He did not feel compelled to deprive
himself of the benefit of a course which was made use of by every
one else, and which seemed to be tolerated by the law of monopoly
of university teaching in order to temper the odious nature of its
privileges. 'But,' he goes on to say, 'I bear the university a grudge
for having compelled me to tell a lie, and yet the director of the
Normal School was extolling its liberal-mindedness.'"]
PARIS, _September 5th_, 1846.
I thank you, my dear friend, for your kind letter. It afforded me
great pleasure and comfort during this dreary vacation, which I am
spending in the most painful isolation you can possibly conceive.
There is not a human being to whom I can open my heart, nor, what is
still worse, with whom I can indulge in conversations which, however
commonplace, repose the mind and satisfy one's craving for company.
One can be much more secluded in Paris than in the midst of the
desert, as I am now realizing for myself. Society does not consist
in seeing one's fellow-men, but in holding with them some of those
communications which remind one that one is not alone in the world.
At times, when I happen to be mixed up in the crowds which fill our
streets, I fancy that I am surrounded by trees walking. The effect is
precisely the same. When I think of the perfect happiness which used
to be my lot at this season of the year, a great sadness comes
over me, especially when I remember that I have said an everlasting
farewell to these blissful days.
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