Short Fiction by Xavier de Maistre (digital e reader txt) 📕

happy circumstances which may be ascribed either to chance or to the genius of the architect. The almost perpendicular rays of light which shone through it gave an air of mystery to my chamber. The ancient temple of the Pantheon is lighted in nearly the same way. Besides, no outside object could distract my attention. Just as sailors lost in a vast ocean see only sky and sea, I also beheld only the sky and my room, and the nearest outside objects which could claim my attention were the moon and the morning star; and this placed me in close relation with the sky and gave my thoughts a lofty fight, which they would never have had if I had fixed my abode on the ground floor. The window which I have just described was raised above the roof and made the most admirable lookout. Its height was so great above the horizon, that when the first rays of the sun struck it, it was still dark in the street. Thus I enjoyed one of the most delightful views you can imagine. But the most beautiful view fatigues us when we see it too often, the eye accustoms itself to it and then beholds it with indifference. Now the situation of my window preserved me from such a disaster, since I could never see the magnificent spectacle of the plain of Turin without climbing four or five steps, and, my delights being doled out to me, retained their original freshness and attraction. When I was tired and wished to give myself a pleasant recreation I used to finish my day by climbing up to my window.

On the first step, the sky was still all that I could see; but soon the colossal church of the Superga came in view. Then the hill of Turin, on which it rests rises little by little before me, covered with forests and fruitful vineyards, proudly displaying to the setting sun its broad expanse of gardens and palaces, while some simple and modest houses appeared half hidden in its valleys to afford a retreat for the philosopher and to aid his meditations.

Delightful hill, how often have I sought your solitudes and preferred your narrow paths to the brilliant streets of the Capital; how often have I lost myself in your leafy glades, while listening to the morning song of the lark, my heart full of vague unrest, with eager longing to dwell in your enchanting glades for evermore. I greet you, charming hill! you are imprinted on my heart. May the dew of heaven make your fields even more fertile and your woods more leafy! May your dwellers possess their happiness undisturbed, sheltered by the kindly and beneficent shades of your woods, and may your happy confines be always the sweet refuge of true philosophy and modest science, and of the real friendship and hospitality I have experienced there.

VII

I began my journey precisely at eight o’clock in the evening. The weather was calm and there was promise of a fine night. I had taken precautions not to be disturbed by visitors, who are somewhat rare at the height at which I was lodging, and especially in the circumstances in which I then was, as I wished to be alone until midnight. Four hours would be amply sufficient for the execution of my undertaking, as, on this occasion, I only desired to make a short journey round my room. If the first journey lasted forty-two days, it was because I was not in a position to make it shorter. I did not wish to tie myself down to much carriage travelling as in my former journey, being quite convinced that a traveller on foot sees many things which escape the notice of him who travels post. I determined, therefore, to travel on foot or on horseback according to circumstances: a novel method which I have never yet made known, but its advantages will soon become apparent. Besides, I also proposed to take notes by the way, and to write down my observations at the moment they were made, so that I might forget nothing. In order to infuse some method into my undertaking, and to give it a better chance of success, I deemed it well to commence by composing a dedication, and to write it in verse, in order to make it more attractive. But two difficulties arose and all but compelled me to give up the idea, despite all its advantages. In the first place, I did not know to whom to address the dedication, and, secondly, how was I to set about writing it?

After having turned the matter over carefully in my mind, I came to the conclusion that it was more advisable to write the dedication first as well as I could, and then to find someone whom it would suit. I set to work at once and toiled for more than an hour without being able to find a rhyme to the first line I had composed and which I was anxious to keep, as it seemed to me a very happy one. I then recollected, very apropos, that I had read somewhere that the celebrated Pope could never compose anything good, unless he first aroused his inspiration by declaiming aloud in his study for a long time, and by exciting himself in every possible manner.

I tried immediately to follow his example. I took down the poems of Ossian and recited some in a loud voice, striding about at the same time, so as to work myself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm.

I discovered that this plan did, indeed, insensibly excite my imagination and gave me a secret feeling of poetic power, of which I should have certainly taken advantage by dashing off my dedication, had I not, unfortunately, forgotten the slanting ceiling of my chamber, whose sudden slope prevented my forehead from following the direction of my feet. So violently did I strike my head