But I had not yet arrived at that fermentation of patriotism which
the first sight of Geneva in arms has since excited in my heart, as
may be conjectured by a very grave fact that will not tell to my
advantage, which I forgot to put in its proper place, but which
ought not to be omitted.
My uncle Bernard died at Carolina, where he had been employed some
years in the building of Charles Town, which he had formed the plan
of. My poor cousin, too, died in the Prussian service; thus my aunt
lost, nearly at the same period, her son and husband. These losses
reanimated in some measure her affection for the nearest relative
she had remaining, which was myself. When I went to Geneva, I reckoned
her house my home, and amused myself with rummaging and turning over
the books and papers my uncle had left. Among them I found some
curious ones, and some letters which they certainly little thought of.
My aunt, who set no store by these dusty papers, would willingly
have given the whole to me, but I contented myself with two or three
books, with notes written by the Minister Bernard, my grandfather, and
among the rest, the posthumous works of Rohault in quarto, the margins
of which were full of excellent commentaries, which gave me an
inclination to the mathematics. This book remained among those of
Madam de Warrens', and I have since lamented that I did not preserve
it. To these I added five or six memorials in manuscript, and a
printed one, composed by the famous Micheli Ducret, a man of
considerable talents, being both learned and enlightened, but too
much, perhaps, inclined to sedition, for which he was cruelly
treated by the magistrates of Geneva, and lately died in the
fortress of Arberg, where he had been confined many years, for
being, as it was said, concerned in the conspiracy of Berne.
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