fresh air, and the caves shelter.  For us the inclemencies of the weather are zephyrs, the snow refreshment, the rain baths, the thunder music, and the lightning torches.  For us the hard ground is a bed of down; the tanned skin of our bodies is an impenetrable harness to defend us; our nimble limbs submit to no obstacle from iron bars, or trenches, or walls; our courage is not to be twisted out of us by cords, or choked by gauze,[75] or quelled by the rack.

[75] See note [73], p. 200.

“Between yes and no we make no difference when it suits our convenience to confound them; we always pride ourselves more on being martyrs than confessors.  For us the beasts of burden are reared in the fields, and pockets are filled in the cities.  No eagle or other bird of prey pounces more swiftly on its quarry than we upon opportunities that offer us booty.  And finally, we possess many qualities which promise us a happy end; for we sing in prison, are silent on the rack, work by day, and by night we thieve, or rather we take means to teach all men that they should exempt themselves from the trouble of seeing where they put their property.  We are not distressed by the fear of losing our honour, or kept awake by ambition to increase it.  We attach ourselves to no parties; we do not rise by day-light to attend levees and present memorials, or to swell the trains of magnates, or to solicit favours.  Our gilded roofs and sumptuous palaces are these portable huts; our Flemish pictures and landscapes are those which nature presents to our eyes at every step in the rugged cliffs and snowy peaks, the spreading meads and leafy groves.  We are rustic astronomers, for as we sleep almost always under the open sky, we can tell every hour by day or night.  We see how Aurora extinguishes and sweeps away the stars from heaven, and how she comes forth with her companion the dawn, enlivening the air, refreshing the water, and moistening the earth; and after her appears the sun gilding the heights, as the poet sings, and making the mountains smile.  We are not afraid of being left chilly by his absence, when his rays fall aslant upon us, or of being roasted when they blaze down upon us perpendicularly.  We turn the same countenance to sun and frost, to dearth and plenty.  In conclusion, we are people who live by our industry and our wits, without troubling ourselves with the old adage, ‘The church, the sea, or the king’s household.’  We have all we want, for we are content with what we have.

“All these things have I told you, generous youth, that you may not be ignorant of the life to which you are come, and the manners and customs you will have to profess, which I have here sketched for you in the rough.  Many other particulars, no less worthy of consideration, you will discover for yourself in process of time.”