The _Itinéraire_ has entered into the elements that compose my life. When I set out in 1806, a pilgrimage to Jerusalem appeared a great undertaking. Now that the crowd has followed in my steps and that the whole world is in the diligence, the wonder of it has vanished; I have little left of my own save Tunis: people have travelled less in that direction, and it has been allowed that I pointed out the real sights of the ports of Carthage. This creditable letter proves it: "MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE, "I have just received a plan of the ground and ruins of Carthage, giving the exact outlines and inclinations of the soil; it has been taken trigonometrically on a basis of 1500 meters, and rests upon barometrical observations made with corresponding barometers. It is a work of ten years of precision and patience; and it confirms your opinions regarding the position of the ports of Byrsa. "With this exact plan I have gone over all the ancient texts, and have, I believe, determined the outer circumference and the other portions of the Cothon, Byrsa, Megara, etc., etc. I wish to do you the right which is your due upon so many scores. "If you are not afraid to see me swoop down upon your genius with my trigonometry and my heavy erudition, I will be with you at the first sign from yourself. If we, my father[718] and I, follow you in literature _longissimo intervallo_, at least we shall have tried to imitate you in the noble independence of which you set France so fine an example. "I have the honour to be, and I am proud of it, your frank admirer, "DUREAU DE LA MALLE[719]." [Sidenote: My geographical accuracy.] So accurate a rectification of localities would formerly have been sufficient to give me a name in geography. From this time forward, if I still had a mania for being talked about, I do not know where I could go in order to attract the attention of the public: perhaps I should resume my old plan of discovering the passage to the North Pole; perhaps I should ascend the Ganges. There I should see the long, straight, dark line of the woods which defend the approach to the Himalayas; when, after reaching the neck which joins the two principal peaks of Mount Ganghur, I descried the immeasurable amphitheatre of the eternal snows, and should ask my guides, as did Heber[720], the Anglican Bishop of Calcutta, the name of the other mountains in the East, they would reply that they marked the border of the Chinese Empire: well and good! But to return from the Pyramids is as though you returned from Montlhéry[721]. By the by, I remember that a pious antiquary, who lived near Saint-Denis in France wrote to me to ask if Pontoise did not resemble Jerusalem. The last page of the _Itinéraire_ is as though I had written it this moment, so exactly does it reproduce my present sentiments.