The frequent blows I received from my master, with my private and
ill-chosen studies, rendered me reserved, unsociable, and almost
deranged my reason. 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) had 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 sometimes, indeed, thought of my 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.