far from the ocean, in Saintonge, of an old Huguenot
family which had numbered many sailors among its members. While yet
a mere child he thumbed the old Bible which formerly, in the days of
persecution, had been read only with cautious secrecy; and he perused
the vessel's ancient records wherein mariners long since gone had noted,
almost a century before, that "the weather was good," that "the wind
was favourable," and that "doradoes or gilt-heads were passing near the
ship."

He was passionately fond of music. He had few comrades, and his
imagination was of the exalted kind. His first ambition was to be a
minister, then a missionary; and finally he decided to become a sailor.
He wanted to see the world, he had the curiosity of things; he was
inclined to search for the strange and the unknown; he must seek that
sensation, delightful and fascinating to complex souls, of betaking
himself off, of withdrawing from his own world, of breaking with his own
mode of life, and of creating for himself voluntary regrets.

He felt in the presence of Nature a species of disquietude, and
experienced therefrom sensations which might almost be expressed in
colours: his head, he himself states, "might be compared to a camera,
filled with sensitive plates." This power of vision permitted him to
apprehend only the appearance of things, not their reality; he was
conscious of the nothingness of nothing, of the dust of dust. The
remnants of his religious education intensified still more this distaste
for the external world.

He was wont to spend his summer vacation in the south of France, and he
preserved its warm sunny impressions. It was only later that he became
acquainted with Brittany. She inspired him at first with a feeling of
oppression and of sadness, and it was long before he learned to love
her.

Thus was formed and developed, far from literary circles and from
Parisian coteries, one of the most original writers that had appeared
for a long time. He noted his impressions while touring the world; one
fine morning he published them, and from the very first the reading
public was won. He related his adventures and his own romance. The
question could then be raised whether his skill and art would prove as
consummate if he should deviate from his own personality to write what
might be termed impersonal poems; and it is precisely in this last
direction that he subsequently produced what are now considered his
masterpieces.

A stra