Though my taste had not preserved me from silly
unmeaning books, by good fortune I was a stranger to licentious or
obscene ones: not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating) made
any scruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth,
she spoke of them with an air of mystery; this produced an effect
she had not foreseen, for both shame and disgust made me constantly
refuse them. Chance so well seconded my bashful disposition, that I
was past the age of thirty before I saw any of those dangerous
compositions.
In less than a year I had exhausted La Tribu's scanty library, and
was unhappy for want of further amusement. My reading, though
frequently bad, had worn off my childish follies, and brought back
my heart to nobler sentiments than my condition had inspired;
meantime, disgusted with all within my reach, and thinking
everything charming that was out of it, my present situation
appeared extremely miserable. My passions began to acquire strength, I
felt their influence, without knowing whither they would conduct me. I
was as far removed from actual enjoyment as if sexless. Sometimes I
thought of former follies, but sought no further.
At this time my imagination took a turn which helped to calm my
increasing emotions; it was, to contemplate those situations in the
books I had read, which produced the most striking effect on my
mind; to recall, combine, and apply them to myself in such a manner,
as to become one of the personages my recollection presented, and be
continually in those fancied circumstances which were most agreeable
to my inclinations; in a word, by contriving to place myself in
these fictitious situations, the idea of my real one was in a great
measure obliterated.
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