d to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old and learned
German. I determined to learn his language; the German was poor and
friendless, and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. My
perpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times he waited in
patient astonishment while I, seated near him with a smoking lamp between
us, sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in revery, oblivious of his
presence and of his pity.

"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you are
the best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me to my
fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I."

I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and
there was no more talk of German.

I soon realized that solitude, instead of curing me, was doing me harm,
and so I completely changed my system. I went into the country, and
galloped through the woods with the huntsmen; I would ride until I was
out of breath, trying to cure myself with fatigue, and when, after a day
of sweat in the fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling of
powder and the stable, I would bury my head in the pillow, roll about
under the covers and cry: "Phantom, phantom! are you not satiated? Will
you not leave me for one single night?"

But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature to
love. Standing in the street of Mental Observation, I saw myself pale and
wan, surrounded by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloody apron,
stifled by the odor of putrefaction, I turned my head in spite of myself,
and saw floating before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields, and the
pensive harmony of the evening. "No," said I, "science can not console
me; rather will I plunge into this sea of irresponsive nature and die
there myself by drowning. I will not war against my youth; I will live
where there is life, or at least die in the sunlight." I began to mingle
with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville, and stretch myself on flowery
swards in secluded groves. Alas! all the forests and fields cried to me:

"What do you seek here? We are young, poor child! We wear the colors of
hope."

Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; I
looked up at the lights in its windows, into those mysterious family
nests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man.
Oh, what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in those
tortuous streets where all