emy, and in May, 1766, he was nominated ensign
in the provincial regiment of Asti, which met only twice a-year for a
few days, thus allowing ample opportunity for doing nothing; the only
thing, he says, he had made up his mind to do. But he soon got tired of
even this slight restraint. "I could not adapt myself to that chain of
graduated dependence which is called subordination, and which although
the soul of military discipline, could never be the soul of a future
tragic poet." He therefore obtained permission, though with great
difficulty, to accompany an English Catholic tutor, who was about to
visit Rome and Naples with two of his fellow-students. He chooses this
moment for commencing the epoch of youth, which he describes as
embracing ten years of travel and dissipation.

On reaching Milan, the travellers visited the Ambrosian library.

"Here the librarian placed in my hands a manuscript of Petrarch, but,
like a true Goth, I threw it aside, saying it was nothing to me. The
fact was, I had a certain spite against the aforesaid Petrarch; for
having met with a copy of his works some years before, when I was a
philosopher, I found on opening it at various places by chance that I
could not understand the meaning in the least; accordingly I joined with
the French and other ignorant pretenders in condemning him, and as I
considered him a dull and prosy writer, I treated his invaluable
manuscript in the manner above described."

At this time he always spoke and wrote in French, and read nothing but
French books.

"As I knew still less of Italian, I gathered the necessary fruit of my
birth in an amphibious country, and of the precious education I had
received."

They proceeded afterwards to Florence, Rome, and Naples. At the latter
place he obtained permission from his own court, through the
intercession of the Sardinian minister, to leave the tutor, and travel
for the future alone. Attended only by his faithful servant Elia, who
had taken the place of the worthless Andrea, and for whom he felt a
great affection, he returned to Rome, and had the honor of kissing the
Pope's toe. The pontiff's manner pleased him so much, that he felt no
repugnance to going through the ceremony, although he had read Fleury,
and knew the real value of the aforesaid toe.

Having obtained leave to travel for another year, he determined to visit
France, England, and Holland. He went first to Venice, and there was
assailed by that melancholy