LETTER XXXI.
WHAT constitutes the happiness of a man, must it then change and
become the source of his misery? That ar- {89} dent sentiment
which animated my heart with the love of nature, which poured in
upon me a torrent of delight, which brought all paradise before me, is
now become an insupportable torrent, a demon which pursues and
harrasses me incessantly. In times past I contemplated, from the
top of high rocks, the broad river which, far as eye can reach,
waters this fertile plain. Every thing put forth and grew, and
was expanded. Around me all was in motion. I saw these mountains
covered to their summits with high and tufted trees, and the
vallies in their various windings sheltered by smiling woods; the
peaceful stream gently glided through the trembling reeds, and in
its calm surface reflected the light clouds, which a soft zephyr
kept suspended in the air. I heard the birds animating the woods
with their song. Millions of insects danced in the purple rays of
the sun. The arid rock afforded nourishment to the moss; and the
sands below were covered with broom. {90} The vivifying heat
which animates all nature, was everywhere displayed before my
eyes; it filled and warmed my heart. I was lost in the idea of
infinity. Stupendous mountains encompassed me; precipices were
before my feet; torrents fell by the side of me; impetuous rivers
ran through the plain; rocks and mountains resounded from afar;
and in the depths of the earth I saw innumerable powers in
motion, and multiplying to infinity. All the beings of the
creation, of a thousand tribes and a thousand forms, move upon
the earth and in the air; and man hides himself in his little
hut, and says, "I am lord over this vast universe." Weak mortal!
all things appear little to you, for you are little yourself.
Craggy mountains, deserts untrodden by the foot of man, even the
unknown confines of the immense ocean, are animated by the breath
of the Eternal, and every atom to which he has given existence
and life, finds favour in his sight. Ah! how often at that time
has the flight {91} of a sea-bird, which passed over my head,
inspired me with the desire of being transported to the shore of
the immeasurable waters, there to drink the pleasures of life as
in a river, and to partake, if but for a moment, and with the
confined powers of my soul, of the beatitude of the Creator, in
whom we live, and move, and have our being!
My dear friend, the bare recollection of these times still gives
me pleasure: the vehemence of mind with which I recall the
sensations, which gives me faculties to express them, raises me
above myself, and makes me doubly feel my present anguish.
The curtain drops, the scene is changed; instead of prospects of
eternal life, a bottomless pit is for ever opened before me. Can
we say of any thing, that it exists, when all passes away, when
time in its rapid progress carries every thing with it, and our
transitory existence, hurried along by the torrent, is either
swallowed up by the waves or dashed against the rocks? {92} There
is not a moment which does not prey upon me, and all around me;
and every moment I am myself a destroyer. The most innocent walk
deprives of life thousands of poor insects: one step destroys the
fabric of the industrious ant, and turns a little world into a
chaos! No, 'tis not the great and uncommon calamities of the
world, the floods which sweep away whole villages, the
earthquakes that swallow up our towns, which touch and affect me.
What saps my heart, is that destroying, hidden power, which
exists in every thing. Nature has formed nothing which does not
consume itself, and every thing that is near it: so that,
surrounded by earth and air, and by all the active powers, I
wander with an aching heart; and the universe to me is as a
fearful monster, which devours and regorges its food.
