THE STORY OF A CHILD.
CHAPTER I.
It is with some degree of awe that I touch upon the enigma of my
impressions at the commencement of my life. I am almost doubtful
whether they had reality within my own experience, or whether they are
not, rather, recollections mysteriously transmitted--I feel an almost
sacred hesitation when I would fathom their depths.
I came forth from the darkness of unconsciousness very gradually, for
my mind was illumined only fitfully, but then by outbursts of splendor
that compelled and fascinated my infant gaze. When the light was
extinguished, I lapsed once more into the non-consciousness of the
new-born animal, of the tiny plant just germinating.
The history of my earliest years is that of a child much indulged and
petted to whom nothing of moment happened; and into whose narrow,
protected life no jarring came that was not foreseen, and the shock of
which was not deadened with solicitous care. In my manners I was
always very tractable and submissive. That I may not make my recital
tedious, I will note without continuity and without the proper
transitions those moments which are impressed upon my mind because of
their strangeness, those moments that are still so vividly
remembered, although I have forgotten many poignant sorrows, many
lands, adventures, and places.
I was at that time like a fledgling swallow living high up in a niche
in the eaves, who from time to time peeps out over the top of its nest
with its little bright eyes. With the eyes of imagination it sees into
the deeps of space, although to the actual vision only a courtyard and
street are visible; and it sees into depths which it will presently
need to journey through. It was during such moments of clairvoyance
that I had a vision of the infinity of which before my present life I
was a part. Then, in spite of myself, my consciousness flagged, and
for days together I lived the tranquil, subconscious life of early
childhood.
At first my mind, altogether unimpressed and undeveloped, may be
compared to a photographer's apparatus fitted with its sensitized
glass. Objects insufficiently lighted up make no impression upon the
virgin plates; but when a vivid splendor falls upon them, and when
they are encircled by disks of light, these once dim objects now
engrave themselves upon the glass. My first recollections are of
bright summer days and sparkling noon times,--or more truly, are
recollections of the light of wood fires burning with great ruddy
flames.
