of my 
 
no A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 own, I share those of a thousand imaginary 
 personages, and I feel them as acutely as my 
 own. How many tears have I shed for 
 that poor Clarissa,^ and for Charlotte's ^ 
 lover ! 
 
 But if I go out of my way in search of 
 unreal afflictions, I find in return, such vir- 
 tue, kindness, and disinterestedness in this 
 imaginary world as I have never yet found 
 united in the real world around me. I 
 meet with a woman after my heart's desire, 
 free from whim, lightness, and affectation. 
 I say nothing about beauty ; this I can 
 leave to my imagination, and picture her 
 faultlessly beautiful. And then, closing 
 the book, which no longer keeps pace with 
 my ideas, I . take the fair one by the hand, 
 and we travel together over a country a 
 thousand times more delightful than Eden 
 itself What painter could represent the 
 
 1 Richardson's Clarissa Harlowe. 
 
 2 Goethe's Werther. 
 
The Library. 1 1 1 
 
 fairy land in which I have placed thfe god- 
 dess of my heart ? What poet could ever 
 describe the lively and manifold sensations 
 I experience in those enchanted regions ? 
 
 How often have I cursed that Cleveland,^ 
 who is always embarking upon new troubles 
 which he might very well avoid ! I can- 
 not endure that book with its long list of 
 calamities. But if I open it by way of dis- 
 traction, I cannot help devouring it to the 
 end. 
 
 For how could I leave that poor man 
 among the Abaquis ? What would become 
 of him in the hands of those savages ? 
 Still less dare I leave him in his attempt 
 to escape from captivity. 
 
 Indeed, I so enter into his sorrows, I am 
 so interested in him and in his unfortunate 
 family, that the sudden appearance of the 
 ferocious Ruintons makes my hair stand 
 on end. Whep I read that passage a cold 
 
 1 Cleveland, by the Abbe Prevost. 
 
112 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 perspiration covers me, and my fright is as 
 lively and real as if I was going to be 
 Toasted and eaten by the monsters myself 
 When I have had enough of tears and 
 love, I turn to some poet, and set out again 
 for a new world. 
 
XXXVII. 
 
 Another World, 
 
 T7R0M the Argonautic expedition to 
 -^ the Assembly of Notables ; from the 
 bottom of the nethermost pit to the fur- 
 thest fixed star beyond the Milky Way ; 
 to the confines of the Universe ; to the 
 gates of chaos ; thus far extends the vast 
 field over the length and breadth of which 
 I leisurely roam. I lack nor time nor 
 space. Thither, conducted by Homer, by 
 Milton, by Virgil, by Ossian, I transport 
 my existence. 
 
 All the events that have taken place be- 
 tween these two epochs ; all the countries, 
 all the worlds, all the beings that have ex- 
 isted between these two boundaries, — all 
 are mine, all as lawfully belong to me as the 
 8 
 
114 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 .ships that entered the Piraeus belonged to 
 -a certain Athenian. 
 
 Above all the rest do I love the poets 
 who carry me back to the remotest antiq- 
 uity. The death of the ambitious Aga- 
 memnon, the madness of Orestes, and the 
 tragical history of the heaven-persecuted 
 family of the Atrides, inspire me with a 
 terror that all the events of modern times 
 could not excite in my breast. 
 
 Behold the fatal urn which contains the 
 ashes of Orestes ! Who would not shud- 
 der at the sight ? Electra, unhappy sister ! 
 be comforted, for it is Orestes himself who 
 bears the urn, and the ashes are those of 
 his enemies. 
 
 No longer are their banks like those of 
 Xanthus or the Scamander. No longer do 
 we visit plains such as those of Hesperia 
 or Arcadia. Where are now the isles of 
 Lemnos and Crete.'' Where the famous 
 labyrinth .-* Where is the rock that forlorn 
 
Another World. 115 
 
 Ariadne washed with her tears ? Theseus 
 is seen no more ; Hercules is gone forever. 
 The men, aye, and the heroes of our day 
 are but pigmies. 
 
 When I would visit a scene full of enthu- 
 siasm, and put forth all the strength of my 
 imagination, I cling boldly to the flowing 
 robe of the sublime blind poet of Albion at 
 the moment when he soars heavenward, 
 and dares approach the throne of the Eter- 
 nal. What muse was able to sustain him 
 in a flight so lofty that no man before him 
 ever ventured to raise his eyes so high } 
 From heaven's dazzling pavement which 
 avaricious Mammon looked down upon 
 with envious eyes, I pass, horror-stricken, 
 to the vast caverns of Satan's sojourn. I 
 take my place at the infernal council, min- 
 gle with the host of rebellious spirits, and 
 listen to their discourse. 
 
 But here I must confess a weakness for 
 which I have often reproached myself. 
 
1 1 6 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 I cannot help taking a certain interest in 
 Satan, thus hurled headlong from heaven. 
 (I am speaking, of course, of Miltons 
 Satan.) While I blame the obstinacy of 
 the rebel angel, the firmness he shows in 
 the midst of his exceeding great misery, 
 and the grandness of his courage, inspire 
 me, against my will, with admiration. Al- 
 though not ignorant of the woe resulting 
 from the direful enterprise that led him to 
 force the gate of hell and to trouble the 
 home of our first parents, I cannot for a 
 moment, do what I will, wish he may per- 
 ish in the confusion of chaos on his way. 
 I even think I could willingly help him, did 
 not shame withhold me. I follow his every 
 movement, and take as much pleasure in 
 travelling with him as if I were in very 
 good company. In vain I consider that 
 after all he is a devil on his way to the ruin 
 of the human race, that he is a thorough 
 democrat, not after the manner of those of 
 
Another World. 117 
 
 Athens, but of Paris. All this does not 
 cure me of my prejudice in his favor. 
 
 How vast was his project ! How great 
 the boldness displayed in its execution ! 
 
 When the thrice-threefold gates of hell 
 fly open before him, and the dark, bound- 
 less ocean discloses itself in all its horror 
 at his feet, with undaunted eye he surveys 
 the realm of chaos, and then, opening his 
 sail-broad wings, precipitates himself into 
 the abyss.^ 
 
 To me this passage is one of the noblest 
 efforts of imagination, and one of the most 
 splendid journeys ever made, next to the 
 journey round my room. 
 
 1 Some freedom of translation is, perhaps, pardonable 
 here. Our author, depending, it would seem, upon his 
 memory, gives Satan wings large enough '* to cover a 
 whole army " It was " the extended wings '' of the gates 
 of hell, not of Satan, that Milton describes as wide 
 enough to admit a " bannered host." Paradise Lost, ii. 
 885. H. A. 
 
XXXVIII. 
 
 The Bust. 
 
 T SHOULD never end if I tried to de- 
 -*- scribe a thousandth part of the strange 
 events I meet with when I travel in my li- 
 brary. The voyages of Cook and the obser- 
 vations of his fellow-travellers Banks and 
 Solander are nothing compared with my 
 adventures in this one district. Indeed, I 
 think I could spend my life there in a kind 
 of rapture, were it not for the bust I have 
 already mentioned, upon which my eyes 
 and thoughts always fix themselves at last, 
 whatever may be the position of my soul. 
 And when my soul is violently agitated, or 
 a prey to despair, a glance at this bust suf- 
 fices to restore the troubled being to its 
 natural state. It sounds the chord upon 
 
The Bust 1 1 9 
 
 which I keep in tune the harmonies, and 
 correct the discords of the sensations and 
 perceptions of which my being is made up. 
 How striking the likeness ! Those are the 
 features nature gave to the best of men. 
 O, that the sculptor had been able to bring 
 to view his noble soul, his genius, his char- 
 acter ! But what am I attempting ! Is it 
 here that his praise should be recorded ? 
 Do I address myself to the men that sur- 
 round me ? Ah ! what concern is it of 
 theirs ? 
 
 I am contented to bend before thy im- 
 age, O best of fathers ! Alas, that this 
 should be all that is left me of thee and of 
 my father-land ! Thou quittedst the earth 
 when crime was about to invade it ; and 
 so heavy are the ills that oppress thy fam- 
 ily, that we are constrained to regard thy 
 loss as a blessing. Many would have been 
 the evils a longer life would have brought 
 upon thee ! And dost thou, O my father, 
 
I20 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 dost thou, in thine abode of bliss, know the 
 lot of thy family ! Knowest thou that thy 
 children are exiled from the country thou 
 hast served with so much zeal and integ- 
 rity for sixty years ? 
 
 Dost thou know that they are forbidden 
 to visit thy grave ? But tyranny has not 
 been able to deprive them of the most 
 precious part of thy heritage, the record of 
 thy virtues, and the force of thine example. 
 In the midst of the torrent of crime which 
 has borne their father-land and their patri- 
 mony to ruin, they have steadfastly re- 
 mained united in the path marked out 
 for them by thee. And when it shall 
 be given them to prostrate themselves 
 once more beside thy tomb, thou shalt see 
 in them thine obedient children. 
 
XXXIX. 
 
 A Dialogue. 
 
 T PROMISED a dialogue, and I will 
 
 -^ keep my word. 
 
 It was daybreak. The rays of the sun 
 were gilding the summit of Mount Viso, 
 and the tops of the highest hills on the 
 island beneath our feet. My soul was al- 
 ready awake. This early awakening may 
 have been the effect of those night visions 
 which often excite in her a fatiguing and 
 useless agitation : or perhaps the carnival, 
 then drawing to a close, was the secret 
 cause ; for this season of pleasure and folly 
 influences the human organization much as 
 do the phases of the moon and the conjunc- 
 tion of certain planets. However this may 
 be, my soul was awake, and wide awake, 
 when she shook off the bands of sleep. 
 
122 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 For some time she had shared, though 
 confusedly, the sensations of the other : 
 but she was still encumbered by the 
 swathes of night and sleep ; and these 
 swathes seemed to her transformed into 
 gauze and fine linen and Indian lawn. My 
 poor soul was, as it were, enwrapped in all 
 this paraphernalia, and the god of sleep, 
 that he might hold her still more firmly 
 under his sway, added to these bonds 
 disheveled tresses of flaxen hair, ribbon 
 bows, and pearl necklaces. Really it was 
 pitiful to see her struggle in these toils. 
 
 The agitation of the nobler part of my- 
 self communicated itself to the other ; 
 and the latter, in its turn, reacted power- 
 fully upon my soul. 
 
 I worked myself, at last, into a state 
 which it would be hard to describe, while 
 my soul, either' sagaciously or by chance, 
 hit upon a way of escaping from the gauzes 
 by which it was being suffocated. I know 
 
A Dialogue, 123 
 
 not whether she discovered an outlet, or 
 whether, which is a more natural conclu- 
 sion, it occurred to her to raise them : at all 
 events, she found a means of egress from 
 the labyrinth. The tresses of disheveled 
 hair were still there ; but they were now 
 rather help than hindrance ; my soul seized 
 them, as a drowning man clutches the 
 sedge on a river's bank, but the pearl neck- 
 lace broke in the act, and the unstrung 
 pearls rolled on the sofa, and from the sofa^ 
 to Madame Hautcastel's floor (for my soul, 
 by an eccentricity for which it would be 
 difficult to give a reason, fancied she was 
 at that lady's house) ; then a great bunch 
 of violets fell to the ground, and my soul, 
 which then awoke, returned home, bring- 
 ing with her common sense and reality. 
 She strongly disapproved, as you will read- 
 ily imagine, of all that had passed in her 
 absence ; and here it is that the dialogue 
 begins which forms the subject of this 
 chapter. 
 
124 -^ yourney Round my Room, 
 
 Never had my soul been so ungraciously 
 received. The complaints she thought fit 
 to make at this critical moment fully 
 sufficed to stir up domestic strife ; a revolt, 
 a formal insurrection followed. 
 
 " What ! " said my soul, " is it thus that 
 during my absence, instead of restoring 
 your strength by quiet sleep that you may 
 be better able to do my bidding, you have 
 the insolence (the expressing was rather 
 strong) to give yourself up to transports 
 which my authority has not sanctioned ! " 
 
 Little accustomed to this haughty tone, 
 the OTHER angrily answered : — 
 
 " Really, madame " (this madame was 
 meant to remove from the discussion any- 
 thing like familiarity), "really, this affec- 
 tation of virtuous decorum is highly be- 
 coming to you ! Is it not to the sallies 
 of your imagination, and to your extrava- 
 gant ideas, that I owe what in me dis- 
 pleases you t What right have you to go 
 
A Dialogue. 125 
 
 on those pleasant excursions so often, 
 without taking me with you ? Have I 
 ever complained about your attending the 
 meetings in the Empyrean or in the 
 Elysian fields, your conversations with the 
 celestial intelligences, your profound spec- 
 ulations (a httle raillery here, you see), 
 your castles in the air, and your transcen- 
 dental systems ? And have I not a right, 
 when you leave me in this way, to enjoy 
 the blessings bestowed upon me by Nature, 
 and the pleasures she places before me ? " 
 My soul, surprised at so much vivacity 
 and eloquence, did not know how to reply. 
 In order to settle the dispute amicably, she 
 endeavored to veil with the semblance of 
 good-nature the reproaches that had es- 
 caped her. But, that she might not seem 
 to take the first steps towards recon- 
 ciliation, she affected a formal tone. 
 *^ Madame,'' she said, with assumed cor- 
 diality If the reader thought 
 
126 A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 the word misplaced when addressed to my 
 soul, what will he say of it now, if he call to 
 mind the cause of the quarrel ? But my soul 
 did not feel the extreme absurdity of this 
 mode of expression, so much does passion 
 obscure the intellect ! " Madame," she said, 
 *' nothing, be assured, would give me so 
 much pleasure as to see you enjoy those 
 pleasures of which your nature is suscepti- 
 ble, if even I did not participate in them, 
 were it not that such pleasures are harmful 
 to you, injuriously affecting the harmony 
 which . . ." Here my soul was rudely 
 interrupted, " No, no, I am not the dupe of 
 your pretended kindness. The sojourn we 
 are compelled to make together in this room 
 in which we travel ; the wound which I re- 
 ceived, which still bleeds, and which nearly 
 destroyed me, — is not all this the fruit of 
 your overweening conceit and your barbar- 
 ous prejudices ? My comfort, my very ex- 
 istence, is counted as nothing when your 
 
A Dialogue, 127 
 
 passions sway you : and then, forsooth, you 
 pretend that you take an interest in my 
 welfare, and that your insults spring from 
 friendship." 
 
 My soul saw very well that the part she 
 was playing on this occasion was no flatter- 
 ing one. She began, too, to perceive that the 
 warmth of the dispute had put the cause of 
 it out of sight. Profiting from this circum- 
 stance, she caused a further distraction by 
 saying to Joannetti, who at that moment 
 entered the room, " Make some coffee ! " 
 The noise of the cups attracted all the 
 rebel's attention, who forthwith forgot 
 everything else. In like manner we show 
 children a toy to make them forget the un- 
 wholesome fruit for which they beg and 
 stamp. 
 
 While the water was being heated, I in- 
 sensibly fell asleep. I enjoyed that de- 
 lightful sensation about which I have 
 already entertained my readers, and which 
 
128 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 you experience when you feel yourself to 
 be dozing. The agreeable rattling Joan- 
 netti made with the coffee-pot reechoed in 
 my brain, and set all my sensitive nerves 
 vibrating, just as a single harp-string when 
 struck will make the octaves resound. 
 
 At last I saw as it were, a shadow pass 
 before me. I opened my eyes, and there 
 stood Joannetti. Ah, what an aroma! 
 How agreeable a surprise ! Coffee ! Cream ! 
 A pyramid of dry toast ! Good reader, 
 come, breakfast with me ! 
 
XL. 
 
 Imagination. 
 
 T T 7HAT a wealth of delights has kind 
 ^ ^ Nature given to those who can 
 enjoy them. Who can count the innumer- 
 able phases they assume in different in- 
 dividuals, and at different periods of life ! 
 The confused remembrance of the pleas- 
 ures of my boyhood sends a thrill through 
 my heart. Shall I attempt to paint the 
 joys of the youth whose soul glows with all 
 the warmth of love, at an age when inter- 
 est, ambition, hatred, and all the base pas- 
 sions that degrade and torment humanity 
 are unknown to him, even by name } 
 
 During this age, too short, alas ! the sun 
 shines with a brightness it never displays 
 in after-life ; the air is then purer, the 
 9 
 
i^o A yourney Round my Room. 
 
 streams clearer and fresher, and nature has 
 aspects, and the woods have paths, which 
 in our riper age we never find again. O, 
 what perfumes those flowers breathe ! 
 How dehcious are those fruits ! With 
 what colors is the morning sky adorned ! 
 Men are all good, generous, kind-hearted ; 
 and women all lovely and faithful. On all 
 sides we meet with cordiality, frankness, 
 and unselfishness. Nature presents to us 
 nothing but flowers, virtues, and pleasures. 
 
 The excitement of love, and the antici- 
 pation of happiness, do they not fill our 
 hearts to the brim with emotions no less 
 lively and various .? 
 
 The sight of nature and its contempla- 
 tion, whether we regard it as a whole, or 
 examine its details, opens to our reason an 
 immense field of enjoyments. Soon the 
 imagination, brooding over this sea of 
 pleasures, increases their number and in- 
 tensity. The various sensations so unite 
 
Imagination, 131 
 
 and blend as to form new ones. Dreams 
 of glory mingle with the palpitations of 
 love. Benevolence moves hand in hand 
 with self-esteem. Melancholy, from time 
 to time, throws over us her solemn livery, 
 and changes our tears to joy. Thus the 
 perceptions of the mind, the feelings of the 
 heart, the very remembrance of sensations, 
 are inexhaustible sources of pleasure and 
 comfort to man. No wonder, then, that 
 the noise Joannetti made with the coffee- 
 pot, and the unexpected appearance of a 
 cup of cream, should have impressed me 
 so vividly and so agreeably. 
 
XLI. 
 
 The Travelling-coat. 
 
 T PUT on my travelling-coat, after hav- 
 
 -*- ing examined it with a complacent 
 
 <eye ; and forthwith resolved to write a 
 
 chapter ad hoc, that I might make it known 
 
 to the reader. . 
 
 The form and usefulness of these gar- 
 ments being pretty generally known, I will 
 treat specially of their influence upon the 
 minds of travellers. 
 
 My winter travelling-coat is made of the 
 warmest and softest stuff I could meet 
 with. It envelops me entirely from head 
 to foot, and when I am in my arm-chair, 
 with my hands in my pockets, I am very 
 like the statue of Vishnu one sees in the 
 pagodas of India. 
 
The Travelling-coat, 133 
 
 You may, if you will, tax me with preju- 
 dice when I assert the influence a trav- 
 eller's costume exercises upon its wearer. 
 At any rate I can confidently affirm with 
 regard to this matter, that it would appear 
 to me as ridiculous to take a single step of 
 my journey round my room in uniform, 
 with my sword at my side, as it would to 
 go forth into the world in my dressing- 
 gown. Were I to find myself in full 
 military dress, not only should I be unable 
 to proceed with my journey, but I really 
 believe I should not be able to read what I 
 have written about my travels, still less to 
 understand it. 
 
 Does this surprise you } Do we not 
 every day meet with people who fancy 
 they are ill because they are unshaven, or 
 because some one has thought they have 
 looked poorly, and told them so } Dress 
 has such influence upon men's minds that 
 there are valetudinarians who think them- 
 
134 ^ Journey Round my Room, 
 
 selves in better health than usual when 
 they have on a new coat and well-pow- 
 dered wig. They deceive the public and 
 themselves by their nicety about dress, 
 until one finds some fine morning they 
 have died in full fig, and their death star- 
 tles everybody. 
 
 And in the class of men among whom I 
 live, how many there are who, finding 
 themselves clothed in uniform, firmly be- 
 lieve they are officers, until the unexpected 
 appearance of the enemy shows them their 
 mistake. And more than this, if it be the 
 king's good pleasure to allow one of them 
 to add to his coat a certain trimming, he 
 straightway believes himself to be a gen- 
 eral, and the whole army gives him the 
 title without any notion of making fun of 
 him ! So great an influence has a coat 
 upon the human imagination ! 
 
 The following illustration will show still 
 further the truth of my assertion. 
 
The Travelling-coat 135 
 
 It sometimes happened that they forgot 
 
 to inform the Count de some days 
 
 beforehand of the approach of his turn to 
 mount guard. Early one morning, on the 
 very day on which this duty fell to the 
 Count, a corporal awoke him, and an- 
 nounced the disagreeable news. But the 
 idea of getting up there and then, putting 
 on his gaiters, and turning out without 
 having thought about it the evening be- 
 fore, so disturbed him that he preferred 
 reporting himself sick and staying at home 
 all day. So he put on his dressing-gown, 
 and sent away his barber. This made him 
 look pale and ill, and frightened his wife 
 and family. He really did feel a little 
 poorly. 
 
 He told every one he was not very well, 
 partly for the sake of appearances, and 
 partly because he positively believed him- 
 self to be indisposed. Gradually the influ- 
 ence of the dressing-gown began to work. 
 
12,6 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 The slops he was obhged to take upset his 
 stomach. His relations and friends sent 
 to ask after him. He was soon quite ill 
 enough to take to his bed. 
 
 In the evening Dr. Ranson^ found his 
 pulse hard and feverish, and ordered him 
 to be bled next day, 
 
 If the campaign had lasted a month 
 longer, the sick man's case would have 
 been past cure. 
 
 Now, who can doubt about the influence 
 of travelling-coats upon travellers, if he 
 
 reflect that poor Count de thought 
 
 more than once that he was about to per- 
 form a journey to the other world for 
 having inopportunely donned his dressing- 
 gown in this } 
 
 1 A popular Turin physician when the Voyage- was 
 written. 
 

 auiaAUMC !• 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Aspasids Buskin, 
 
 T WAS sitting near my fire after dinner, 
 -■■ enveloped in my " habit de voyage," 
 and freely abandoning myself to • its in- 
 fluence : the hour for starting was, I knew, 
 drawing nigh ; but the fumes generated 
 by digestion rose to my brain, and so ob- 
 structed the channels along which thoughts 
 glide on their way from the senses, that 
 all communication between them was in- 
 tercepted. And as my senses no longer 
 transmitted any idea to my brain, the 
 latter, in its turn, could no longer emit 
 
12,^ A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 any of that electric fluid with which the 
 ingenious Doctor Valli resuscitates dead 
 frogs. 
 
 After reading this preamble, you will 
 easily understand why my head fell on my 
 chest, and why the muscles of the thumb 
 and forefinger of my right hand, being no 
 longer excited by the electric fluid, became 
 so relaxed that a volume of the works 
 of the Marquis Caraccioli, which I was 
 holding tightly between these two fingers, 
 imperceptibly eluded my grasp, and fell 
 upon the hearth. 
 
 I had just had some callers, and my 
 conversation with the persons who had left 
 the room had turned upon the death of 
 Dr. Cigna, an eminent physician then 
 lately deceased. He was a learned and 
 hard-working man, a good naturalist, and a 
 famous botanist. My thoughts were occu- 
 pied with the merits of this skillful man. 
 " And yet," I said to myself, " were it 
 
Aspasias Buskin, 139 
 
 possible for me to evoke the spirits of 
 those whom he has, perhaps, dismissed to 
 the other world, who knows but that his 
 reputation might suffer some diminution ? " 
 
 I travelled insensibly to a dissertation 
 on medicine and the progress it has made 
 since the time of Hippocrates. I asked 
 myself whether the famous personages of 
 antiquity who died in their beds, as Peri- 
 cles, Plato, the celebrated Aspasia, and 
 Hippocrates, died, after the manner of 
 ordinary mortals, of some putrid or inflam- 
 matory fever ; and whether they were bled, 
 and crammed with specifics. 
 
 To say why these four personages came 
 into my mind rather than any others, is 
 out of my power ; for who can give reasons 
 for what he dreams ? All that I can say is 
 that my soul summoned the doctor of Cos, 
 the doctor of Turin, and the famous states- 
 man who did such great things, and com- 
 mitted such grave faults. 
 
140 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 But as to his graceful friend, I humbly 
 own that it was the other who beckoned 
 her to come. Still, however, when I think 
 of the interview, I am tempted to feel some 
 little pride, for it is evident that in this 
 dream the balance in favor of reason was 
 as four to one. Pretty fair this, methinks, 
 for a lieutenant. 
 
 However this may be, whilst giving my- 
 self up to the reflections I have described, 
 my eyes closed, and I fell fast asleep. But 
 upon shutting my eyes, the image of the 
 personages of whom I had been thinking, 
 remained painted upon that delicate can- 
 vas we call memory ; and these images, 
 mingling in my brain with the idea of the 
 evocation of the dead, it was not long 
 before I saw advancing in procession Hip- 
 pocrates, Plato, Pericles, Aspasia, and 
 Doctor Cigna in his bob-wig. 
 
 I saw them all seat themselves in chairs 
 ranged around the fire. Pericles alone 
 remained standing to read the newspapers. 
 
Aspasias Buskin, 141 
 
 " If the discoveries of which you speak 
 were true," said Hippocrates to the doctor, 
 " and had they been as useful to the heal- 
 ing art as you affirm, I should have seen . 
 the number of those who daily descend 
 to the gloomy realm of Pluto decrease ; 
 but the ratio of its inhabitants, according 
 to the registers of Minos which I have my- 
 self verified, remains still the same as 
 formerly." 
 
 Doctor Cigna turned to me and said : 
 " You have without doubt heard these 
 discoveries spoken of. You know that 
 Harvey discovered the circulation of the 
 blood ; that the immortal Spallanzani ex- 
 plained the process of digestion, the 
 mechanism of which is now well under- 
 stood ; " and he entered upon a long 
 detail of all the discoveries connected with 
 physic, and of the host of remedies for 
 which we are indebted to chemistry : in 
 short, he delivered an academical dis- 
 course in favor of modern medicine. 
 
142 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 " But am I to believe," I replied, " that 
 these great men were ignorant of all you 
 have been telling them, and that their 
 souls, having shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 still meet with any obscurities in nature ? " 
 
 " Ah ! how great is your error ! " ex- 
 claimed the proto-physician ^ of the Pelo- 
 ponnesus. The mysteries of nature are as 
 closely hidden from the dead as from the 
 living. Of one thing we who linger on the 
 banks of the Styx are certain, that He who 
 created all things alone knows the great 
 secret which men vainly strive to solve. 
 And," added he, turning to the doctor, " do 
 be persuaded by me to divest yourself of 
 what still clings to you of the party-spirit 
 you have brought with you from the 
 sojourn of mortals. And since, seeing 
 that Charon daily ferries over in his boat 
 as many shades as heretofore, the labors of 
 a thousand generations and all the discov- 
 
 1 A title known at the Sardinian court. 
 
Aspasias Buskin. 143 
 
 eries men have made have not been able to 
 prolong their existence, let us not uselessly 
 weary ourselves in defending an art which, 
 among the dead, cannot even profit its 
 practitioners." 
 
 Thus, to my great amazement, spoke the 
 famous Hippocrates. 
 
 Doctor Cigna smiled ; and as spirits 
 can neither withstand evidence, nor si- 
 lence truth, he not only agreed with Hip- 
 pocrates, but, blushing after the manner of 
 disembodied intelligences, he protested 
 that he had himself always had his doubts. 
 
 Pericles, who had drawn near the win- 
 dow, heaved a deep sigh, the cause of which 
 I divined. He was reading a number of 
 the " Moniteur," which announced the de- 
 cadence of the arts and sciences. He 
 saw illustrious scholars desert their sub- 
 lime conceptions to invent new crimes, 
 and shuddered at hearing a rabble herd 
 compare themselves with the heroes of 
 
144 ^ Journey Round my Room, 
 
 generous Greece ; and this, forsooth, be- 
 cause they put to death, without shame or 
 remorse, venerable old men, women, and 
 children, and coolly perpetrated the black- 
 est and most useless crimes. 
 
 Plato, who had listened to our conversa- 
 tion without joining in it, and seeing it 
 brought to a sudden and unexpected close, 
 thus spoke : " I can readily understand 
 that the discoveries great men have made 
 in the various branches of natuial science 
 do not forward the art of medicine, which 
 can never change the course of nature, 
 except at the cost of life. But this will 
 certainly not be so with the researches 
 that have been made in the study of 
 politics. Locke's inquiries into the nature 
 of the human understanding, the invention 
 of printing, the accumulated observations 
 drawn from history, the number of excel- 
 lent books which have spread sound infor- 
 mation even among the lower orders, — so 
 
Aspasias Buskin. 145 
 
 many wonders must have contributed to 
 make men better, and the happy republic I 
 conceived, which the age in which I hved 
 caused me to regard as an impracticable 
 dream, no doubt now exists upon the 
 earth ? " At this question the honest 
 doctor cast down his eyes, and only an- 
 swered by tears. In wiping them with 
 his pocket-handkerchief, he involuntarily 
 moved his wig on one side, so that a part 
 of his face was hidden by it. " Ye gods ! " 
 exclaimed Aspasia, with a scream, "how 
 strange a sight ! And is it a discovery of 
 one of your great men that has led you to 
 the idea of turning another man's skull 
 into a head-dress t " 
 
 Aspasia, from whom our philosophical 
 dissertations had elicited nothing but 
 gapes, had taken up a magazine of fash- 
 ions which lay on the chimney-piece, the 
 leaves of which she had been turning over 
 
 for some time when the doctor's wig made 
 10 
 
146 A Journey Round my Room, 
 
 her utter this exclamation. Finding the 
 narrow, ricketty seat upon which, she was 
 sitting uncomfortable, she had, without the 
 least ceremony, placed her two bare legs, 
 which were adorned with bandelets, on the 
 straw-bottomed chair between her and me, 
 and rested her elbow upon the broad 
 shoulders of Plato. 
 
 " It is no skull," said the doctor, ad- 
 dressing her, and taking off his wig, which 
 he threw on the fire, " it is a wig, madam ; 
 and I know not why I did not c^st this 
 ridiculous ornament into the flames of 
 Tartarus when first I came among you. 
 But absurdities and prejudices adhere so 
 closely to our miserable nature that they 
 even follow us sometimes beyond the 
 grave." I took singular pleasure in seeing 
 the doctor thus abjure his physic and his 
 wig at the same moment. 
 
 " I assure you," said Aspasia, " that most 
 of the head-dresses represented in the 
 
Aspasids Buskin, 147 
 
 pages I have been turning over deserve 
 the same fate as yours, so very extravagant 
 are they." 
 
 The fair Athenian amused herself vastly 
 in looking over the engravings, and was 
 very reasonably surprised by the variety 
 and oddity of modern contrivances. One 
 figure, especially struck her. It was that 
 of a young lady with a really elegant head- 
 dress which Aspasia only thought some- 
 what too high. But the piece of gauze 
 that covered the neck was so very full you 
 could scarcely see half her face. Aspasia, 
 not knowing that these extraordinary 
 developments were produced by starch, 
 could not help showing a surprise which 
 would have been redoubled (but inversely), 
 had the gauze been transparent. 
 
 '* But do explain," she said, " why 
 women of the present day seem to wear 
 dresses to hide rather than to clothe them. 
 They scarcely allow their faces to be seen. 
 
148 A Journey Round my Room. 
 
 those faces by which alone their sex is 
 to be guessed, so strangely are their bod- 
 ies disfigured by the eccentric folds of 
 their garments. Among all the figures 
 represented in these pages, I do not find 
 one with the neck, arms, and legs bare. 
 How is it your young warriors are not 
 tempted to put an end to such a fashion ? 
 It would appear," she added, " that the 
 virtue of the women of this age, which 
 they parade in all their articles of dress, 
 greatly surpasses that of my contempora- 
 ries." 
 
 As she ended these words, Aspasia 
 turned her eyes on me as if to ask a reply. 
 I pretended not to notice this, and in order 
 to give myself an absent air, took up the 
 tongs and pushed away among the embers 
 the shreds of the doctor's wig which had 
 escaped the flames. Observing presently 
 afterwards that one of the bandelets which 
 clasped Aspasia's buskin had come undone. 
 
Aspasias Buskin. 149 
 
 "Permit me," said I, "charming lady," — 
 and eagerly stooping, stretched out my 
 hands towards the chair on which I had 
 fancied I saw those legs about which even 
 great philosophers went into ecstacies. 
 
 I am persuaded that at this moment I 
 was very near genuine somnambulism, so 
 real was the movement of which I speak. 
 But Rose, who happened to be sleeping in 
 the chair, thought the movement was 
 meant for her, and jumping nimbly into 
 my arms, she drove back into Hades the 
 famous shades my travelling-coat had 
 summoned. 
 
Liberty. 
 
 7~\ELIGHTFUL realm of Imagination, 
 ^^ which the benevolent Being has be- 
 stowed upon man to console him for the 
 disappointments he meets with in real life. 
 This day, certain persons on whom I am 
 dependent affect to restore me to liberty. 
 As if they had ever deprived me of it ! As 
 if it were in their power to snatch it from 
 me for a single moment, and to hinder me 
 from traversing, at my own good pleasure, 
 the vast space that ever lies open before 
 me ! They have forbidden me to go at 
 large in a city, a mere speck, and have left 
 open to me the whole universe, in which 
 immensity and eternity obey me. 
 
 I am now free, then ; or rather, I must 
 enter again into bondage. The yoke of 
 
Liberty, 151 
 
 office is again to weigh me down, and 
 every step I take must conform with the 
 exigencies of poHteness and duty. Fortu- 
 nate shall I be if some capricious goddess 
 do not again make me forget both, and if I 
 escape from this new and dangerous cap- 
 tivity. 
 
 O why did they not allow me to finish 
 my captivity ! Was it as a punishment 
 that I was exiled to my chamber, to that 
 delightful country in which abound all the 
 riches and enjoyments of the world .? As 
 well might they consign a mouse to a 
 granary. 
 
 Still, never did I more clearly perceive 
 that I am double than I do now. Whilst 
 I regret my imaginary joys, I feel myself 
 consoled. I am borne along by an unseen 
 power which tells me I need the pure air, 
 and the light of heaven, and that solitude is 
 like death. Once more I don my custom- 
 ary garb ; my door opens ; I wander under 
 
152 A yourney Round my Room, 
 
 the spacious porticos of the Strada della 
 Po ; a thousand agreeable visions float be- 
 fore my eyes. Yes, there is that mansion, 
 that door, that staircase ! I thrill with 
 expectation. 
 
 In like manner the act of sUcing a 
 lemon gives you a foretaste that makes 
 your mouth water. 
 
 Poor ANIMAL ! Take care ! 
 
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