I had likewise in my own mind projected a third, the idea of which Iowed to the observations I had made upon myself and I felt the more disposed to undertake this work, as I had reason to hope I could make it a truly useful one, and perhaps, the most so of any that could be offered to the world, were the execution equal to the plan I had laid down.It has been remarked that most men are in the course of their lives frequently unlike themselves, and seem to be transformed into others very different from what they were.It was not to establish a thing so generally known that I wished to write a book;I had a newer and more important object.This was to search for the causes of these variations, and, by confining my observations to those which depend on ourselves, to demonstrate in what manner it might be possible to direct them, in order to render us better and more certain of our dispositions.For it is undoubtedly more painful to an honest man to resist desires already formed, and which it is his duty to subdue, than to prevent, change, or modify the same desires in their source, were he capable of tracing them to it.A man under temptation resists once because he has strength of mind, he yields another time because this is overcome; had it been the same as before he would again have triumphed.
By examining within myself, and searching in others what could be the cause of these different manners of being, I discovered that, in a great measure they depended on the anterior impression of external objects; and that, continually modified by our senses and organs, we, without knowing it, bore in our ideas, sentiments, and even actions, the effect of these modifications.The striking and numerous observations I had collected were beyond all manner of dispute, and by their natural principle seemed proper to furnish and exterior regimen, which, varied according to circumstances, might place and support the mind in the state most favorable to virtue.From how many mistakes would reason be preserved, how many vices would be stifled in their birth, were it possible to force animal economy to favor moral order, which it so frequently disturbs! Climates, seasons, sounds, colors, light, darkness, the elements, aliments, noise, silence, motion, rest, all act on the animal machine, and consequently on the mind; all offer us a thousand means, almost certain of directing in their origin the sentiments by which we suffer ourselves to be governed.Such was the fundamental idea of which I had already made a sketch upon paper, and whence I hoped for an effect the more certain, in favor of persons well disposed, who, sincerely loving virtue, were afraid of their own weakness, as it appeared to me easy to make of it a book as agreeable to read as it was to compose.Ihave, however, applied myself but very little to this work, the title of which was to have been Morale Sensitive ou le Materialisme du Sage.* Interruptions, the cause of which will soon appear, prevented me from continuing it, and the fate of the sketch, which is more connected with my own than it may appear to be, will hereafter be seen.
* Sensitive Morality, or the Materialism of the Sage.
Besides this, I had for some time meditated a system of education, of which Madam de Chenonceaux, alarmed for her son by that of her husband, had desired me to consider.The authority of friendship placed this object, although loss in itself to my taste, nearer to my heart than any other.On which account this subject, of all, those of which I have just spoken, is the only one I carried to its utmost extent.The end I proposed to myself in treating of it should, I think, have procured the author a better fate.But I will not here anticipate this melancholy subject.I shall have too much reason to speak of it in the course of my work.
These different objects offered me subjects of meditation for my walks; for, as I believe I have already observed, I am unable to reflect when I am not walking: the moment I stop, I think no more, and as soon as I am again in motion my head resumes its workings.I had, however, provided myself with a work for the closet upon rainy days.
This was my dictionary of music, which my scattered, mutilated, and unshapen materials made it necessary to rewrite almost entirely.I had with me some books necessary to this purpose; I had spent two months in making extracts from others, which I had borrowed from the king's library, whence I was permitted to take several to the Hermitage.Iwas thus provided with materials for composing in my apartment when the weather did not permit me to go out, and my copying fatigued me.
This arrangement was so convenient that it made it turn to advantage as well at the Hermitage as at Montmorency, and afterwards even at Motiers, where I completed the work whilst I was engaged in others, and constantly found a change of occupation to be a real relaxation.
