The Story of a Child

ther, who sang the Marseillaise so constantly, in that part of the ho

plains of our country called prees (prairies) all so alike, and as monotonous as the neighboring seas. From the window one also saw the river. At full tide, when it almost overflowed its banks, it looked, as it

e rose color. Those of summer time, upon stormy evenings, after a hot, bright day, I contemplated from the open window, and as I did so I would breathe in the sweet odors given out by the jasmine blossoms growing on the wall: it seems to me that there are no such sunsets now as there were then. When the sunsets were notably splendid and unusual, if I was not in the room, aunt Bertha, who never missed one, would call o

e in my grandmother's room. The picture that I looked at most often was a pastel after Raphael of a virgin in white, blue and rose color. The rays of the setting sun always fell upon this picture (I have already said the hour of sunset wa

randmother (the one who always dressed in black) and her daugh

t motionless upon my tiny chair, with eyes wide open, uneasily watching for the least change in the shadows, especially on that side of the room where the door opened on the dim stairway, was very painful to me. . . . I am sure that if my grandmother and aunt had known of the melancholy and terrors which the twilight induced in me, they would have spared me by lighting the lamp, but they did not know m

aunt's also, which they had quitted twenty years before my birth to establish themselves upon

ong journey in wretched country wagons and in sailing boats; and often our boat had to make its way there in the teeth of a strong gale. At this time in the village of St. Pierre Oleron I had three old aunts who lived very modestly upon the revenues of their salt marshes (the remains of a once gre

e all belonged to a past time, to a bygone generation. The sea surrounded and isolated us,

to son had been with us for a long time; and she would say: "At home, on the Island,

ch because centuries of washing had polished and rounded them exquisitely. These pebbles always played an important part every winter evening, for with the greatest regularity the old people would put them into the chimney-

forest. I had the greatest veneration for all these things. I knew that my grandmother no longer owned the forests, nor the salt marshes, nor the vineyards; for I had heard them

e worked for our family, still loyal and respectful called me "our little master," I kn

harvests, the occupations of several of my ancestors. Such a life seemed a m

me were generally of the happenings of their own childhood, a childhood t

aunt told me their names and described them to me I would abandon myself to reverie. There was in particular a grandfathe

such an important part in the lives of the people of St. Pierre. They would ride upon them to visit distant properties and vineyards; to get to these it was often necessary to travel along the sa

e, tinkle would go the dinner bell; then I rose and jumped for joy, and we would go down to the dining-room together and find all th