26 



HOW THE AUTHOR WAS LED TO 



" Nevertheless, slander was busy in its detraction ; 

 its face was too small, said its enemies, and it was very- 

 gluttonous. To-day, I might subscribe to these asser- 

 tions ; but at seven years of age I fought for the honour 

 of my rabbit ! Alas ! there was no need to make it the 

 subject of dispute, it lived so short a time. One Sunday, 

 my mother having set out for the town with my sister 

 and eldest brother, we were wandering — we, the little 

 ones — in the enclosure, when a sudden report broke 

 over our heads. A strange cry, like an infant's first 

 moan, followed it close at hand. My rabbit had been 

 wounded by a flash of fire, Tbe unfortunate beast had 

 transgressed beyond the vineyard-hedge, and a neigh- 

 bour, having nothing better to do, had amused himself 

 with shooting at it. 



" I was in time to see it rise up, bleeding. So 

 great was my grief that I almost choked, utterly unable 

 to sob out a single word. But for my father, who 

 received me in his arms, and by gentle words gave my 

 full heart relief, I should have fainted. My limbs 

 yielded under me. Pardon the tears which this recollec- 

 tion still calls forth. 



" For the first time, and in early youth, I had a 

 revelation of death, abandonment, desolation. The 

 house, the garden, appeared to me empty and bare. 

 Do not laugh : my grief was bitter, and all the deeper 

 because concentrated in myself 



" Thenceforth, having learned the meaning of death, 

 I began to watch my father ^vitll wistful eyes. I 

 saw, not without teiTor, that his face was very pale 

 and his hair white. He would quit us ; he would go 



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