Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire,
therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my
predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went
on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the
weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I
chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it
with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful
facts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new
light seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my
discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my
book and said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste
your time upon this; it is sad trash.”

If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me
that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern
system of science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers
than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while
those of the former were real and practical, under such circumstances I
should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my
imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my
former studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never
have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance
my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was
acquainted with its contents, and I continued to read with the greatest
avidity.

When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this
author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and
studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me
treasures known to few besides myself. I have described myself as always
having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of
nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern
philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied.
Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking
up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his
successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted
appeared even to my boy’s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same
pursuit.

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.
