AT FONTAINEBLEAU. * 37 
The place admirably favoured the then condition 
of my soul. All the painful circumstances of the time, 
by driving me back upon myself, increased my con- 
centration. We constituted for ourselves a perfect 
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solitude. Our chamber became for us an entire city. 
And outside there was nothing but a ring of wood, 
then tolerably small, which we traversed on foot 
This ring oppressed me a little in the great heats, 
when the sun shone reflected on the sandstone. But 
in these dry hot days the thought does not grow 
enfeebled. I could follow up and investigate mine 
with sequence and perseverance, enjoying—what is 
rare enough in life—a vrand harmonious unity of ideas 
and sentiments, which I was by no means anxious to 
vary, but rather to deepen. 
I went forth alone at noonday, and walked some 
distance into the dull, dumb, and sandy forest, which 
was without whisper and without voice. I carried 
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thither my theme, and trusted to attain its meaning = 
in that infinite of sand overlaid by an infinite of 
leaves. But how much vaster that infinite of animated 
life, the abyss of imperceptible organisms into which 
I was fain to descend ! 
All that Sénancour says of Fontainebleau is true 
so far as relates to the vague dreamer who brings 
with him no prevailing thought. Yes; the landscape 
“is generally on a small scale, dull, low, and solitary 
without being wild.” Animals are seldom met with, 
except in a few kids whose number is easily counted. Birds are not 
numerous. Few or no springs are visible; and the apparent absence of 
