14 HOW THE AUTHOR WAS LED TO 



such a statement would be unjust, ungrateful. The domesticated 

 swallows which lodged under our roof mingled in our conversation. 

 The homely robin, fluttering around me, interjected his tender notes, 

 and sometimes the nightingale suspended it by her solemn music. 





The burden of the time, life, labour, the violent fluctuations of 

 our era, the dispersion of a world of intelligence in which we lived, 

 and to which nothing has succeeded, weighed heavily upon me. 

 The arduous toils of history found occasional relaxation in friendly 

 instruction. These pauses, however, are only periods of silence. 

 Wliere shall we seek repose or moral invigoration, if not of 

 nature ? 



The mighty eighteenth century, which included a thousand years 

 of struggle, rested at its setting on the amiable and consoling, though 

 scientifically feeble book of Bernardin de St. PieiTC.* It ended with 

 that pathetic speech of Ramond's : "So many irreparable losses 

 lamented in the bosom of nature !" 



We, whatever we had lost, asked of solitude something more than 

 tears, something more than the dittany -f- which softens wounded 

 hearts. We sought in it a panacea for continual progress, a draught 

 from inexhaustible fountains, a new strength, and — wings. 



This work, whatever its character, possesses at least the distinction 

 of having entered upon life under the usual conditions of existence. 

 It results from the intimate communion of two souls; and is in all 



* The book referred to was the '■ Etudes de la. Nature." — Translator. 



t Dittany was formerly much used as a cordial and sedative. — Translator. 



