Book II

The moment in which fear had instigated my flight, did not seem more
terrible than that wherein I put my design in execution appeared
delightful. To leave my relations, my resources, while yet a child,
in the midst of my apprenticeship, before I had learned enough of my
business to obtain a subsistence; to run on inevitable misery and danger:
to expose myself in that age of weakness and innocence to all the
temptations of vice and despair; to set out in search of errors,
misfortunes, snares, slavery, and death; to endure more intolerable evils
than those I meant to shun, was the picture I should have drawn, the
natural consequence of my hazardous enterprise. How different was the
idea I entertained of it!--The independence I seemed to possess was the
sole object of my contemplation; having obtained my liberty, I thought
everything attainable: I entered with confidence on the vast theatre of
the world, which my merit was to captivate: at every step I expected to
find amusements, treasures, and adventures; friends ready to serve, and
mistresses eager to please me; I had but to show myself, and the whole
universe would be interested in my concerns; not but I could have been
content with something less; a charming society, with sufficient means,

might have satisfied me. My moderation was such, that the sphere in
which I proposed to shine was rather circumscribed, but then it was to
possess the very quintessence of enjoyment, and myself the principal
object. A single castle, for instance, might have bounded my ambition;
could I have been the favorite of the lord and lady, the daughter's
lover, the son's friend, and protector of the neighbors, I might have
been tolerably content, and sought no further.

In expectation of this modest fortune, I passed a few days in the
environs of the city, with some country people of my acquaintance, who
received me with more kindness than I should have met with in town; they
welcomed, lodged, and fed me cheerfully; I could be said to live on
charity, these favors were not conferred with a sufficient appearance of
superiority to furnish out the idea.

I rambled about in this manner till I got to Confignon, in Savoy, at
about two leagues distance from Geneva. The vicar was called M. de
Pontverre; this name, so famous in the history of the Republic, caught my
attention; I was curious to see what appearance the descendants of the
gentlemen of the spoon exhibited; I went, therefore, to visit this M. de
Pontverre, and was received with great civility.

He spoke of the heresy of Geneva, declaimed on the authority of holy
mother church, and then invited me to dinner. I had little to object to
arguments which had so desirable a conclusion, and was inclined to
believe that