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No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My parents were possessed
by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were not the tyrants to
rule our lot according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights
which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families, I distinctly discerned how peculiarly
fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted the development of filial love.
My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law in my temperature
they were turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager desire to learn, and not to
learn all things indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor
the code of governments, nor the politics of various states, possessed attractions for
me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn; and whether it was
the outward substance of things, or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of
man that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or, in its highest
sense, the physical secrets of the world.
I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before misfortune
had tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy
and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in drawing the picture of my early days, I
also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery: for when
I would account to myself for the birth of that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny,
I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but,
swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all my
hopes and joys.
Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in
this narration, to state those facts which led to my predilection for that science. When
I was thirteen years of age, we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon:
the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this
house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy;
the theory which he attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which he relates,
soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind; and,
bounding with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly
at the title page of my book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not
waste your time upon this; it is sad trash."
If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me that the
principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science had been
introduced, which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the
latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under such
circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination,
warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It is even possible
that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my
ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me
that he was acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with the greatest
avidity.
When I returned home, my first care was to procure the whole works of this author, and
afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies of these
writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to few beside myself. I have
described myself as always having been embued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets
of nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers,
I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. Sir Isaac Newton is said
to have avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and unexplored
ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom
I was acquainted appeared, even to my boy's apprehensions, as tyros engaged in the same
pursuit.
The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him, and was acquainted with their practical
uses. The most learned philosopher knew little more. He had partially unveiled the face of
Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect,
anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes in their secondary
and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and
impediments that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly
and ignorantly I had repined.
But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew more. I took
their word for all that they averred, and I became their disciple. It may appear strange
that such should arise in the eighteenth century; but while I followed the routine of education
in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self taught with regard to my favourite
studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a child's blindness,
added to a student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new preceptors, I
entered with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher's stone and the
elixir of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an inferior
object; but what glory would attend the discovery, if I could banish disease from the human frame,
and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!